Totally ignoring her hard eyes, he stepped off stage and into the audience; sweeping her most literally off her feet and returning to his place in the spotlight.
Their gazes locked as he set her on her feet, and the couple fell easily into a dance that sent them twirling across the stage. Following Ian’s lead, Moira stepped with an uneasy grace across the breadth of the stage; watching her feet to see if they claimed the divine rhythm needed to complete the dance.
She took in her breath as Ian took her chin in his fingers, lifting her head until their gazes locked.
“Do not think about it, my darling,” he whispered. “Just feel it. Just imagine that we are making love.” He fixed her with a devilish grin. “Just think about what I’m going to do to you after the show.”
Aroused and energized by these evocative words, she threw herself into the dance; her breasts crushing against his chest as their arms clutched and their hips rocked together.
Sweeping her up in an impassioned embrace, he twirled her in mid air; their public surroundings dissolved around them as she fell forward in his arms, their lips colliding in a passionate kiss.
Wrapping her arms around his muscled shoulders, Moira devoured Ian’s mouth as their tongues entangled; engaging in their own delicious tango as their bodies sank together.
Moira again looked downward; this time spotting a noticeable bulge that strained the threads of his tights.
“Take me Moira,” he whispered, dipping her in a thrilling flourish as the crowd roared around them. “I must have you now.”
Moira attempted a wry chuckle as she trembled outright.
“I can see that,” she whispered, running a gentle, soothing hand down the surface of his carved cheek. “All the same, we really should finish the dance for the benefit….”
Silencing her with a passionate kiss, Ian covered her lips with his and slid his tongue inward. Seducing her with his mouth and hands, he massaged the tension from her shoulders as the back and forth motion of his tongue emulated sex.
His full lips lulled her into an erotic trance that stole her breath; soon he’d seduced her senses, once again making her forget herself and her very public surroundings.
Melting in his arms, she did not resist as he swept her up in his arms and carried her backstage; waving to acknowledge the cheers of the audience who applauded this bold move.
One viewer, however, was less than impressed by the lovers’ theatrics. Standing from her seat with a grumpy “Harrumph!”, Zelda Martin grabbed her clutch purse and headed for the door.
“They can forget about their money,” she grumbled, pushing her way through the crowd in the direction of the theater entrance. “They can forget about their show.”
“Did you forget about me, Zelda?”
Zelda froze at the sound of a deep, soft voice; and at the touch of a strong but gentle hand that fixed itself on hers.
She raised her gaze to behold an angelic vision in white; indeed, Noel likened an angel in a dancer’s costume of sheer ivory satin, his hair flowing in golden waves down his smooth, planed back.
He held his hand out to her, his azure eyes alight with a sheen of hot, tender seduction.
“I’d like to invite you to a private performance,” he purred, leading her to a mysterious doorway at the side of the theater. “And this time, the dance will be just for you.”
****
Moments later Zelda found herself on the better side of heaven.
Seated in a straight back chair of lush gold brocade, she watched as the beautiful Noel danced only for her; his flawless body in dangerous proximity as he moved and swayed before her.
“What manner of dance is this?” She whispered, watching transfixed as he gyrated his hips; thrusting forward in a manner that suggested the motions of intercourse.
“It is a private, intimate dance,” he purred, his chest muscles flexing beneath the surface of sleek white satin, “one intended for you eyes only.”
With this he fixed his sturdy hands at the collar of his costume, pulling the satin fabric downward in slow, sedulous movements. Soon he’d peeled away the whole of his lush, slick covering, revealing a hard golden chest and an impressive set of sculpted ab muscles.
“You’re beautiful,” she breathed.
“I’m yours for the taking,” Noel crooked his finger in a seductive manner. “Touch me, Zelda.”
Eager to oblige, Zelda ran a lustful hand down the surface of his firm, bronzed chest; ogling and caressing him as he continued to writhe and slither outright for her pleasure.
With tickling fingertips she canvassed his abs with light, teasing touches; moments later, though, she laid a more firm and resolute grasp on the cock that protruded semi aroused through the threads of his ivory hued tights.
“I’d quite like to join the dance,” she growled, searing him with a wolfish grin.
“Your wish is my command.” Noel smiled, sinking to his knees before her.
For a moment the couple locked gazes, Noel reaching forward to stroke the strands of Zelda’s soft raven hair.
Then he leaned forward to seize her lips in a hard, impassioned kiss.
Zelda sighed her contentment as his soft, full mouth devoured hers, his tongue sliding inward to engage her in a French delight of a kiss.
The sigh became a moan as he pulled away; only to sink between her parted legs, granting her another kiss that was far more intimate.
“May I pleasure you, my lady?”
Leaning down to kiss her feet, Noel kissed his way up Zelda’s slender legs as he massaged her slender thighs.
“You may.” Throwing her head back, Zelda parted her knees and moaned outright; thrilled by the presence of a long, wet tongue on the surface of her feminine folds.
