by Noelle Mack
Nights in Black Satin
Nights in Black Satin
NOELLE MACK
APHRODISIA
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com
For JWR, on many levels
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
1
Swirling and tumbling through the heavens, the angels painted on the domed ceiling didn’t notice the earthbound revelers on the floor below…and Sarah didn’t notice right away that an angel had come down. A beautiful man with beating wings swooped over her head.
Carnival in Venice—there was nothing like it. The party was packed, and the music pulsed and throbbed. No one seemed to care that the man was nearly naked. His skin gleamed silver as he made several passes over the crowd. Then he was lifted back up toward the dome, where a female acrobat was waiting for him on a tiny platform, holding a swing. She let go, he caught it and released himself from the wire that held him at almost the same moment. Effortlessly, he joined her on the platform, his body arcing through the air with lightning swiftness.
The woman was winged too, and her lithe, tight body looked incredibly strong. The man interlaced his fingers with hers and they balanced, perfectly poised, high above the hundreds of dancers on the floor. Sarah was surrounded on all sides by costumed people, some of whom wore very little more than elaborate makeup and freaky accessories.
There were gorgeous plumes woven into flowing hair, diaphanous veils, and, of course, masks on many. She’d lost hers in the crush, heard someone step on it and hadn’t cared.
Sarah stepped into an alcove to sit down and catch her breath, then decided against it. Two long-haired young men dressed like Renaissance princes were kissing each other sensually, running their hands over each other’s supple bodies.
She sighed and melted back into the party, getting into a groove. Some guy she couldn’t see clasped her around the waist from behind and enfolded her in a dance-club embrace, moving his body sinuously with hers as they writhed with the music. His strong arms felt good against her skin, which was bare between her low-cut black velvet jeans and her spangled, thin-strapped top. By the standards of this party, she was conservatively dressed.
When her partner turned her around, she caught just a glimpse of his handsome face, made up with feral strokes of thick, soft pencil around his eyes. His dark curls were tousled and a little wet with sweat. In hide-colored breeches, he looked like a satyr.
He didn’t stop turning her until they were back to back. Then he reached behind himself to hold her hips while she held his the same way, swaying in place, laughing crazily, enjoying a mutual butt rub. Considering what six shots of grappa had done to her mind, the contact felt really good. The man was powerfully built, the kind of guy she could lean on and curl around and have a lot of uninhibited fun with. His muscular behind, clad in tights, felt warm and hard, sliding over her softer ass every time he dipped down.
A circle opened up in the crowd to watch them. He spun Sarah around again, but only halfway this time and they did the same sensual dance face to face for a minute or more. Then he expertly dipped her backward over one bent knee so her hair nearly touched the floor. When he heard her cry of delight, he brought her back up, clasping her hand to present her to the applauding crowd. She mouthed her thanks over the pounding music while he turned to another partner, a brunette dressed like a kitten, and pulled her tail until she gave him a come-hither meow over her shoulder.
Sarah’s head was spinning. The oh-so-elegant Venetians had a wild side. This party wasn’t for tourists, even if she was one. A New York friend, the niece of a Paduan contessa, had passed along her invitation. She leaned against a gigantic marble pillar that felt pleasantly cool against her heated skin and looked up.
The winged man and woman were exchanging a kiss up there, about to jump off the platform and fly together. Sarah knew instinctively that they were lovers as well as partners—he broke off the brief kiss to caress the woman’s cheek and looked into her eyes for a long moment.
Sarah gasped when they soared out into the air, arms out-spread. The wires that held them were invisible against the elaborately painted dome. But she wanted, really wanted, to believe that nothing held them up.
In another few seconds, they had grasped a rope of twisted gold that an unseen someone lowered from above. They wrapped their legs around it and around each other. He enfolded his partner in his wings, kissing her gently once more and stroking her swept-back hair.
The woman nestled against his brawny chest, one hand twined around his neck. They seemed not to notice the crowd beneath them at all, and Sarah could see that he was aroused. The thin cup he wore couldn’t restrain a cock that long and that hard, especially not when a woman—his woman—was stroking it with gentle fingers.
The rope turned slowly, offering the crowd a view of the couple from every direction. He unfolded the massive wings, beating them in midair—how, Sarah wasn’t sure, but the effect was marvelously real. The woman on the rope lifted her leg up to her lover’s shoulder, resting it there, displaying shaved labia as delicate as rose petals in the middle of her split tights.
He touched her there with one finger, then put the finger deep inside her tender flesh. She arched back into an arabesque, holding onto the rope with one hand. Her small, firm breasts gleamed white in the spotlight.
Some saw what was happening, some didn’t. The acrobats didn’t care. Lovingly and slowly, the man fingerfucked her, going deeper and deeper while they twirled together. He withdrew his finger and touched it to her mouth so she could taste herself, and then he kissed her, enfolding her in his wings once more.
Sarah was transfixed. She saw the woman undo his cup and toss it down to the crowd below. A waving hand popped up to catch it and went back down with the prize.
