HeartsAflameCollectionV

by Melissa F. Hart

  Suddenly she could no longer contain herself. Mounting Therese in the sixty-nine position, Delylah ground her own dripping, aching pussy onto Therese’s mouth while devouring Therese’s tender meat with her own. Gripping Therese’s raised, quivering thighs, Delylah’s tongue probed, licked and penetrated Therese in time with Therese’s frantic tongue fucking. Feeling Therese’s hands clutch and spread her ass cheeks until her holes were stretched and opened to Therese’s tongue and fingers, Delylah could barely focus on filling Therese’s equally hungry holes.

  Writhing and swaying in unison, the women merged into one sweating body. Therese gasped for breath and impaled the dark, tight ring of Delylah’s asshole with three fingers, pumping and stretching while her mouth and fingers filled Delylah’s pussy. Delylah ground and wriggled herself deeply against the fingers that brushed against her womb, her own fingers busily working Therese’s juice-slicked holes.

  The phones continued to ring, and Darien continued to knock, but until Delylah felt the first aching spasms of her orgasm explode from her core and resonate throughout her body in a series of excruciating waves of pleasure, she neither saw nor heard anything else. Bucking furiously from her own impending orgasm, Therese cried out like a wounded animal and clutched Delylah so tightly that her nails dug into Delylah’s flesh.

  Eyes tightly shut, her body shuddering from release, Delylah moaned and collapsed on top of Therese. Hearts beating in frantic rhythm, they lay together until the heat of passion finally subsided into a mellow glow.

  “Oh … my God …” Therese murmured, finally rolling from beneath Delylah’s body.

  She lay on her side for a few moments before rising unsteadily to her feet. Drenched in sweat, her topknot in seductive disarray, she glanced at Delylah with a smile before gathering their discarded clothes.

  “Shall I tell everyone you're in the shower?” she asked with a smile. “A very long shower?”

  Delylah rolled onto her back and gazed up at Therese, her eyes feasting on the perfection of Therese’s body. Though they had shared many men and women between them, no one compared with Therese both on a physical and metal level, and the love Delylah felt for her was beyond any emotion she had ever experienced with another person.

  “I think we both need one,” she said, rising to her feet. “Why don't we take one together? You can scrub that sweet spot I never seem to be able to reach.”

  “I can do that,” Therese teased, “just depends on what you want me to scrub with.”

  She laughed and kissed Delylah. Delylah savored the taste of her own juice on Therese’s lips and felt herself becoming aroused again, but the next course on the menu would have to wait until later. She preferred to savor Therese as she would a box of the finest chocolate, allowing each piece to slowly melt in her mouth rather than devour it in a single bite.

  “She’s in the shower, Darien,” Therese said as she approached the door completely at ease with her nakedness. “I’ll call you when she’s ready.”

  “Tell her to check her phone,” Darien said without missing a beat. “It’s important. I’ll let everyone know she’s busy right now.”

  Delylah glanced at Therese. The three of them had a long history together, and Darien knew the routine by now. They had shared each other often enough after a performance, but tonight he was all business, and the air of formality in his voice intrigued Delylah. Retrieving her phone among the clutter of her dressing table, she quickly scanned through the glut of waiting messages. When she reached the last one marked urgent, her attention was instantly snared by several candid images of herself on stage.

  Throughout her career there had been no shortage of images until at times Delylah actually wearied of seeing herself everywhere. Magazines, media, Internet … the frenzy of interest and curiosity about her and her life was a microscopic examination that would have driven a weaker or less disciplined artist insane. She normally would have had no particular or pressing interest in yet another set of photos from any source, but something about these were different.

  Even as she scrolled through the images again, she didn’t quite understand why they affected her so much. They were not so much photographic representations of her but glimpses into her soul, something the camera rarely caught in her mostly posed and or orchestrated photo shoots. But it was the last image that stunned her the most … her expression, the emotion in her eyes completely capturing the feelings she had experienced during her on-stage encounter with the blue-eyed man. A gasp rose in her throat, as though he had peeked into her heart and captured it the moment he raised the camera and taken the picture.