These too soon parted to admit his entrance, and Noel growled as he fixed his moist lips around her throbbing clit. Bracing his hands on her trim hips to move her forward on the chair, Noel suckled his lover’s engorged nub; sending shards of unbridled ecstasy surging upward through every fiber of her being. Her nipples hardened, her pussy gushed, her heart pounded as his beautiful lips worked magic on her clit; kissing and licking her most intimate area as her entire body responded.
With a last mighty lick he sent her soaring across the bounds of a lush, full-bodied orgasm; one that swept her up in a wave of pleasure that shook her to the core.
She was so lost in pleasure, in fact, that she almost didn’t hear the slamming of the door; and the distant screech of a vampire banshee.
“Noel!” Storming into the room with balled fists and a furious glare, Bethelyn Castor pointed an accusing finger at a quiet, cowering Noel. “What in the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Settling the skirts of her golden gown and rising from her chair, Zelda stood to welcome their surly hostess; one who visited the room in the beautiful company of Callum, a dark-haired, ivory-skinned star of the Ballet Noir dance troupe.
Zelda watched with amused eyes as Noel glared at Callum; himself rising from the floor to stand tall and proud in the presence of his rival.
“You told her of my plan to seduce Zelda.” His voice dripped with anger as he addressed the smug, smiling Callum. “You saw this as your opportunity to steal Bethelyn’s affections.”
“Your plan was to have sex with another woman, in the house of our mistress,” Callum folded his arms before him. “I felt that Bethelyn deserved to know.”
“Indeed I did.” Bethelyn’s gaze softened as she addressed a skittish, blushing Noel. “I thought you loved me Noel.”
Running to the side of his mistress, Noel sank down in front of Bethelyn and took her hands in his.
“I do!” He fixed her with an imploring gaze. “And that is why I wished to distract Zelda, to take her attentions away from Ian and save our production.”
Arching a sardonic eyebrow at this assertion, Zelda crossed the room in three smooth strides; finally coming face to face with the incensed Bethelyn.
“You should be thanking the man.” Zelda reached downward to stroke the strands of Noel’s long golden hair. “He did indeed just secure the funding for your production.”
Bethelyn was unamused.
“Zelda, I’d greatly prefer that you take leave of my theater.” She waved the smug seamstress in the direction of the door. “And please, do not return.”
Zelda gaped.
“Very well then, Bethelyn.” Her skirts swished in a dramatic flourish as she abandoned the scene. “I wish you much good fortune in funding the ballet.” She paused, pursing her lips. “Though I do believe that the excessive publicity may very well help your cause.”
“Publicity?” Bethelyn blanched, voice barely above a whisper.
“Why yes,” Zelda purred over her shoulder. “Just imagine everyone’s surprise when they read in the newspapers that their beloved arts venue, the Theater Satine, is actually a den of vampires.”
****
Elsewhere at Theater Satine, a contented couple lay with their naked bodies entwined on a settee of crinkled lavender silk; blissfully unaware of the incredible drama that permeated its halls.
To them the entire world revolved around Ian and Moira; their arms and legs wrapped in a timeless cocoon as their lips merged.
Settling the curvy form of his precious Moira in the depths of her favorite settee, Ian buried his head in her neck and pulled her closer than close. Thrilling at the feel of his sharpened fangs as they grazed her tender skin, she wrapped her legs around his waist and threw her head back; further delighting as he left a lusty line of kisses from her neck to her breasts.
His hands massaged her tired back as he kissed and licked her nipples; his hips thrusting against hers in an irresistible tease.
“You’re everything to me Moira.” He raised his head to devour her with a gaze that dripped with impassioned loving. “Your book helped me find my identity,” he cupped her face in his hands, “and you helped me find love.”
“So love me Ian.” Moira wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders, her breasts crushing against his chest as their mouths merged in a passionate kiss.
Never had the woman felt so loved; reclining in the arms of her enchanted companion, their hips locking as his tongue laved her mouth, and his lips romanced and seduced her.
Ducking his hand between them, Ian cupped Moira’s feminine area and rubbed the skin of her clit; sparking spasms of pleasure that covered her body as she sank contented in his arms.
His free hand rubbed her breasts as he smacked his lips against hers; soon she lost herself in all things Ian, inhaling his sweet citrus-tinged scent as his long, soft auburn hair brushed against her naked breasts.
And when his hard shaft surged to the depths of her soaking wet pussy, she lost herself in ecstasy.
Sweeping her up in his loving arms, Ian continued to kiss and caress her as his cock moved wild within her; surging to her core as their contented sighs mingled in the air above them.
“I love you Moira.” Ever gentle in his passion, Ian ran his fingers through her long dark hair; raining the surface of her flushed cheeks with endless adoring kisses. “Let me show you how much.”
With a final thrust of his trim hips he danced his partner across the brink; catapulting them both beyond the realm of a divine mutual orgasm.
Pleasure overtaking them, the couple collapsed on the floor beneath them and rolled wild on the floor; their arms and legs entangling as they laughed for the joy of it. Finally they fell together in an affectionate mass at the center of the room.
For a time they just lay contented in an easy embrace, sharing more sumptuous kisses as he rubbed her full hips and stared deep into her eyes.
“How could you ever doubt your grace as a dancer,” he kissed her lips, “when you make the perfect lover?”
