by Sharon Page
In an instant he was back in bed with her, cradling her against him as she caressed him. Awed, he told her, “Do you know how perfect it was to spend the night sleeping in your arms?”
Before she could answer, he put his fingertips to her lips. She kissed them.
“I’m the luckiest mortal man alive to have found you as my soul mate.” He was afraid his voice might break—something highly embarrassing for a man who was once a big bad vampire. So, he grinned to cover up how close he was to losing it.
He was rewarded with a glowing smile.
“No fangs!” she cried.
He rolled her onto her back.
“Wait—”
Not hiding his impatience, he cupped his hand over Erin’s hot, moist pussy and gazed down into her magnificent sparkling eyes. “Yes?”
She stroked her hand up his neck to cradle his jaw. “Who exactly is Cymon, my protector? How is a vampire supposed to protect me? And what did … Mrs. White mean about you becoming a hunter?”
“You know, you ask a lot of questions. And all I want to do is have sex. In daylight. With you.”
“Michael, this is serious.”
“Okay,” he surrendered. “A little Varkyre history, then.” He sat at her side and watched the sunlight bathe her body in gold. “Long ago, some Varkyres who regained their souls became hunters of vampires and other Varkyres. They were the only mortals who knew vampires’ weaknesses, who knew how to destroy the undead. And once they became mortal and had families whom they loved, they were determined to protect their families from evil. To keep the converted from destroying vampires, the elders—such as Cymon—chose to make the hunters and their descendents off-limits as prey. Any vampire who defies the rule is destroyed. A Varkyre who becomes a hunter loses the protection.”
“So, you won’t hunt.”
“No. And you don’t have to fear vampires.” He groaned hungrily, climbing over her. “I want to make love to you, but I have to ask you a question first.”
Curiosity heightened the deep green of her eyes. “Shoot.”
“Are you certain about having children with me? Do you think your family will like me?”
“A charming, gorgeous millionaire? My mom and dad will adore you.” Her smile was teasing, but tears welled. “And, yes, I want to have babies with you. We can make it work and be honest. Somehow.”
“We can, love. I know it.” He arched his hips to stroke her tummy with his cock. “Now can we make love?”
With a giggle Erin parted her legs to welcome him in, but when he sank into her to the hilt, she surprised him by frowning again.
“What’s wrong, angel?”
Her fingertips gently traced along his cheek. “You have the most beautiful eyes. I’ve never seen such a gorgeous violet color. But, you know, in a way, I’m going to miss your sexy fangs.”
Laughing, Michael lifted her legs gently and brought them up until her ankles rested on his shoulders. Then he made love to her, long and hard and wild, so she would know that some things never changed.
Night Pleasures
KATHLEEN DANTE
1
Alana ran headlong through the dark woods with supernatural swiftness, drawing on the tall oaks’ green strength to speed her feet. Their sap was slow with the advent of winter and the New Year, but they lent her enough power to stay ahead of the simulacra at her tail.
Dry brush parted before her and snapped back into place behind her to block her unnatural pursuers, but the flimsy barriers wouldn’t hold them for long. If she was caught, she doubted she could escape a second time, though the consequences didn’t bear thinking about.
The shrill creaks of breaking rafters still filled her ears, loud with the memory of their destruction. Her beautiful cottage gone! She clutched her malachite brooch, its magical warmth an assurance that she still had it.
A large rock rolled into her path, fuzzy with torn moss. She leaped it, her thin sandals slapping against her heels, the ends of her ponytail lashing her back through her thin blouse. In her haste to escape the ruins of her home, she hadn’t been able to grab a sweater.
The cool night breeze whipped hair across her damp face, caressed her nearly naked butt under her short skirt and her bare legs. She wasn’t dressed for a dead run through the brush, but, then, she hadn’t expected to be here. Despite the full moon, even wood mages avoided the groves on Samhain Night.
