by Megan Hart
Moonlight Madness
Megan Hart
Smashwords Edition.
~~**~~
Copyright 2010 Megan Hart
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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Moonlight Madness
“One night only!” the sign screamed. The letters, so dark a red they looked almost black, glistened in the light of the full moon. “Moonlight Madness! Prices Slashed!”
Rhea paused. The alley was silent, except for the faint sound of water dripping from the fire escape onto cracked and dirty pavement. She’d only meant to duck through here quickly on her way to the nightclub, but the promise of a bargain beckoned her.
She shrugged, looking around. The night was young. Nobody was waiting for her at the club anyway. Nobody was ever waiting for her.
She ducked into the shop, pushing back the hood of her faded black raincoat and lifting her hair free of the collar. It was humid inside the small store, and she felt her hair begin to instantly frizz. Great.
An odd smell hung in the air. Somehow familiar, yet she couldn’t quite think of what it was. For some reason it made her think of summers at her grandfather’s Golden Retriever kennel.
“May I help you?” A voice came from the shadows behind the low counter along the shop’s narrow side wall.
Rhea jumped, not really startled and annoyed to find herself acting like she was. “I saw your sign,” she said, rather lamely and instantly embarrassed. Not that I have any reason to be, she told herself sternly. The clerk didn’t know her from a hole in the ground.
“Ah.”
Now, for the first time, Rhea looked around the shop’s crowded interior. Clothing racks packed it from end to end, all hung with coats of every kind of fur imaginable. That was the smell, she realized, wrinkling her nose while looking around in utter amazement. Not a bad smell. More like wet dog than anything else.
And no wonder, since it had been raining for nearly a week without pause. Everything had been damp for days, and the humidity was terrible. Other than the smell, the moisture in the air didn’t seem to be affecting the garments in this store. She reached one hand out to stroke the soft fur of the coat nearest her. It looked like mink.
“A lovely choice,” the voice behind the counter said, its owner still in shadow.
“You’re having a sale?” She let the sleek fur drop. Stuff like this you found in Macy’s or Bloomingdale’s, not some dumpy shop in an alley. Well, this wouldn’t be the first time she’d seen things that had “fallen” off the back of a truck. “What’s the occasion?”
“Full moon,” the clerk said. “Have to move out the inventory.”
Rhea strained her eyes to see the owner of the voice, but could only make out the vaguest of forms. “Your sign said prices slashed.”
“Yes,” the clerk replied. “For the right customer.”
“And am I the right customer?” The coquettish tone of her voice irritated her. Where had that come from? Rhea had long ago learned no matter how many times she fluttered her eyelashes or shoved out her chest, she was no bombshell.
A low, dark chuckle that made the fine hairs on the back of her neck stand on end curled out of the dark. “Perhaps. Step into the light.”
She took two steps forward before angrily catching herself. The clerk was still shielded in darkness, but now Rhea stood in what seemed to be a theater-strength spotlight. The brightness made her squint her eyes shut in protest, and made the clerk’s dim form nearly impossible to make out.
“Look, buddy,” Rhea said, perturbed to hear an edge of near-hysteria in her voice. “I don’t know what you think you’re trying to do….”
“Skinny,” the clerk hissed. There came a sharp noise, like long nails tapping speculatively on the counter top. “Frizzy hair. Freckles. Some would call them the Devil’s Spittle. Men don’t flock around you much.”
Rhea flinched, throwing up one hand to cover her eyes against the brightness. She knew she was no beauty queen, but this frank appraisal of her physical appearance was like a slap. Surprisingly and infuriatingly, she felt hot tears spring into her eyes.
“Who…who the hell do you think you are?” she quavered.
“Hell, indeed,” the clerk’s low voice rumbled, and she swore he laughed.
Rhea’d had enough. No fur coat, no matter how luxurious and no matter how cheap, was worth this sort of freak stuff. First the deserted shop, and next the creepy clerk making her feel ugly. She had a nightclub to get to, and even though she knew she would probably spend the night dancing alone, at least it was better than this.
“Wait,” the clerk said, and she saw his dim form move from behind the counter. “I have just the coat for you.”
“I don’t want it,” Rhea retorted, lifting her chin.
“Yes, you do.”
