Phantom Touch-The Taking of Annie Sawyer

By A.K. Scott

From early childhood, Annie Sawyer has been plagued by nightmares that awaken her, drenched in sweat and desperately seeking the comfort of her mother’s presence. Although she remembers little, the sensation of being watched lingers far after the light switch bathes her room in comfort, and her mother's soothing words ease her fears. The sense that someone is waiting follows her into adulthood, but what are ‘they’ waiting for?
As the latest young Sawyer woman comes of age, the generations-old secret begins to reveal itself, setting into motion the unraveling of Annie’s life as she’s known it and awakening in her an impossibly erotic existence that only an unearthly suitor could fulfill.

• Language: English
• Publisher: A.K. Scott
• Release date: Nov 7, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370620838

A.K. Scott

I am a romance reader from as far back as I can remember. But to everyone, "Romance" means something very different. Sure, I like the flowery 'heaving bosom' stuff my mom used to read, but I'm a bit racier than many, and like to spice my romance up with a fair amount of rather raunchy sex. Do I go too far? Maybe. Oh, it's always legal but pushes the boundaries of what some might find acceptable. But then again, so do I. I love to have fun, and writing is fast becoming a truly enjoyable outlet for me...a glorious, bawdy outlet. Writing (and reading) "Romance" stories is like falling in love with a new man every week, and I ask you: What could be better than that?I'm new to publishing my stories, and love feed-back, be it good or bad. That's how I learn. I also have a fairly positive outlook, therefore I fully intend on perfecting this craft and selling more books than I ever could have imagined.Please feel free to email me at [e-mail] to tell me what you'd like to read...I'm always looking for new ideas and love to stretch my imagination.In the meantime, I want to thank you for reading my books. Remember, outside of a dog, a book is a (wo)mans best friend, inside of a dog, it's too dark to read. - Gotta love Groucho.Happy Reading!

Book preview

Phantom Touch

A.K. Scott

Copyright 2016 by A. K. Scott

All rights reserved. The people, places, and situations contained within this book are figments of the author’s imagination and in no way reflect real or true events…

or do they?

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

~1~

Her lover lies with his head in her lap while she strokes his long, silken, brown hair. His eyes are closed; his dark lashes brushing the tops of his cheeks, the contrast against his white skin startling. He’s so peaceful at this moment, and for that, she is grateful. She sits in this darkening room with her legs crossed, surrounded by scattered clay pots, mortise and pestles, some of them filled with dried herbs, and others with assorted compounds they use in their vocation.

She has spent her last night with him, this she knows for sure. He will soon be crossing the delicate veil that will separate them for a time, but not for long. She does not fear death, neither his nor her own. This is simply a transition to another realm of existence, and one that she has spent countless hours ensuring he will be able to transcend on his way back to her. Right now, because she loves him so, the most important task at hand is to make him comfortable while he still resides here, in this physical plane with her. He taught her well, all these years together, and although he cannot verbalize his gratitude, she knows he is proud of her, which is all she can hope for.

As she stares at his face, committing every pore, every angle of his beautiful visage to memory, his eyes flutter open and stare deeply into her own. Even in dying, his bottomless blue eyes dance with a passion she has seldom seen, and she knows it burns for her and for what she has promised him that lies beyond. He manages a weak smile, but his time for words is gone.

Even in this state, his power is undeniable. The room fills with an unmistakable thrum as his soul tries to break free of the weak body that confines him, but still holds him where it no longer wishes to be. As the mantel clock begins to strike the hour, he knows his time is upon him and begins to tremble, if only slightly.

Shhhh, my love. She murmurs to him. The time is almost upon us. You will soon be free.

He closes his eyes at the sound of her voice and settles instantly. She bends down to her lover’s eyes and kisses them both, ever so gently, then to his lips where she lingers longer, touching them softly with her own, memorizing the texture and shape of them on hers. She knows she will feel these lips again, on her mouth and the rest of her body, and that she will ache for him and his touch every moment until he makes his way back to her, passing through the gossamer-thin veil to be one with her once again. And not just her, but with a female of childbearing age of her lineage in every generation to come.  

When he is gone at last, it will be incumbent upon her to choose a mate and proceed with their plan. She thrills at the thought of giving her lover what he needs to inhabit this world, albeit in a different form than before. To not have human limitations set upon him, his prowess will be legendary. Her only hope is that the women in her lineage are enough to sate his powerful appetite.

~2~

I wake up in a cold sweat, my flannel nightgown twisted around my waist, my long hair sticking to my damp neck. I push myself through my carefully placed sentries of stuffed animals and grapple for the light switch that will wash my room in the familiar and friendly glow of the pink-shaded ballerina lamp. Click. Nothing. I am still in utter darkness. I frantically turn the knob again, but still no reassuring glow of lamplight. The apartment is completely still and quiet, except for the tick of the mantel clock that sits in a place of prominence over our living room fireplace. The familiar panic starts to rise like bile in my throat, and I have no choice but to scream out.

Mom. Mommy! MOMMY!  

I hear her feet immediately hit the floor from the room next to mine in our tiny but tidy home and know she will be here in seconds, but not soon enough for to me, my level of panic rising by the second. This has become a well-rehearsed routine unfortunately, my mom often making this nighttime journey by rote. As these nightmares and night terrors become more insistent as I grow older, her visits to my room in the dead of night are becoming much more frequent, if not an every night excursion. Always, my first instinct is to run to her, but I’m rooted to this spot in my bed, for fear of something I can’t put a name to.  

I see her flip on the light in the hallway as she makes her way to me and I’m briefly fearful of what I’ll see in the illumination. Someone was in my room with me, of that I am certain. I can sense the presence still, even as my mom approaches, just as I’ve felt a million times before. Someone watching me...waiting. Waiting for what, I do not know, but even in my naivety I know that when the day comes, it’ll be all too clear.

 Hurry, mommy. Please!

Shhhh, shhhh, Annie, comes my mom’s most reassuring singsong voice. It’s just another bad dream, my sweet girl.

She comes to the side of my bed and pushes the sweat drenched tendrils of hair from my face, bringing my head to her soft breast, all the while comforting me with platitudes and doing the best she can with the little sleep she’s had. I do feel better in her presence, but nowhere near calm. The thought of her leaving me again to go back to her own bed fills me with dread, as I know I will once again be vulnerable without her watching over me. I can’t