His hands dropping to her breasts, he rubbed her nipples to aroused peaks as the blond dancer saw to her other pleasure point; licking and laving her hot, hard nub as she purred her approval.
“They live for her pleasure,” Moira whispered, shifting in Ian’s arms as a line of sweat formed on her brow.
“And I, my darling, live for yours.” She didn’t resist as Ian pulled her to him, laying a luscious lick down the length of her cheek as she marveled at the show before her. “Don’t you see, Moira? All this time you have been writing and dreaming the intimate dance of the phantoms.” He cupped her flushed cheek in a tender hand, turning her head until their gazes locked. “Now you can do the dance, with me as your partner.”
“Yes,” Moira sighed, her hungry hands roaming the breadth of his massive chest as she leaned into his lap. “I want to feel the pleasure, Ian.”
“Your wish,” he whispered, “is my command.”
Running his hand down the silken folds of her evening gown, Ian’s fingers were reverent but daring as they rubbed her breasts and nurtured her rounded abdomen, then descending to tend to her weary legs before stealing up her skirt.
“Consider me your servant,” he whispered, staring into her eyes, “Let me bring your fantasy to life.”
Seizing her lips in an impassioned kiss, he put his tongue and his fingers to work; indeed, while his tongue laved and seduced her mouth his fingers rubbed and tickled their way up her legs; stealing beneath her petticoats to stroke the skin of her feminine mound.
Opening herself to him with a contented sigh, Moira threw her head back and pressed her full breasts against his chest.
Although a quick glance downward revealed the pressing of a long, hard shaft against the threads of his tights, his focus remained solely on her pleasure as he cupped her femininity; tickling and teasing her throbbing nub as he continued to kiss and caress her.
“Just think of this as a dance,” he whispered, “a dance of the phantoms.”
Vaulting into his lap, Moira let out at a cry of joy as his fingers quickened their motions; pressing against her clit to create a divine friction that drove her insane.
Finally her body exploded in the throes of an incredible climax; the first she’d ever experienced. Her heart pounded and her pussy gushed as she collapsed in Ian’s arms; giving him a drunken smile as he kissed her face and neck.
“That was amazing, Darling,” she stole a stray glance across the room, where a contented Bethelyn also writhed in the heat of apparent ecstasy; her golden haired lover rising to his feet to switch places with the dark-haired dancer—a bold fellow who immediately sank into her lap and rocked his hips against hers.
“What manner of dance is that?”Moira rested in Ian’s arms, watching with raised eyebrows as the dancer gyrated in Bethelyn’s lap, then grew still as his mistress surged forward and sank her teeth in his neck.
“What on earth?” Moira surged to her feet, prepared to run to the dancer’s aide.
She froze as the young man peered over his shoulder, his eyes glowing a curious gold as he pinned her with a serene smile.
Bethelyn, meanwhile, continued to nip and suck her dancer’s neck, her own eyes gleaming scarlet red as she moaned her pleasure.
“It’s all right, darling.” Even Ian’s soothing voice failed to succor her senses. “It’s simply a part of what they do. He enjoys it.”
“Even so,” Moira clenched her fists at her sides, “it is simply not natural.”
Turning away from the unsettling scene, she grasped her skirts and walked with a flourish toward a convenient backstage exit.
“It is, however, quite clarifying,” she said over her shoulder, “You people are indeed the phantoms of my novel. You planted your sinful story in my mind….with the intent to corrupt a gentlewoman!”
****
The next morning, the rare appearance of a London sun roused Moira from a restless sleep; prompting her to turn over on her stomach and bury her head in her pillow.
Ah, what is this? I usually love a sunny morning. She closed her eyes, blocking out the rays that assailed her gaze like shards of broken glass. I guess just have a few hours with those people rendered me a creature of the night.
Her sleep had been plagued with an unsavory mixture of dreams and nightmares; one minute she savored a dreamed remembrance of Ian’s tender touch. The next she saw Bethelyn’s evil eyes, and almost felt the prick of her pointed fangs.