Alana ran on, desperately searching the shadows for an end to the trees. She must have covered more than a few miles already. How much farther to the Pleasure Quarter? She had to get there. It was the one place during Samhain where she might find safety. There, she knew the gardens, and they knew her. Out here, on this one night, Bryce had the upper hand.
As she ran on, bushes rustled and shook behind her. Wandering spirits or the simulacra still intent on her trail? A frisson of fear chilled her at the reminder. Bryce had turned to necromancy, used his earth magic to wrest souls from the spirit world to create simulacra. They wouldn’t stop until they’d fulfilled his command to capture her.
White lights finally pierced the thin canopy. That had to be the Pleasure Quarter! Her heart lifted at the prospect of people around her. About to step out of the trees, Alana froze. A mob of púca spilled into the clearing, blocking her path, keening and chittering, their voices shrill with malice. If they saw her, she’d be lost for the rest of the night; worse, Bryce might be able to compel them to bring her to him.
Long, harrowing moments passed before the mob left. Alana waited some more to make sure the púca were gone, straining her ears for the sound of their presence and of pursuit. Her heart still pounding from the near disaster, she darted toward the beckoning lights just beyond a line of shrubbery.
The tall hedge of holly twisted at her touch, allowing her to reach the sidewalk without snagging on its spiny leaves. Past it, the Pleasure Quarter spread before her in all its raucous, brilliantly lit glory, its wide streets filled with boisterous throngs of merrymakers, promising safety.
She drew a deep breath of relief at the sight, her knees nearly turning to water, shaky after that long run.
But as the hedge sprang back to place, a simulacrum entered the moonlit clearing behind her. They were right at her tail! Fear held her motionless for a heartbeat. With all the sexual energy in the Pleasure Quarter, surely Bryce’s simulacra wouldn’t be able to enter? Fire magic countered earth. Light opposed darkness. Life versus death.
But she couldn’t depend on that happening. If they weren’t stopped, she had to lose them.
Alana threw herself into the crowds, hoping their life force would hide hers. Somehow she had to keep the brooch out of Bryce’s hands. She couldn’t let him win.
Leaning back in the leather recliner, Colin drank in the frenetic emotions in the air. Samhain Night was truly the best time to enjoy the Pleasure Quarter. On Samhain Night, all the rules of propriety were suspended, giving way to the most basic celebrations of life. The festival of sex to propitiate the gods and spirits walking the Earth encouraged amateurs to step up to the stage and bare all. The resulting excitement and pleasure made for a heady brew for fire mages.
Onstage, a particularly busty blonde was finishing her turn, slinking off her minuscule bikini to flash the men around her feet to a flourish of drumbeats. A cheer went up as she writhed playfully, making the most of her bountiful assets.
Putting down his glass, Colin added his claps to the applause. The healthy lust radiating from the floor was better than a straight shot of single malt whiskey. Raw power bubbled through him, rich and intoxicating, so full of fire and sheer audacity. A final charge to hold him through the dark of the New Year. He really didn’t need anything stronger.
The next contestant, a tall brunette numbered twenty-seven in the line-up, was more to his taste. Leaning forward, he surveyed the athletic slenderness of long, long legs bared by a short skirt. And nary a knobby knee in sight, praise Belanus. She was—He caught sight of a gaudy brooch on her hip.
It was Alana MacArdry standing on the stage.
Colin hadn’t expected to see his lovely neighbor tonight, not when she had a steady lover to keep her occupied. He grinned, anticipating her performance. Normally, he wouldn’t think of poaching on another man’s preserve. But on Samhain Night, anything could happen: the pretty florist was fair game.
The music started over, hidden ceiling speakers piping out an aggressive sensual beat led by a baritone fiddle and supported by guitar, electric harp, and drums. Alana was apparently caught unawares, freezing for a heartbeat before she started moving her hips.
Colin frowned. The unease he sensed from her clashed with the excitement and pride of earlier contestants. If she hadn’t wanted to strip onstage, why’d she sign up?
She looked over her audience, wide-eyed, her motions stiff. Stage fright, perhaps? Then she looked his way, and her high breasts rose visibly, her large jade-green eyes widening almost in entreaty.
