by Meta Mathews
A Total-E-Bound Publication
www.total-e-bound.com
The Hallucinatory Duke
ISBN # 978-1-78184-063-4
©Copyright Meta Mathews 2012
Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright August 2012
Edited by Rebecca Douglas
Total-E-Bound Publishing
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Total-E-Bound Publishing.
Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Total-E-Bound Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.
The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.
Published in 2012 by Total-E-Bound Publishing, Think Tank, Ruston Way, Lincoln, LN6 7FL, United Kingdom.
Warning:
This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a heat rating of Total-e-burning and a sexometer of 2.
This story contains 63 pages, additionally there is also a free excerpt at the end of the book containing 9 pages.
THE HALLUCINATORY DUKE
Meta Mathews
What’s a modern girl to do when a Regency-era duke sexually harasses her? Amelia’s no pushover, but she fears she’s in over her head, especially when a fellow who looks just like the duke shows up in her favourite diner. Is Jack a continuation of her nightmare or the answer to her prayers?
Amelia may be a historian, but that doesn’t mean she welcomes nighttime visits from the Duke of Durbane, who disappeared under mysterious circumstances almost two hundred years earlier. Convinced her research is behind his unwanted attentions, she tries to quit her job, but her boss instead arranges for her to meet his nephew, who is experiencing his own troubling visitations. Although Amelia at first tries to keep Jack at a distance, she soon realises their previous experiences are so intertwined, they’ll have to cooperate to solve a mystery from the past and discover what the future holds for both of them.
When Jack Durban accepted a transfer to Atlanta, he didn’t expect his uncle Ben, a professor and historian, to recruit him to help research the mysterious disappearance of the Duke of Durbane two hundred years ago. Nor did he expect to start getting ghostly visits from a woman wearing a ball gown who insists on pleasuring him even when he isn’t interested. When his uncle arranges for him to meet Amelia, he realises their experiences are related and that they have to find some way to placate the spirits that are harassing them before they can plan the future he’s determined to share with her.
Trademarks Acknowledgement
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
The Devil Went Down to Georgia: Charlie Daniels Band
Memphis Redbirds: Memphis Redbirds Baseball Foundation, Inc.
Cardinals: St. Louis Cardinals
The Commercial Appeal: The E. W. Scripps Company
Corn flakes: Kellogg Company
Aerosmith: Aerosmith
Chapter One
Amelia Comstock awoke moaning when the duke removed his hand from her breast. The dream faded almost immediately but, as usual, her breathing had quickened and moisture had gathered between her legs. Damn it, she was tired of this. There had to be some way to get this freakin’ man out of her dreams. After all, he’d died a hundred and ninety-four years ago.
Well, technically, he’d disappeared a hundred and ninety-four years ago. Whether he’d died at that time was anybody’s guess.
Turning on to her side, she looked at the digital clock sitting on her bedside table. Three-thirty in the morning.
Again.
She knew from experience that going back to sleep was impossible, so she switched her bedside lamp on to low and rolled out of bed. She tugged off her sweaty nightshirt and tossed it into the hamper of dirty clothes sitting beside her dresser.
“Mmmm—owww.”
“Sorry, Wellington,” she muttered. “I forgot that you prefer curling up on my dirty underwear to sleeping on your own bed.” She glared at the cat who stared back, his green eyes heavy with sleep. He stood, stretched, turned around three times then buried his nose in the crotch of her panties before curling up in a ball and tucking his head under his front legs.
“You pathetic, purring pervert.” She flung the words at him as though he could understand and feel properly chastised. She sighed and shook her head. “Scolding the cat. I really need to get some sleep. That or go completely bonkers.”
But she was wide awake now. Wide awake and sweaty. She wondered just how much she’d twisted around during her dreams. She also wondered exactly what that damn duke had done to her before she awoke.
After blowing her breath out in a long sigh, she stalked into the bathroom, adjusted the shower to cool, then climbed under the refreshing spray. Ten minutes later, she stepped out, dried herself off, walked into her bedroom stark naked, and screamed at the top of her lungs.
The Duke of Durbane sat on the side of her bed, fully clothed in garments that had been the height of fashion in 1817. Darkly handsome, he raised his eyebrows before slowly looking her over from the top of her damp hair to the tips of her bare toes, which sported dark red polish.
“Ah!” His voice was husky. “So you’re a courtesan. I suspected as much.”
“I beg your pardon. I’m not a…” Amelia forced herself to stop talking. She was college-educated. She understood that sleep deprivation could cause hallucinations. But talking back to your hallucinations didn’t imply good mental health.
She turned her back on him, marched over to her armoire and yanked a clean nightshirt from her sleepwear drawer. She’d started to pull it on over her head when he spoke again.
“Don’t do that. Your body is far too beautiful to conceal under such an ugly garment.”
Amelia took a deep breath and dug her fingernails into the fabric. Okay, girl, you’re still hearing voices, but don’t freak out. This is a temporary illusion. You’ll be just fine. No need to get nervous. Holding the nightshirt in front of her, she slowly pivoted.
He’d leaned sideways on the bed, propping himself up on one elbow. And he looked just like the portraits she’d seen reproduced in books. Dark hair. Blue eyes. Square chin. High forehead. Lips just a tad too thin, but still nicely shaped.
He smiled at her.
Her knees weakened. Damn. How could a hallucination be that appealing?
His smile moved to his eyes, which sparkled like sapphires in a jeweller’s showcase. “Come here.” His gaze caressed her skin and she tugged her sleepwear closer as a sudden shiver passed down her spine.
“Go away.” Her voice sounded raspy. With desire? That was crazy. She was crazy. She couldn’t be scared out of her mind, and at the same time be hot for a man who wasn’t really there.
Could she?