“I guess I simply had to find the right partner.” She kissed his in kindest return.
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.
She shivered at the command in his voice. This was supposed to be a business meeting of equals, but Harland Wells had no equals. He was not arrogant, and his manners and clothing were European and impeccable…and as far as Samantha Gordon was concerned, he was the sexiest man she had ever met. She was wondering how she was going to explain the wet spot in her panties to her husband Ron when she got home…and in the mood she was in, Ron was going to be ravaged when she arrived.
Sam had arrived at the elegant restaurant with two other attorneys to discuss the needs of Wells International during its expansion into the Savannah area. She was well dressed in an expensive designer little black dress that she could wear to parties, combined with a black bolero jacket that permitted it to masquerade as formal business wear. Modest black three inch heels gave her already gorgeous legs an even more shapely look. Her sandy brown hair hung to her shoulders with a classic pageboy cut curled inwards at the bottom enhanced her high cheekbones and intense green eyes. The only jewelry she wore was a strand of perfect white pearls around her neck.
They were guided to a private dining room with heavy curtains and an elegantly set table. Real china and silver adorned the table, and the tablecloth and napkins were crisply starched linen. An assortment of wines was arrayed across a serving table, all opened and breathing. An incredibly old bottle of brandy and snifters sat there as well.
Wells had taken control of the conversation from the moment of introductions. After dinner had been served, Wells instructed the wait staff to leave the room and that they were not to be disturbed. The self locking door closed quietly behind them.
Sam had barely been able to focus on the details of his requirements, although she had managed to scribble the important details on a scratch pad that had been provided for her along with a very expensive pen with Wells International’s logo on it.
Wells had a habit of cocking his head to one side when he was thinking, exposing the sprinkling of gray in his wavy dark hair to the soft lights of the restaurant. At the moment, his steely gray eyes were boring into Sam’s, and she realized that it made her feel naked…and she liked it. She took a sip of her brandy and unconsciously her legs spread a little under the table. If Harland had been really looking, he would have been able to clearly see the lacy black thong she was wearing.
Sam was glad that she had decided to wear the bolero jacket, because her nipples had been pushing against the little black dress from the moment he had shaken her hand. The bold stare of this stranger actually gave her the desire to display herself before him like an ancient slave girl before her master. The utter ridiculousness of the idea made her mentally snort, but the image wouldn’t leave her mind.
“I think I have covered my requirements plainly,” he said. “I expect to hear your thoughts and propositions on my needs by Monday. If you have nothing further…?” All three of them thanked him as they stood up and gathered their notepads, and they walked towards the door. When they reached the door, Wells said, “Excuse me Mrs. Gordon, could you stay behind for a moment?” Sam inhaled sharply, “You’re a happily married woman,” she thought, “this is wrong.”
“Of course,” Samantha told him, frightened and exhilarated at the same time.
The other two filed out silently and Wells led her back to the table. Instead of waiting for her to sit as he had before dinner, Wells sat down in his chair and crossed his left leg over his right knee. He sat there calmly as he looked her up and down. If anyone else had done that to her she would have been incensed. Harland Wells inspired a different feeling in her altogether.
She watched his eyes undress her and she instinctively posed for him, her legs apart, her hips and breasts thrust towards him, her hands on her hips. “Ta
ke off your jacket Mrs. Gordon,” he said softly. There was that command in his voice again, and she would no more have thought of disobeying him than she would have cut her own throat. She reached for her bolero jacket, her purse and notebook falling to the floor.
“Slowly,” he said, “this is for my pleasure, and for yours.”
Her arms thrust out behind her and the jacket slid slowly to the floor.
“Raise the front of your dress and show me your panties,” he said. Her blood froze. The urge to grab her jacket and run was strong. Her unwilling desire, her lust to obey him was stronger.
Her hands moved to the hem of her dress, and slowly, she raised it until the black lacy thongs were exposed to his eyes. His finger made a circling motion in the air and she turned, keeping her eyes locked on his. Without being told to, she moved her hands to her sides and began to slide the back of her skirt up until the white cheeks of her ass were exposed to him.
“Bend over,” he whispered. Sam shivered as she leaned forward, bending at the waist and twisting to keep her eyes locked with the steely gray orbs of Harland Wells. She had to bite her lip against the exquisite pleasure from the thin strap of her thong pressing against her labia and the utter thrill of submission to this masterful mans’ will. An inner voice cried out in indignance at being used, at being an object, but the voice was slowly being beaten into submission by her own perverse desires. For the first time in her life she was totally owned.
“Show me your breasts, Mrs. Gordon.”
Sam turned and stood erect, her legs spread apart, and she reached slowly for the spaghetti straps of her dress and slipped them off her shoulders. She peeled the dress down, relieving the pressure against the sensitive nipples and exposing her small, perfectly formed breasts. Another thrill coursed through her and she gasped at the sharpness of it. She was shamelessly thrusting her naked breasts out for this gorgeous man to see…she, who would normally have put on a sweater to hide the fact that they were hard from the guys at the office!
15 Erotic Stories BUNDLE: Huge Collection of Individually Sold Short Sex Stories Page 18