  Delylah stared at the photo as if seeing herself for the first time, her expression, the look in her eyes frozen in time. She felt the warm embrace of Therese’s arms and leaned against her.

  “You okay, Lylah?” Therese whispered as she trailed her lips along Delylah’s neck. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “Maybe I have,” Delylah whispered.

  She gazed at the brief message accompanying the photos. James Branagh … the name was familiar, and after a moment, she realized why. One of the most renowned photographers in the world, James Branagh was a legend, an iconic figure who had immortalized the world’s most influential people. She had seen and admired his work, but she had not connected the beautiful man standing in the audience to the legendary name.

  “James Branagh,” Delylah said. “He was at the show tonight. I saw him near the stage.”

  Therese peered curiously over Delylah’s shoulder and stared at the photo. “My God, that’s amazing,” she said, taking the phone and inspecting the image more closely. “You look like you’re in a completely different place.” Her eyes fell on the brief message below the photo. “I had no idea James Branagh was here.”

  “Neither did I,” Delylah said. “Darien never mentioned anything about any VIPs attending.”

  “Well, it seems James is very interested in meeting you,” Therese said. “Shall I call Darien and ask if he’s still around? He obviously came to see you.”

  Delylah envisioned James framing her as though his eyes were the camera. The physical jolt of his gaze still resonated throughout her body, and she realized she wanted to see him again … badly.

  “He really did make an impact on you, didn’t he?” Therese asked with a bemused expression. “It’s been a while since a man’s put that look on your face.”

  Delylah smiled and turned to kiss Therese. “You’re going to think I’ve lost it, but honestly, I don’t even know how I noticed him in the crowd. After a while, it’s nothing but an ocean of faces blurring into each other, but suddenly he was there near the stage looking at me not as a fan but as …”

  “As a man?” Therese finished. “That would be a refreshing change.” She looked at Delylah and speed dialed Darien’s number. He picked up after the second ring. “Hey D,” she said, using Darien’s initial as his nickname. “What’s the deal with Branagh?”

  “Nobody knew he was here until security alerted me that he was in the audience and wanted to talk to me,” Darien said. “We had a brief meeting a few minutes ago.”

  Therese nodded knowingly. “What specifically does he want?”

  “He’s interested in doing a series of photos of Delylah,” Darien said, “but not your typical photo shoot. He interested in portraying the life of an artist in a candid series of shots.”

  “Send him over,” Delylah said. “Interestingly enough, I noticed him in the audience, but I didn’t recognize him. When the show finished he was gone.”

  “You apparently made quite an impression on him,” Darien said. “Anyway, I’ll have one of the guards escort him to your suite in an hour if you need some time.”

  “No other visitors,” Delylah said. “I’m feeling a little tired tonight and just want to kick back.”

  “You got it,” Darien said, and hung up.

  Therese took Delylah by the hand and led her to the luxurious bathroom. She paused to turn on the
multiple massaging jets in the huge marble shower and waited until wafts of steam circulated around the etched-glass walls. Hand in hand, they stepped beneath warm pulsing jets of water and simply held each other against the relaxing flow. Therese turned Delylah around and began to knead the knotted muscles of her shoulders.

  Delylah sighed and sagged against Therese, the tension slowly releasing with the skillful ministrations of Therese’s fingers. Though Delylah kept herself in top physical condition, her grueling schedule often left her exhausted, and she realized she would have to take a break soon. Her work, her music, was her passion, but she was still a flesh and blood woman and sometimes peace and quiet was all she yearned for.

  Her eyes grew heavy as Therese reached for a built-in wall dispenser and pumped a generous handful of richly scented lemon geranium foaming oil into her hands and sensuously massaged it onto Delylah’s body.

  “That feels wonderful,” Delylah murmured, her flesh feeling like melted taffy.

  Therese laughed softly. “Don’t go falling asleep on me,” she said. “At least, not yet. I need you in a standing position, and we certainly don’t want to disappoint Mr. Branagh.”