The angel-man’s huge cock hung in the air for all to see, encircled and stroked by the woman’s hand. He let her play with it, then pressed himself into her, pulling himself up and down on the rope, tensing his buttocks in a highly erotic way.
In a few smooth moves, the woman got both hands on the rope and both legs raised to his shoulders. Her wings extended and beat faster. Her lover held on to the rope with one hand and positioned her precisely with the other, entering her with a swift thrust that made her cry out softly. He captured her cry with an eager kiss that covered her mouth, and they spun on the rope, blissfully making love in a private heaven of their own.
“Bravo! Bravo!”
Well, someone besides her appreciated the show, Sarah thought. She was touched by the performers’ tenderness toward each other, but it made her feel a little lonely. The throbbing music got louder, echoing throughout the ballroom. Many more people had dashed in, shivering from the icy winter rain outside, quickly drawn into the mingled crowd.
The men and women on the floor danced uninhibitedly, moving far more sensually than before, coupling and uncoupling, forming groups of three and four and more, ready to abandon themselves to joy, eager for whatever pleasure the night would bring.
Still leaning on the marble pillar, Sarah watched the man and woman on the rope. They had reached climax together, she was sure of it. His cheek was pressed to hers and his eyes were closed. There was a sheen of sweat on his face that she wiped away with her hand. He held his partner close, and for the last time, his beating wings folded around her. She ran an arched foot up his calf, her arm around his waist to support herself. Giving each other tender little kisses, they were lifted back among the painted angels on the ceiling.
&nbs
p; Beautiful, Sarah thought with wonder. They were completely attuned to each other, as if they had been together for years. She wondered what it would be like to trust someone that much—to know that someone would throw the rope you needed and that strong arms would catch you before you fell. Heart to heart, they’d made love like they meant it and they really hadn’t cared who was watching.
She straightened up when a tall man in an evening suit brushed by her, his black hair curling over the immaculately white collar of his shirt, looking like he’d just come from some fabulous party in a palazzo along the Grand Canal. Among the multicolored costumes and the crush of overdressed and under-dressed partygoers, he stood out, an icon of masculine elegance. The black-and-white severity of his clothes gave him a masterful air that she liked a lot.
As if he’d sensed her thoughts, the black-haired man turned and looked at her. Oh, oh, oh. Sarah looked right back into eyes that were hazel, a mosaic of amber, gray, and green that seemed to change as she gazed into them. Odd but compelling.
He smiled and inclined his head in a nod that seemed faintly aristocratic. On fire with curiosity, Sarah wondered who he was as she smiled back, noticing that his lower lip was fuller than the top one. Experience had taught her that the best kissers always had a fuller lower lip. Fun to nip if you were the female side of the kiss equation.
He isn’t going to kiss you, she told herself. He’s merely acknowledging your presence. She stared at him, trying not to. Thick black brows, assertive cheekbones, and those mysterious eyes…he was very attractive. Sarah couldn’t stop looking at him, noticing that his chin was square and strong, with just a trace of black stubble defining his jawline. With his impeccable evening attire, it gave him a dash of wildness. She loved stubble. It made her tremble with pleasure and arch like a cat when her neck was nuzzled.
He walked on by. Oh hell. Just when she thought she was about to get nuzzled. But he seemed preoccupied and important, with the air of someone with big things to do. Sarah didn’t remember the name on the invitation she had surrendered at the door. He could be her host. She ought to thank him—no. What if he figured out that she really wasn’t on the guest list?
He went in back of the pillar and she peeked around it to see him speak to someone wearing headphones, who stood in front of a complicated sound console, sliding different buttons up and down, one eye on the huge crowd. Whatever the black-haired man said—she couldn’t hear it—made the sound engineer nod and change the music. She could feel the bass through her feet, like blood beating in an immense heart.
The dancers began to move almost as one, under the spell of a song that was all about desire. Hands waved in the air, hands of different colors, some ringed, some plain, some slender, some strong. Tinted spotlights moved over the surging crowd, bathing everyone in iridescent light. Sarah saw more than a few partyers seize the chance to escape and slip away with a lover, holding hands to go into alcoves whose openings were draped with glowing red silk brocade to provide privacy.
Not that everybody wanted it. A strikingly handsome man dressed like Casanova was dealing with the amorous attentions of at least five women, who were feeling him up shamelessly. They had all abandoned their masks and they didn’t seem to give a damn about who saw what, especially him. His muscular chest was bared by a flowing shirt open to the waist, its wide sleeves gathered into dripping lace cuffs that nonetheless seemed utterly masculine.
Sarah could see how aroused he was from where she was standing. One of the playful women undid his breeches, pulling the front aside to show off an impressive erection. His cock jutted out from the soft curls of his pubic hair and the woman stroked it lightly. With a wave of his hand, he invited the others to join the fun. Two kneeled in front of him and one got busy stimulating his huge balls with feathery touches while her girlfriend swallowed his shaft and sucked him lasciviously.