He moved out from behind the counter, and despite herself Rhea drew in her breath. He was magnificent, moving with a fluid grace unusual in such a powerfully built man. His dark hair was shoulder-length and shot through with gray. His eyes were a piercing, feral black. And his mouth, she marveled, was a slash of red the color of strawberries. He was the handsomest man she had ever seen, even though his over-thick eyebrows met above the sharpness of his nose, and the shadow on his cheeks was several hours past five o’clock.
He motioned to her with a smile that showed the whiteness of his teeth. “Come. Back here.”
She followed him silently, weaving through the racks of fur that brushed her on every side. As they neared the back of the shop, Rhea cast a nervous glance over one shoulder. The guy, handsome though he might be, was weird. And they were alone. And nobody knew she was here.
“Ah,” the clerk said, stopping finally at the back wall. “Here. Perfect.”
Though the wall had been hung with enough hooks to hang a dozen coats, only one garment adorned the plaster. Rhea took a long, slow breath. She’d never imagined a coat like that.
The coat was fashioned from what appeared to be the entire pelt of the largest wolf she had ever seen. The fur was thick and shaggy, coarse yet with a luxurious sheen that made her want to run her fingers through it. Black, shot through with gray, just like the clerk’s hair. The wolf’s head formed the hood, so when the wearer pulled it up, the jaw would frame her face. Crimson satin lined the inside.
“It’s gorgeous,” Rhea said, moving forward to touch it.
“It’s yours,” the clerk said. Again, he flashed his teeth at her.
She shook her head, pulling away reluctantly. “I couldn’t possibly afford anything like that. It must cost a fortune.”
He named a price that made her laugh out loud.
“You’re joking, right?” she asked bitterly. She knew about jokes, all right. She’d had them played on her many times, mostly by frat boys or businessmen who bet each other on who could find the homeliest girl and trick her into thinking she was something. Oh, yeah, she knew all about jokes.
“I never joke about my coats,” the clerk said. He took the coat down from its hanger and held it out to her. “Try it on.”
Though on the wall it had looked far too large, Rhea found the coat a perfect fit. The crimson satin caressed her bare arms. She twirled in front of the mirror, trying to see herself from every angle.
“It’s like it was made for me,” she whispered, enthralled by the sight of herself.
“Perhaps it was,” the man said, and pulled the hood up around her face.
The fur framed her skin, blending with the fall of her hair and making it seem less frizzy, less flyaway. The snout peeped over her forehead like some kind of ornament, an exotic adornment that should have looked like something out of a tacky horror film…but somehow, didn’t.
“You look like a queen.” The clerk stroked the fur.
“No,” she said, though she really meant yes.
“And how does it make you feel?”
Rhea’s lips parted, but she couldn’t speak, really. Watching her reflection, she saw herself. But not herself. A woman in a fabulous fur coat, with a handsome man behind her. She couldn’t pull her gaze away from the sight.
“Lovely,” the clerk whispered, his dark eyes catching hers in the mirror.
He ran his hands down her fur-covered sides, ruffling the coat. Then he slid his hands around the front of her, parting the heavy material to expose her dress beneath. I ought to stop him, she thought, idly, as his hand found the material of her skirt and began to inch it up past her thighs. All she could do was watch.
His other hand cupped her breast, thumbing the nipple until it stood upright, clearly visible through the thin cloth of her dress. She wore no bra. He pinched the taut button. She moaned.
“Does that make you wet?”
She nodded, speechless, knees weak. The clerk smiled, baring teeth that seemed too white. Too sharp. Like the teeth of the creature that had given its life for this coat.
The next moment, she felt just how sharp those teeth were on the side of her neck. The clerk pushed the hood out of the way with his face and nibbled the soft skin at the curve of her shoulder. Her nipples had been erect before, but now they could have cut glass. Stone. Steel.
She would have gasped, had she been able to breathe. As it was, her breath burned in her throat. The hand on her breast continued to tease and taunt her nipple, while his other hand inched her dress up to expose the lace triangle of her panties. She wore no hose, preferring bare legs for dancing.
His fingers traced lazy circles on her clit through the lace. If he hadn’t been holding her, she’d have fallen for sure. Rhea watched, mesmerized, as he found just the right rhythm to get her going, without effort, without hesitation.
“You….” She spoke like she had a mouthful of syrup, every word liquid and oozing. A protest? It should have been, but wasn’t. More like an assent.
“Hush,” said the clerk, his finger circling, circling. “Watch and see what they will see tonight when they look at you wearing this coat.”
