by Dawn Steele
When the appointed time came, she went down eagerly. Taran’s driver was waiting for her in a black Rolls Royce. How many cars did Taran have? It occurred to her that she had never been to Taran’s house before. She would have to conceal her amazement at everything.
“Good evening, Miss,” the driver said.
“Good evening.” She didn’t know his name.
The driver’s eyes met hers in the central mirror. She felt a prickle of unease.
He knows I don’t belong here.
They drove off.
*
Taran lived out in the country, apparently. Well, not too far out from London, but far enough to be surrounded by a lot of trees, green and yellow meadows, and wildflowers growing on the roadside. Kendra wondered how many houses he had. Well, this was certainly not the time to ask.
The car drew into an old English estate. Kendra quietly marveled at the well-manicured gardens, as astounding as any palace garden she had glimpsed on the Internet before, and the gracious mansion in the center. It was done in some style she didn’t know the name of but which was probably as old as Queen Elizabeth I, or someone in that era.
“Takes your breath away, doesn’t it?” the driver whose name she didn’t know said.
“It always does.”
Do you live here as well? she wanted to know.
The driver dropped her off at the front doors.
“Have a splendid evening, Miss.”
“Thank you and good night.” She hoped her extra politeness would compensate for her not addressing him by name.
Kendra stepped out of the car, feeling nervous. She wondered if she should ring the doorbell.
Before she could knock, however, the double doors opened. Taran stood on the other side. His hair was slightly disheveled, and he had a spot of flour on his nose. He wasn’t wearing his glasses, and his shirt was open at the neck.
His beautiful blue-green eyes appraised her.
“Vi, you’re early.”
“You look different.”
He leaned over to kiss her on the mouth. She was surprised, but she didn’t protest. His soft lips tasted of chocolate and coffee.
“But I’m still me, I hope,” he said. “And you look beautiful.”
His eyes blazed as he took her whole body in. A delicious shiver crept through her. Taran wasn’t behaving like, well, Taran. He seemed more purposeful tonight. More forceful. More like Ronnie.
She was excited, and yet she wasn’t sure if she really liked it. But if that was what it took to get him and Violet back on track, then she could play along with it.
“Those are the earrings I gave you for Christmas.” He touched the right one gently.
“I love them, thanks.”
“I made dinner. I gave Alfred the night off.”
“That’s wonderful.”
“Not really. Wait till you taste my lasagna.”
“You made lasagna from scratch?” Kendra was impressed. She had heard of lasagna but never actually tasted it.
“I bought the lasagna sheets. Come on in.”
Kendra masked her face as she stepped into the dream house. In contrast to the outside, Taran’s décor was completely modern. The furniture was very masculine – all black leather against a contrast of white walls and glass. Everything gleamed.
Make no comment.
She followed Taran to the dining room. Again, a dazzle of modern design. The table could seat twelve but was set for two.
Taran drew a chair for her. “Please, have a seat. I’ll bring out the lasagna.”
She sat, charmed by the folded red napkins and carefully arranged plates and cutlery.
Taran reappeared with oven mitts and a covered dish. He set it on the table between the arranged table settings. He opened the cover, and a delicious aroma of cooked meat and cheese wafted out.
“It smells really good,” Kendra said eagerly.
Taran smiled. “Tuck in.”
“Where are your glasses?” She liked his glasses. They made his pretty young face look really distinguished.
“In the kitchen. I took them off to cook because they were getting steamed up.”
He looked very good without them too. Good, but different. Almost like he was someone else entirely.
They ate. He spoke about his day at work. Which reminded her. Work! Didn’t she have some online shoe company? She had no idea how to manage that.
“It will manage itself for a month,” Violet had told her. “But you might want to check in on the portal every three days.”
Kendra hadn’t checked in on any portal. She had been too busy exploring Violet’s apartment and trying to cook with all the gleaming pots and pans in the kitchen. Then she had been too busy exploring London as a gawking tourist.
“The lasagna is delicious,” she said to Taran.
“Thank you. I’m always happy to serve.”
“But why, Taran?”
“Hmmm?” He looked up quizzically.
“Why are you always happy to serve?” She hoped she wasn’t revealing anything by asking this. “You’re young, handsome, brilliant, rich. It seems that the world should be serving you, not the other way around.”
“Ah, but I’m a gentleman. A gentleman is always happy to serve, whether it’s opening the door, picking up the bill, or calling a taxi for a lady.”
Kendra was charmed. “And what else does a gentleman do?”
Taran warmed up to this. His eyes twinkled. “A gentleman never talks about his conquests, private matters or business dealings. A gentleman is always impeccably dressed in public. A gentleman never reacts to rudeness. He pretends he doesn’t recognize it and moves on like it never happened, because it never should have. A gentleman keeps his attention focused on others and makes them feel like the most interesting person he’s ever met, whether that’s true or not.”
Kendra had never heard any of this before. If that were true, she liked these ‘gentleman’ traits more and more.
“Is that why you always move under the radar?” she asked.
“I try to. Not always, especially when I have to champion causes like the Shipshank werewolves or speak in front of my board of directors to announce the company profits. But otherwise, I try to.”
“While always being impeccably dressed, of course.”
“Of course.” His smile was mischievous. “But I would have you know that I’m no gentleman tonight.”
“Why is that?”
“Because I’m going to do this.” His hand suddenly snaked under the table to grip her thigh.
Her heart leaped. She liked him gentle, but she had to admit this sudden change of tack from him was exciting. His hand caressed her thigh under the soft fabric of her skirt. His eyes burned into hers.
She slowly put her hand over his. She licked her lower lip. His movements were sensual, very seductive.