Sarah just watched, eyes wide. The man reached down and pulled up their velvet skirts, revealing their garter belts and stockings—and two very feminine and completely bare behinds to whoever wanted to see them. Then more women got in back of Casanova and slapped his hard ass. He tensed his buttocks to take the tingling slaps, getting off on it. Yet another twined around him, caressing his bare chest as he stood with his legs wide apart, doing his best to please so many wanton women. Sarah guessed he was close to coming, but she turned away. Enough was enough.
She bumped into the black-haired man, who smiled down at her. Eek. Had he seen her watching Casanova and those women? Sarah blushed and took a few steps back. She ventured a tentative smile, thought better of it, and grabbed the light jacket she’d tossed over a chair by one of the tables to the side before she’d joined the dancers. It was way past midnight and she was ready to go to bed. By herself. Orgies were for other people. There was no telling what a handsome black-haired stranger might expect from an unaccompanied woman at a Carnival party, but she didn’t want to find out.
Sarah walked away but he caught up and moved in front of her. Good thing. She decided the second she looked into his eyes again that she did want to find out.
“Permesso,” he murmured. “Would you like a glass of champagne? Won’t you sit down?”
Oh my. Those unusual eyes of his were shadowed with lashes as black as his hair. Something about his smile told her that he was a gentleman, someone who wouldn’t rush her. What happened next would be up to her. Sarah couldn’t say no and she didn’t want to.
“OK. Sure.” As if by magic, a white-jacketed, slightly built waiter appeared, ready to take his order, her order, anyone’s order. The two women at the next table eyed him hungrily. She couldn’t blame them. The waiter looked like a faun, so young he was almost pretty, with dark, soulful eyes.
Sarah sat back down at the table, ignoring the sour looks from the next table when the young waiter leaned over her to hear what she wanted. He’s my faun, she wanted to say. So hah. But she didn’t know what to order.
Then the black-haired man sat down too and murmured the name of a champagne that she knew cost a fortune. The young waiter nodded and threaded his way through the tables, getting his ass patted several times until he made it to safety.
“Thanks,” she said a little breathlessly.
“My pleasure. My name is Marco. And you are…?”
“Sarah. Sarah Ryan.”
He looked her up and down and she squirmed inside her jeans. His gaze made her feel even hotter. The waiter came back with a chilled bottle wrapped in a white damask napkin, placing it in a silver ice bucket and proffering two champagne glasses with a flourish before he set them on the table.
Marco took care of opening the bottle, pressing strong-looking thumbs to either side of the cork and easing it out. The icy foam spilled over the bottle’s thick neck but he poured it swiftly into a glass before it could spill and handed it to her.
Sarah took tiny sips. He drank half a glass, glancing at the people on the floor and then at her.
“I was watching you dance, Sarah. You seemed to be enjoying yourself.”
“The music is great. This is quite a party.” She wondered if he’d wanted to get around her the way the satyr had done. Instantly she fantasized being on all fours with Marco buck naked behind her, holding her hips with his big hands and spreading her open to fuck her with luxurious slowness. Amazing how a man could sit across a table from you fully clothed and be doing that in your mind at the same time. Imagination was a wonderful thing.
As if he’d read her mind, he sipped his champagne and smiled at her ever so slightly. Sarah blushed and watched the bubbles rise in hers. On an impulse, she rose and stretched out a hand, hoping he would dance with her.
He seemed surprised, but he rose instantly. He took off his jacket and left it over the back of his chair, glancing at the waiter, who came to stand by the table as if he was guarding it. No. Not as if. The young waiter was guarding it. Sarah realized that her first impression of Marco was correct. He was in charge around here.
One hand at th
e small of her back, Marco guided her to the dance floor and they began to move together as naturally as the lovers on the golden rope had done.
With a sense of melting pleasure, she felt his body mold to hers, and rested her head against the front of his dress shirt, which smelled very pleasantly of linen and warm man. The studs were mother-of-pearl, flat, and reminded her of…OK, hard male nipples. Nothing wrong with that. Sarah could feel an erection rising inside his pants. Nothing wrong with that either. Marco was made for women’s pleasure.
He didn’t seem embarrassed to be aroused, and his casualness about it made her bolder. Sarah pressed against him, swaying to the music, slipping her hands just under his waist and…around to the small of his back and…a little lower. She rested her hands on his tight butt.
Feeling him flex was wonderful. She positioned herself where it felt best and just enjoyed the feel of his body, front, back, and center, where his cock was getting bigger by the second.
Marco’s arms moved around her, holding Sarah very close as he dropped a kiss on her hair. Jesus, she hoped it didn’t look too arty or too Brooklyn. Cropped to just below her ears, her pale blond hair had a tendency to spike up a little at the ends.
He ran his fingers through it, then caressed her neck so gently an intensely sexual thrill ran through her. She almost came from pressing against him. Sarah turned her face up to his. Her lips parted and he laughed just a little, very softly, before he bent down to kiss her. The music enfolded them and the movement of the ever-growing crowd meant they didn’t even have to dance. They just stood there kissing for at least a minute, pressed together by the people around them.
She didn’t want to open her eyes, didn’t want to move. What his kiss made her feel was extraordinary. His lips were silky and slick, with just the right degree of pressure, just the right intensity of exploration. Marco kissed expertly.