Maybe all she needed was encouragement.
Taking a deep breath, Colin returned her gaze, imagining those long legs wrapped around his hips, squeezing him in her need, holding him close as he rode her to the heavens. A familiar fantasy after all these months, but his response to it remained unchanged. Heat shot through him, a blazing flame ardent enough to melt platinum. He sat back, allowing his desire to play across his face, showing her how much he wanted her.
Alana licked her lips, staring at him. She swayed in place, her muscles loosening, her nipples beading. Every move an invitation, like he’d fantasized over the past few months. Without looking away, she slowly ran her hands over her body, cupping her high breasts as though offering herself to him. She danced as if he were the only man in the room, so complete was her focus on him.
And damned if he didn’t buy into the fantasy, the wolf whistles from the other men fading into the background. Just you and me, darling.
Stroking his fingers over his tight fly, Colin urged her on with a nod. He was rewarded by a flare of desire from Alana and a lessening of her dread. He settled back, gliding his palm over his hard-on, savoring the sweet ache. Show me what you’ve got.
Almost as though she’d heard his thought, Alana played with the snaps of her blouse, turning away then back as if undecided. She peeked at him over her shoulder as she ran a hand up her thigh and under her skirt, flipping it up to tease him with a quick glimpse of a pale rounded cheek and leaving an impression of bareness.
Shaking his head, Colin gave her a slow grin at that bit of sauciness, his cock twitching in approval. Obviously, she was hitting her stride.
When Alana turned around, two of her snaps were undone, the edges of her blouse revealing then concealing a narrow triangle of skin as she undulated to the music. The game seemed to fan the flames of her excitement, which sent a burst of raw power roaring through Colin.
He could taste it in his mouth, a nutty flavor that would go well with cream—her cream, in particular. He licked his lips, anticipating that moment. Tonight, he’d finally have her for real.
She did a few slow turns, her hips swirling in erotic mimicry, her breasts raising sharp peaks beneath the thin satin. The hem of her blouse flapped as she danced, rising and dipping with her motions. Each turn revealed another snap undone, until a triangular slash of pale skin ran to her waistband, baring a trim belly.
Colin stared at the rippling muscles, wondering how it would feel to brush his lips over their smoothness. He intended to find out. Tonight, there was no stopping him.
With a knowing smile on her full lips, Alana flirted with him, drawing aside a thin lapel just far enough to hint at pink flesh before restoring her modesty. Staring at him, she snuck a hand under the emerald fabric. Her eyes shuttered as she fondled herself, her lips parting as she swayed to the music. From the way the satin bunched and flowed, he could tell she was tweaking her nipple; the kiss of power he felt confirmed it.
His fingers twitched, wanting that privilege for himself. He glared at her in silent demand. Take it off, damnit. He dug his fingers into the arms of his seat, tempted to rend the satin shrouding her body, needing to see what he’d fantasized about for so long.
Alana finally flung it off, flaunting her high breasts, her ruby-red nipples playing peekaboo, half-hidden by her low, strapless bra. She played with the tight peaks, her reckless delight skipping like sizzling beads over Colin’s senses.
She liked that, did she? He made a mental note to take his time teasing her nipples.
The bra apparently hindered her, since she doffed it soon after, then returned to her game. She stroked her body, drawing his gaze from her hard-tipped breasts, over her sculpted abdomen, down to her plaid-covered mound, her eyes closing as she gave herself over to sensation.
Colin hissed in a breath at the sensual picture she made. So natural in her hedonism. He wanted her exactly that way, on his bed, her dark hair spilled across his pillows, begging to be taken. Begging for him.
His cock jerked at the image, need blazing through him in a firestorm of lust. By the Son, he wanted her with an intensity that went bone-deep. He cupped his swollen shaft, copying the way Alana touched herself as she swung her hips, all carnal temptation wrapped in one slender form.