  Delylah reached out to support herself against the gleaming cream and chocolate marble wall. Slowly, her eyes closed. Embraced by the swirls of fragrant steam and massaged by the pulsing water and Therese’s loving hands, her body surrendered while her mind began to drift beyond the years behind sweltering stage lights, inside limousines and mobbed by crowds no matter where she was or what she tried to do.

  Her life was her own, her success forged through years of hard work and a gift borne beyond ordinary talent, yet it was a life that also belonged to so many others who had walked with her on the path to success. She was proud of who Delylah Fayre was, and even though much of that persona belonged to the rarified atmosphere of the stage, deep beneath her seductively glamorous exterior, a young woman with a dream still existed, and still remembered.

  ***

  Six years earlier …

  The night was so stifling Lylah could barely catch her breath as she followed Darien through the lush fields bordering the woods. Humidity veiled the trees like the sticky juice clinging to her aching thighs, the heavy air swirling like a spectral fog. A full moon that seemed to swallow the sky cast the wildflowers in magical quicksilver light, and even at night their resonant perfume lingered. Crickets sang a raucous chorus, the shrill sound almost grating on Lylah’s ears.

  Sweat beaded her full breasts, the sensation of their weight bobbing from her skimpy unbuttoned blouse as arousing as the feel of Darien’s hot mouth sucking and nibbling on her engorged chocolate-brown nipples. They still stung from the pressure of his teeth, but not as much as her painfully swollen pussy after he had violently tongue fucked her in the backseat of his car. Her clit throbbed against her cum-soaked panties, and the only reason she still wore the lacy thong was to keep her wetness from soaking her short flowered skirt that more than emphasized her shapely legs and voluptuous ass.

  The windows of the vintage Barracuda had steamed up, the leather upholstery slick with sweat as they writhed together like a pair of catfish squirming on a fishing hook. Lylah had felt the huge bulge of Darien’s cock straining against his jeans, but as many times as she struggled to unzip them and release his throbbing meat, he continued to slap her hands away.

  “Got a surprise for you,” was all he would say before his mouth and fingers brought her screaming and bucking to the point where the car became a four-wheel trampoline and the shocks thoroughly tested.

  Darien had hiked her skirt over her hips and, tossing aside the lacy wisp of her thong, had used his mouth and fingers in ways Lylah had never imagined, even though she had pleasured herself in many innovative ways when her family wasn’t home. She had always been highly sexual, and while she had glimpsed the same traits in her younger twin brothers, her somewhat conservative parents tended to keep all things sexual behind closed doors.

  But Lylah’s open sexuality was not to be confined by the notions of narrow minds or hushed conversations, and there was something about Darien that brought her true nature like a field of ripening corn … she was firm, succulent and ready to be plucked from the stalk. She had screamed until her voice went hoarse when she came explosively in the back seat, her flesh burning for more of Darien, but he had simply laughed and pulled her from the car before leading her into the muggy night.

  “How much further are we going?” she asked. “I need your cock and then I need a cold shower. Why do you keep me waiting like this?”

  Darien laughed, his deep voice like rich black coffee. Merging into the darkness, he was too beautiful to look at, his chiseled features resembling more the image of an ancient Egyptian deity than a man. A singer with a voice to rival the gods, music was his life, and when he had discovered Lylah singing in a church choir almost four months earlier, he had pursued her with the hell-bent determination to transform her from the college freshman uncertain about her future to a potential star.

  The relationship was a rare merging of both mind and body, ambition and art. Darien was thirty, she was eighteen. Her parents were concerned. Boyfriends were one thing, but a grown man in Lylah’s life was a challenge, almost a threat. But four years of studying for a life chained behind a desk was never Lylah’s dream and more than anything, the music she heard in her heart was what she wanted to vocalize to the world.

  She had tried so many times to talk to her parents, to convince them that her dream was a legitimate ambition. Her brothers were more than supportive, they actually wanted to be a part of her career, but Marcus and Michael were in high school and too young to do much more beyond backing their sister.