Surging upward in her bed, she wrapped her arms around her knees and opened her eyes.
“Who are they?” She said aloud. “What do they want of me?”
Her troubled meditation was disrupted by a sharp knock at her door; expecting the maid with her morning’s breakfast, she called for her visitor to enter.
She gaped seconds later as her door opened to reveal a tall, auburn haired man dressed in a smart white day suit—and carrying what she had to admit was a sumptuous breakfast tray; one topped with a generous serving of crepes doused in strawberry syrup.
“How did you know that I love….” She trailed off, waving away her own question with a dismissive hand. “I know, I know—you see my every fantasy and know my every desire.”
Easing her with a robust laugh, Ian perched himself on the edge of her bed and greeted her with a gentle smile.
“You look absolutely lovely with your hair down,” he ran a tender hand through the soft brown lengths of her curly tresses.
Ignoring his compliment, Moira jerked away from her lover and sat away from him on the bed.
“What have you done with my maid?” She demanded, planting her hands on her hips.
“I bribed her with chocolate and gold coins,” Ian chuckled, “both of which she is enjoying downstairs in your kitchen.”
His grin dissolved as he took Moira’s hands in his, kissing them warmly.
“Moira, I need you to listen to me.” He leaned forward on the bed. “You were right to refer to the dancers of Ballet Noir as phantoms. We are indeed creatures of the night.” He cringed at his own words. “The only way I could visit you this morning was under the cover of a dark cloak. And even as I wore it, the sun still plagued me.”
Immediately softening, Moira squeezed Ian’s fingers as she pursed her lips in empathy.
“You do look a bit weary, though still annoyingly perfect.” She cocked her head. “Why did you risk your life to come to me, Ian?”
“How could I not?” Ian shook his head, tone emphatic. “For months I dreamed of you, Moira. For ages I dreamed of the woman who was light in the darkness, who would care for me as a person, not just as some dancing phantom…” he spat out these last words as though they were venomous.
His eyes flew wide with surprise as Moira surged forward, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.
“I dreamed of you as well, Ian, and I know in my heart that you are not a creature of evil.” She raised a finger for emphasis. “But Bethelyn is, isn’t she? Much like the creatures in those old legends, she bit you and took your soul….”
“True,” Ian interrupted, “but she also gave me a life, and a home. She taught me a skill. In dancing I have found such pleasure and freedom….”
“At the expense of what?” Moira balled her fists, eyes flashing. “Believe me Ian, I’ve read and studied the legends of the vampire. I know what you are….”
“No, you do not!” Ian clutched her in his arms, pinning her with an imploring gaze. “I am not a killer, Moira. I don’t drink blood—indeed, the only thing that I give my ‘victims’, all of whom are willing, is a good sound pleasuring.”
Moira jumped, shaking her head in what seemed to be a show of sheer disbelief.
“You mean to say that you derive your nourishment from the pleasuring of women?”
“I thrive on women’s sexual energies,” Ian agreed, voice softening as he moved closer to her. “I, along with all the dancers at Ballet Noir, can sense immediately if someone is attracted to me. This is why we first connected in our dreams
.” He smiled slightly, “And when we read your book, Moira….”
“My sexual energy probably charted pretty much off the map,” the author blushed, averting her gaze to the ground.
“Not just your sexual energy, Moira,” Ian chuckled, gracing her with a playful nudge. “Your creativity, your warmth,” he beamed. “We need someone like you in our fold Moira, which is why I’ve continued to visit your dreams.” His voice lowered to a seductive whisper. “I needed to lure you inward.”
Moira shrugged, unimpressed.
“You keep referencing what the troupe wants.” She pursed her lips. “What do you want, Ian?”
Without hesitation, Ian once again drew her in to a sweet, loving embrace.
“What I want Moira,” he kissed her lips, “is a woman who will show concern for me, who will ask me about my life…and, indeed, about what I want from my life.” He drew her inward, pressing their bodies together. “I want you.”