She released her skirt, allowing it to slide down. It caught at her high buttocks, as though reluctant to be parted from her, then slipped off as she rolled her hips. It left her standing in a minuscule excuse of a G-string that scarcely covered her pubes.
Staring, Colin swallowed with difficulty.
Bright Belanus, she was perfect. Just enough curves to save her from boyish coltishness and smooth out bony angles, but none of the plump voluptuousness or the pillowy cleavage a man could suffocate in.
While he watched, she traced the edge of the cloth, then up to the thin strap low over her hips. She turned around, flexing tight buttocks as she spread her cheeks and stroked the narrow fabric between them. A roar of encouragement nearly drowned out the drums when she made as if to take it off, her hand dipping the strap down, then pulling it up.
The music ended with Alana still undecided, her thumb hooked on the cord of her G-string. She blinked at the applause and renewed wolf whistles, a wave of color licking the alabaster slopes of her breasts up to her cheeks.
The noise came as a shock, snapping Colin out of their mutual fantasy world. He found he was relieved she hadn’t stripped completely. He wanted his first time to see her nude to be in private.
Trying not to gasp for breath, Alana tugged her bra into place, then closed the snaps of her blouse. Her heart still pounded from the crowd’s enthusiastic reception; not that it meant much, it being Samhain Night. There was so much sexual pheromone in the air that they’d probably applaud any woman who displayed even a little skin.
She twitched her skirt higher so it didn’t pinch her, patting her brooch to confirm it was still pinned on. Thank Flidais she hadn’t made a fool of herself onstage. If it hadn’t been for that man with the russet hair, who looked so much like her jeweler neighbor, Colin Sheridan, she might have frozen during her turn.
She vowed to herself that when this was over, she’d look for that man, maybe take him up on his silent offer. After all, she’d been intrigued by the yummy Colin, who lived across the street from her shop, but had ignored the attraction out of loyalty to that earthworm Bryce. Colin might not have indicated any special interest in her, but his rougher-looking double here most definitely had. The scorching looks he’d sent her had her so aware of her body she hadn’t dared strip completely lest she embarrass herself by revealing how wet he’d gotten
her.
She shunted away wistful thoughts of triggering a spontaneous orgy; as delightful as it sounded, she didn’t have time for that tonight. First, she had to catch her breath; then she had to move on.
Watching the next contestant onstage, she sipped tart pink punch to wet her parched throat, needing it after the long run through the woods and her performance. She blinked in admiration as the woman performed a salacious bump-and- grind, teasing the men at her feet with her heart-shaped fleece and a glimpse of pussy.
Wishing she could stay longer to pick up pointers, she eyed the corridor to the restrooms where—hopefully—there would be a service door she could sneak out through. She had to keep moving, to weave her psychic scent through the throngs so Bryce’s simulacra couldn’t find her.
2
The hairs on Alana’s arms stood on end. One of Bryce’s simulacra blocked the end of the narrow alley, unmoving, the ill-defined lines of its dark, loamy body unmistakable in the bright moonlight. It was alone, but that didn’t mean anything.
Somehow, despite all her efforts, they knew she was here.
Backing up gingerly, she closed the door and locked it. Leaning her forehead on it, she tried to think of a way through the problem instead of just reacting blindly. All her nebulous plans refused to gel. How could she fight a simulacrum when hitting it didn’t do any damage? She found herself circling back to her original solution: stay away from them.
Tiptoeing through the dark storeroom, Alana returned to the public area of the HardWood. She’d chosen it for its name, thinking it auspicious, but it didn’t hurt that the strip bar was one of the busier—and therefore more potent—establishments in the Pleasure Quarter. But now it looked like she might be trapped there.
That infectious sexual music playing over the speakers flowed into the corridor as she approached the dance floor, a siren song urging her body to move and sway, to let loose and forget all her worries. If only she could.
Crowds of cocky revelers toasted her fellow amateurs mingling on the floor, who in turn encouraged even greater liberties. This late in the night, more than one table hosted groups venerating life through the ultimate primal ritual.