And she did—she saw a woman everyone would turn their heads to watch pass by. Skin like cream, hair like flames, every freckle a beauty mark. Breasts like melons, taut cherry nipples, belly a sloping, curving, rounded plane that invited worship. Her sex, a treasure to be sought.
His teeth dimpled the flesh of her neck, but didn’t break the skin. Surface tension, a water droplet hanging on the edge of the faucet, stretching, ready to drop…that was how she felt watching him almost, but not quite, draw blood; almost, but not quite, slip his finger inside her panties and finger her erect clit.
“Women will want to be you. Men will want to fuck you.” He breathed the words into her skin, tasting her with every word, his tongue hot and wet against her. “Or perhaps the other way ’round, no? Now tell me how badly you want this coat.”
“I want it.”
His finger stroked, stroked her clit through the panties. Her hips moved as her head lolled back, her eyes glazing but not closing. She couldn’t close them. She had to watch. Tension coiled in the pit of her belly. She licked her lips, watched, fascinated, as her tongue made her lips glisten.
“And what price would you pay for a coat this exquisite?”
He wasn’t talking about money any longer. Rhea parted her thighs wider, leaning back against him. His finger moved, around and around, and every part of her became focused on that one small spot between her legs.
“If you want to get laid—”
“I don’t.” He grinned, feral and wild. Frightening.
His gaze locked on hers. His hand moved faster between her legs. Sensation whirled through her, pulling her tighter and tighter. Heat flooded her pussy as his strokes brought her to the edge.
“What do you want?” The words leaked out of her, a breathe/sigh/moan that might have embarrassed her under other circumstances.
“Nothing but this.” He pinched her nipple, sending shudders through her. He tweaked her clit, making it throb. “To feel your pleasure.”
“With nothing for you?”
He grinned, fingers stilling for a moment before starting to tap-tap against her button. The pressure/pause sensation stole her breath. Made her come, hard, within moments. She stumbled forward as he released her. The coat fell closed, covering her. Her orgasm washed through her, over her and around, and she closed her eyes against the sweetness of the pleasure.
“Now,” said the clerk. “About the money.”
Twenty minutes later, Rhea and the coat were on their way to the nightclub. Giddily, she hugged it around her, unbelieving. The man must’ve been crazy, she thought. Selling the coat to her for a price like that. Well, his loss and her gain. It must have really been midnight madness after all.
The bouncer took one look at her and the coat, and let her right in. Rhea, accustomed to waiting in line for hours, didn’t question the man as he waved her through the doors. She wasn’t about to tempt fate.
Inside, she was blasted with a wave of icy air that made her nipples peak against the thin cloth of her dress. Of course, after dancing for an hour or so, she’d be glad of the air conditioning that kept the humidity from kinking her hair and making her sweat. Right now, though, she was grateful for the wolf coat’s heavy warmth.
There was a room, a closet really, where you could check your coat for a buck or two. Rhea glanced at it, but hesitated. Her old black raincoat had been worn and shabby enough to trust to the dubious safety of the coat room. This wolf coat was something different entirely. Though she had spent less to own it than she would to buy drinks tonight, the coat’s value was priceless. She could not leave it in the care of the sallow-skinned, shifty-eyed clerk, who might be tempted let it go to someone else with more than a dollar to spend for its retrieval.
“Hey.”
Rhea turned. The blond man towering over her was impeccably dressed and groomed, and smelled strongly of cologne. He smiled, his teeth glinting extra white in the blacklight accenting the nightclub’s ceiling. He was handsome she had time to realize, before he had taken her hand.
“Dance with me.”
“My…my coat,” she began, already cursing her stumbling tongue. A hot flush crept over her chest and throat, and she blessed the dim lighting which obscured her embarrassment from his view.
“Leave it on,” the Adonis before her said. “I like it.”
Apparently every man at the club that night liked it, too. Rhea found herself passed from one gorgeous man to the next in dazed disbelief. They wanted her. Never had the snide looks of other women seemed so sweet, for now they stemmed from jealousy and not disdain. It was Rhea who was belle of the ball, Rhea who bumped and ground with one or several men at a time, and Rhea whose drinks were always fresh, always cold and always free.
Through it all she wore the coat, expecting to be overcome with heat. There was heat, all right, but it came from the men pressing their lean, muscled bodies against her, not the weight of the fur. The crimson satin was cool and smooth against her skin, the fur soft and coarse at the same time.