“Don’t tell me,” Moira leaned back into the sheets of her floral canopied bed, taking Ian to the place where she’d first dreamed of him. “Show me, love.”
Eager to oblige her, Ian stripped Moira’s buxom body of its tight, confining nightgown; tossing it on the floor as he planted adoring kisses down the length of her neck and across the breadth of her bare, sensitive breasts.
His hands bracing her soft-skinned waist, he licked her belly button before ducking low between her parted knees; the soft fabric of his suit a pleasing sensation against the surface of her bare skin.
An even more pleasing sensation ensued when he tossed his head so that his lips hovered just above her feminine area; as the sleek strands of his coppery hair settled in an appealing mass around her waist, he licked open her tender folds and fixed his lips around her clit, suckling her as she sighed with delight and bucked her hips upward.
Taking this as a cue, he laved her nub with his long, wet tongue and braced his hands on her soft hips; devouring her clit with an animal growl as she covered his hands with hers.
With a last mighty lick he sent her over the edge, careening across the bounds of an intense orgasm.
Her entire body reverberating with the impact of her pleasure, she relaxed as shards of erotic ecstasy covered her from head to toe.
In a haze of pleasure she watched as Ian rose up on his knees, holding her gaze as he stripped off his gentleman’s jacket to reveal a body made for sin. His tailored pants came off next, further revealing the long, hard shaft that seemed to salute her presence.
“Come here you beautiful man,” she swept him in her arms, delighting as his hard, massive body covered her own.
“Take me,” Ian hissed, sweeping her up in a passionate embrace as their arms and legs entangled. “I only want to be yours.”
“We certainly can arrange that,” Moira whispered, leaning down to layer his chest with sweet baby kisses as he settled between her legs.
Their hips and thighs locked to create a tender sort of friction, lighting a fire that spread wild through every fiber of their beings.
Collapsing on the bed in a frenzy of passion, their lips and tongues also merged as he hugged her to him; his hair settling around her shoulders as their kisses grew more intense.
“I know this is your first time love,” Ian heaved a frustrated sigh, touching her cheek in a loving stroke. “I do not wish to hurt you.”
“I assure you,” Taking matters in her own hands, Moira rolled atop her shocked lover and wrapped her legs around his back, bringing him into her. “I’ll be fine.”
With a lustful howl he penetrated her, thrusting his graceful hips forward as his long, hard cock filled her to the core.
Enacting the most intimate dance of all, the couple joined hands as their bodies writhed in the heat of their sublime joining; their arms clenching in a timeless embrace as he continued to move inside her.
Their eyes flew open as they merged as one, and they clung to one another as they weathered the storm of an intense mutual climax.
Sharing a bonding energy that left them both breathless, their sweaty bodies reverberated with a force that culminated a desire long denied.
Sinking in the sheets of Moira’s lush feathered bed, the couple sealed this bond with tender kisses and whispered words.
“I shall return to the ballet with you, Ian.” Moira kissed his lips. “Yet before I give them the rights to my work, I must see and experience more of this strange world, this dark life you lead….”
“Only now it doesn’t seem so dark,” Ian silenced her with a gentle smile. “Not so dark at all, Moira.”
To be continued..
By Danica Williams
Copyright © 2011 Danica Williams
This is a work of fiction. Any similarities to actual persons, alive or dead, are purely coincidental.
This book contains sexually explicit content and is intended for a mature audience only.
All persons portrayed in this book are over 18 years of age.
London, 1851
As Moira Bentley escaped the earthly world that confined and restrained her, she flew in dreams to a distant tiled stage fronted by a long red velvet curtain; and bordered by a gold framed mural of cherubs in flight.
The beauty of this theater paled in comparison to the man who stood center stage; an ethereal creature with long, silken auburn hair, wide dark eyes, full lips and sculpted features. She warmed as he opened his arms to her; soon their bodies merged as one on the stage, engaging in a forbidden dance that left her breathless.
She knew that, in the audience before them, people watched and judged her. Even so she couldn’t help but devour his succulent lips in a hot, full-bodied kiss; or to run her hands all over his hard muscled form.