He abruptly stood up – another sudden movement that jolted her. She looked up at his determined face.
He closed the distance between them swiftly. He bent down to lift her whole body up in his arms.
“Ooooh!” she squealed. She hadn’t expected this from Taran, but she didn’t protest either. She was quite heavy, and she hadn’t expected him to carry her so comfortably.
He carried her out of the dining room, leaving their plates and remnants of lasagna behind. Kendra was too caught up with the moment to remember why exactly she was doing this. Taran carried her upstairs, all the while maintaining intense eye contact with her.
Why am I doing this again?
Violet.
Yes.
But would she like me sleeping with her boyfriend?
All her misgivings were swept aside as Taran reached the top of the stairs. She barely registered the surroundings – more chrome and glass and abstract art. He carried her to what she assumed was his bedroom. It was once again tasteful, masculine, and surrounded by paintings.
She caught sight of some of these paintings. There were some extremely s
urreal scenes in them. He noted her looking at one of an obelisk and myriad other details.
“You’ve always liked the Dali,” he said as he flung her on the bed.
The mattress was firm and pliant. Being from poor circumstances, she noticed things like this because she had never had a really good mattress to sleep upon in her life. Then he stood before her limp body, his eyes still burning like a furnace. He started to unbutton his shirt.
He’s so beautiful, she marveled.
Taran’s body was supple and firm. He was smaller, more compact than Ronnie. His muscles were defined, and he did not have an ounce of spare fat on his torso. His chest had a slight trail of hair in the middle, which vanished in a trail down his midline. His abdomen was hard and sculptured. Kendra got the sense that Taran went to the gym – but not to build his body, merely to keep fit.
He unzipped his pants. She contrasted this to the slow seduction by her engineer before this, a lifetime ago. Her engineer had been barrel-chested with a lot of grey and silver hair on his chest.
Taran let his well-tailored pants drop. He wore a pair of white briefs underneath, and he stripped that off as well. His erect cock sprang up.
She stared at his cock. She had seen many cocks before – all belonging to werewolf males who were never shy about their state of undress. Taran was alarmingly well endowed, even for werewolf standards. His cock was thick and long. It was also circumcised – a fact that rendered its crown shiny and almost bursting in its tumescence.
He got on the bed, straddling her between her legs.
“I’m going to take you right here, like this.” His voice was husky.
She was spellbound as he hiked the skirt of her dress up. It was a flouncy number with a skirt that fluttered and danced with her every movement. He ripped off her panties. He tore nothing, being forceful and careful at the same time. Then he bunched her dress at her midriff and parted her thighs.
“I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” he said.
He pushed between her legs.
“Ohhh!” she cried out as his penis speared her.
She hadn’t had sex in a long time, so the pain was instantaneous. Yet once he was in, it was blissful. He stretched and filled her. His body bore down on hers – him fully naked, and her naked only from the navel downwards.
His eyes held hers.
“Look at me,” he whispered.
She did. She couldn’t take her eyes off his face. Down there, his hips bucked and pumped. His cock slid in and out of her length, nourished by her outpouring juices.
There was so much love in his face . . . and knowledge. He fucked her and fucked her, and she raised her hips to match his speed and force. He seemed to be fucking all his pent up frustration about their relationship out of him.
She felt his cock slamming against her cervix, expanding her walls, rubbing against a spot to the north of her vaginal passage that she never knew existed before. He stimulated her nerve bundle there so much that she was caught in the frenzy of it all.
She clung to his shoulders as the thunder and clouds swept her up. The explosion began in her secret nerve bundle, the one she had just discovered. The torrent cascaded through her entire groin, sweeping upward to slam against her ribcage and spine, and further upward. Up, up, up into her swirling head.
I’m fucking someone else’s boyfriend.
There was no recourse for her. She was guilty for wanting this, and no excuse was going to get her out of this mess.
She pictured Violet three weeks from now: “I thought I told you to ask him for space! How could you do this to me? How could you fuck him?”
“But I didn’t. He threw me on the bed and fucked me!”
“And did you resist? Did you go out of your way to avoid this?”
Uh, no.
“But I thought I was doing it for you. I wanted to mend you both!”
“Save the excuses.” Violet’s eyes were very stormy. “Face it. You want my boyfriend for yourself. There I was, trying to save your community, and you fucked my boyfriend!”
Even as her climax brought her to the brink of insane pleasure, Kendra groaned out loud. Not because of the surfeit of pleasure – which was sublime, thank you – but because she knew that she was guilty for wanting this every bit as much as Taran did. There was nothing altruistic in what she was doing. She went after Taran, knowing every bit of what would happen. And she relished it.
There.
She had always known she was a bad person.
But how could she prevent herself from wanting Taran, who was everything she had ever wanted in a man?
He lowered his mouth to hers to capture her gasps and cries of pleasure. Then she felt his body shudder against hers. A heave went right through him as he thrust one final time into her. She felt his cock spurt his hot, life-giving seed into her.
She clung to him.
“Taran.”
Tears stung her eyes. She knew she had fallen for this man. She wasn’t sorry she had fallen for him, only that it was so complicated and that such things would not end well.
He let his seed stream into her. His face was flushed and very beautiful. Then he pulled out, panting.
He rolled over to stare at the ceiling.
Complex emotions roiled within her as all sorts of thoughts raced through her mind.
Taran placed his head on one elbow and turned to gaze at her. Her skirt was still hiked up to her midriff. Her inner thighs were stained with her juices and his semen.
“That was hot,” he said.
“Yes, it was,” she agreed.
His eyes held a mixture of sadness and curiosity. It was a strange expression, and she had never seen it before on anyone’s face.
Then he said abruptly, “Who are you, and what have you done with Violet?”
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