  Lylah’s parents had listened, but they had not truly understood. They were traditionalists, believers in the practical rather than the magical. While they understood that their daughter possessed a unique talent, the ability to envision that she was capable of greatness, of ascending far beyond the nine-to-five lives that shackled them as well as everyone they knew, was a concept simply beyond them.

  Discouraged by their lack of belief, Lylah stopped trying, and Darien eventually led her away like the Pied Piper.

  Now, glancing at Darien walking ahead of her, she understood that his promises had not been empty at all, and when he had taken her to the recording studio of a friend to do a demo, Lylah knew the moment her lips almost brushed the microphone that something very special was about to happen. When the music started, she didn’t even need to think about the words or what she would do. Her body moved in instantaneous rhythm, her voice bleeding the emotion from her heart and soul. It didn’t matter which song Darien chose. Up-tempo or slow, modern or old school, Lylah’s voice transcended the physical presence of her body.

  She still remembered the look on Darien’s face, as well as the technicians. It was as though they had witnessed a religious vision, their awestruck expressions a testament to the power of Lylah’s voice. Darien had wasted no time in calling his contacts. Meetings were arranged within minutes, a contract emailed, and dates for a private venue set. Lylah had watched and listened with giddy excitement, the adrenaline pumping through her body. The floor seemed to lurch beneath her feet, and she felt that time itself had shifted and had launched her into a completely different direction.

  When Lylah brought home a demo CD later that night, she had expected her family to be delighted. Darien had dropped her off, preferring Lylah to deal with her parents on her own terms. She had entered the house buzzing with excitement, and had eagerly loaded the CD into the player for everyone to listen to. Anxiously she watched her parents, for surely when they heard her voice they would understand the talent that their only daughter possessed, and her potential to reach the stars. But while Marcus and Michael were excited and ran around the house high-fiving and calling all their friends, Lylah’s parents were guarded and subdued.

  No matter how had she tried to get them to listen, they simply couldn’t hear the musi
c. Though they listened to her soaring voice, the passion behind each note, each word, eluded them. Stardom and success were unrealistic concepts relegated to a privileged few, not for a small town girl who had worked hard to earn a university scholarship. Rooted in a work ethic that didn’t allow space for dreams, they could not share her excitement.

  Lylah tried her best to swallow her disappointment, but that night, something inexorably changed. Two weeks later, she moved in with Darien and never looked back. While she still kept in touch with her brothers, she felt a sense of closure to this chapter of her life. Now, as she felt the firm grip of Darien’s hand pulling her along to a faintly glowing area beyond the tree line, it seemed like her life had really begun that fateful day she had glimpsed Darien sitting in the congregation like a courier sent to pick up a very unique package.

  As if sensing her thoughts, Darien stopped and turned to look at her. He grinned, his perfect teeth gleaming in the darkness.

  “You ready for your surprise?” he asked, gripping her hand.

  Lylah’s gaze drifted toward the diffused light shifting from the trees. “You know how I love surprises.”

  Darien pulled her toward the light, which transformed into the flickering glow of lanterns. Hushed whispers and laughter punctuated the relentless serenade of the crickets and, following Darien further into the shadows, Lylah almost missed the sweating, naked bodies writhing in primal rhythm on the blanket-strewn ground like a human snake’s nest. Hearing the discordant chorus of cries, moans and panting, she stopped to stare with a mixture of fascination and arousal.

  While she had indulged in vigorous sexual fantasies, Lylah had never ventured into the area of group sex beyond images of threesomes or double penetration. As Darien drew her closer to the entwined bodies, she noticed some were black, others white, Asian or mixed-blood. It was actually difficult to clearly distinguish where one body started and another ended. The women were passed from cock to cock, each one eagerly filling a pussy, an ass or a gaping mouth. What a cock could not satisfy, a glut of hands and mouths did. Muscle slapped against muscle, tongues and fingers explored damp, flushed flesh.