All too soon the dance came to an end, as did Moira’s dream.
Yet unlike evenings past, when such an erotic fever dream left her frustrated and agonizingly aroused, she awoke this night with a gentle smile—and the knowledge that the man of her dreams was now the man of her life.
Indeed, Moira’s dreams of a sensual phantom had haunted her for more than a year; and at first the frustrated society maiden poured her resulting lust and passion into the pages of her first novel--a romance titled “The Phantom Lover” that had scandalized London society.
The book scandalized many people to the point that they just had to buy a copy, she pursed her lips. In many cases, two.
The tome was such a smash hit, in fact, that a local ballet troupe announced its intentions to produce her work as a musical production. And, as divine luck would have it, the lead dancer of Ballet Noir was the living embodiment of her hero Ian; the true and literal man of her dreams.
This would indeed be a perfect match, a perfect situation, Shifting in the silk sheets of her floral feathered bed, she stared in contemplation at the lovely rose print that graced her overhead canopy, if he wasn’t such a bloody vampire.
Indeed, all dancers involved in Ballet Noir were creatures of the incubus; vampires who live by night and—in lieu of blood—draw their nourishment from the sexual energies of humans.
At least they boast some sort of an excuse for their insatiable appetites, she bit her lip, rising from her bed and crossing the room to her sable hued wardrobe.
As much as Moira wanted to languish in dreams of her handsome lover, she had a day full of writing ahead of her; her editor, the honorable Lord Thomas Caldwell at Silver Ridge Books, had commissioned a sequel to The Phantom Lover. And the lady author had a plan.
“I shall write the first few chapters today,” she wrapped her plump body in her favorite white lace dressing gown, taking a seat at the cherry wood writing desk that formed a corner of her bedroom. “Then research my love scenes tonight, when Ian comes for dinner.”
And, if their last few engagements had been any indication, he’d also stay for breakfast the next morn.
****
On the other side of London a second woman woke; rousing herself from the sleep of the dead.
“I never was much of a day person.”
Bethelyn Castor rose from the sheets of the canopied, lavender doused sleeping place that marked the centerpiece of her personal living space at Theatre Satine; an exclusive ballet theater that she owned and operated on the secret outskirts of downtown London.
She always admired the sheer grandeur of her treasured boudoir, which came complete with lavender butterfly wallpaper, matching bedding, and a rich assortment of cherry wood furnishings.
Its most glorious accent, in her estimation, took the form of the handsome golden-haired sprite lying naked in her bed.
One of her star dancers at Ballet Noir, the only troupe to dance the halls of Theater Satine, Noel stood as a glorious example of beauty in motion.
And when sleeping, she observed, he resembled nothing short of an angel in repose.
Bethelyn paused just a moment to behold the vision that now slept alone in her bed. She marveled at the wave of pure gold hair that spilt unbound across her pillow; framing a bronzed face that came complete with flawless skin and full, lush lips. She relished the sight of thick eyelashes fanned over carved cheekbones; lamenting at the same time that these lashes concealed his gem blue eyes—and that her slick lavender sheets concealed his lean, perfect body.
Growling low in her throat, Noel’s older lover felt her fangs grow long in her mouth; always a sure sign of her own arousal. On any other morning, she mused, she’d act on this feeling; pouncing the warm and willing beauty to unite and satisfy their merged thirst.
“Make that any other evening.” Running a soothing hand through her unruly mass of light blonde hair, Bethelyn retrieved a black silk day dress from her wardrobe and tossed it over the curves of her full-figured body with careless aplomb. “Any respectable vampire would be in bed at this hour.”
Yet as the leader of an incubus den that doubled as a rather salacious dance troupe, she knew that nothing about her life was remotely respectable.
“And when one has to meet a human investor, a woman who is ready to provide the money for my next production,” with a broad smile she turned for the door, “one makes adjustments.”
15 Erotic Stories BUNDLE: Huge Collection of Individually Sold Short Sex Stories Page 16