“Come here,” he repeated in that velvety voice that slipped past her guard and under her nightshirt. Her nipples hardened and pressed against the soft cotton, which she now clutched so tightly around her body, her hands had started to ache.
Her breathing grew shallow and her head started to spin. She needed to lie down. Determined to ignore the hallucinated duke,
she squared her shoulders and marched over to the bed. She would prove to herself that he existed only in her imagination. She thrust out a hand, expecting it to slice through his image as though he were nothing but a column of light. When she made contact with his hair, which felt like strands of silk, she gasped and jumped back.
His lips stretched into a grin, rendering him even more handsome than before. “You must be new to your profession, my dear. I’ve never known a courtesan with so little skill. Unfortunately, I have another appointment and must go soon, but I’ve time enough to pleasure you. Lie down and spread your legs.”
“I’m not a cour…oh, my!” He’d caught hold of her hand—the one gripping her nightshirt—and tugged. Her tired fingers loosened and the shirt slid to the floor, revealing her breasts and her mons. She bit back an oath. If he hadn’t noticed before, he’d certainly see now that she wasn’t a natural blonde.
“But what the hell do you care?” she muttered aloud. “He isn’t real.”
He stood and she realised he was at least six feet tall. That was considerably taller than the norm for men of his era. She should know. She’d been researching the early nineteenth century since she was a freshman in college.
“Lie down,” he said again. When she merely stared at him, he bent, picked her up, and placed her gently on the bed.
“What the hell?” she muttered. Hallucinations weren’t supposed to feel this real. At least, she didn’t think they were. She didn’t have a lot of experience with them, fortunately.
He glared at her, his brow seriously wrinkled. “I don’t approve of such language, even if you are a courtesan.”
“I’m not a cour… Wait—you can’t do that.”
But he’d already done it—dropped to his knees beside the bed and bent to take the tip of her right breast in his mouth.
Lifting a hand, he began to roll the nipple of her left breast between two fingers while he sucked on the right. Heat flashed through her.
Okay, time to think this through. You haven’t had sex in a while, you’re sleep-deprived and you’ve spent too many hours researching this damn duke. You’re having an especially vivid dream. Nothing surprising in that. You should just relax and enjoy the ride.
When he gently bit her right breast, need arched from her upper body straight to her clit. She bent her knees and spread her legs, intending to pleasure herself, but her dream partner slid his hand over her belly towards her pussy. Then he raised his head, looked towards her lower body and paused.
“What’s this?” He frowned and with his forefinger touched the small, yellow butterfly tattooed on her upper right thigh.
Her breath hissed out. Answering questions was not on her agenda right now, but he continued to glare and point.
Hoping to convince herself that this really was just a realistic dream, she decided to play along. “The tattoo? Just a moment of youthful stupidity during spring break when I was a junior.”
“I don’t like it.” He drew a circle on her thigh and a sudden burst of pain had her struggling to sit up. He pushed her down with a firm hand between her breasts.
“Hey!” she yelped. “What the hell?”
“I told you I don’t care for that sort of language.” But he gently touched the spot again and the pain dissipated. “Now, I’ll pleasure you.”
She was tempted to tell him to leave her the hell alone, but he had already slipped his fingers between the folds of her pussy and unerringly zeroed in on her clit.
Pain and confusion and everything else in the world was forgotten when he touched her. She’d had her share of lovers, but no one had ever caused her to feel this hot this quickly. “Oh my, yes,” she screamed as her hips shot off the bed.
He moved his finger away from her. “Easy now. You don’t want to find your release too quickly, do you? I can’t stay to make you come again.”
“I just want… I just want… I just want…” She couldn’t finish the sentence because he was playing with her. A flick to her clit, then withdrawal, then back again to spread her moisture all around her pussy. Then to her clit again, then withdrawal.
“Please, please, please.” She’d never begged before, but then, no one had ever created this kind of hunger in her before.
“I’ll agree to continue if you’ll agree to stop using unladylike language.” His voice had deepened, and where it had once felt like velvet caressing her skin, it now scratched like sandpaper.
“Hell, yes,” she muttered, then almost cried when he withdrew his hand completely.
Her pussy clenched in response. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “I was teasing. I’ll stop saying hell. I promise.”
“Very well. I’ll hold you to that promise.” He eased his fingers back into her folds, but he had slowed down, never touching her clit, just circling it.
She rotated her hips, trying to find his finger, and heard him chuckle.
“You’re quite the passionate woman,” he said. “If I had more time, I’d torment you until I forced you to explain why you’ve been searching for me, but I have to leave soon and even I’m not so cruel as to leave you without your release.”
He again touched her clit, gently for a few seconds then with enough pressure to have her thrusting her hips into the air until she—at last—climaxed, a climax that went on and on and on. When she stopped gasping out her pleasure and opened her eyes, he’d disappeared.
“Thanks, my imaginary friend,” she murmured. “Obviously I was exceptionally horny.” The second she stopped talking, she drifted into a restful sleep.
Chapter Two
Jack Durban lifted his hips off the mattress and pulled his extra pillow close to his bare chest. “Oh baby, that’s it, that’s wonderful,” he murmured, groaning as his balls tightened and his cock hardened.
The woman—who’d been licking his balls—paused to raise her head, then pushed herself into a sitting position. One of her deliciously large tits had escaped the confinement of her bodice and dangled tantalisingly close, almost within Jack’s grasp. At that particular moment in time, he wanted nothing more than to get his mouth on her berry-sized nipple, but a discordant sound brought a quick frown to the female’s brow and she quickly stuffed her breast back into her ball gown.
Wait a minute. Ball gown? Why is the woman in my bed dressed in a ball gown? More importantly, where did she come from and why is she trying to make me come?
Although aware in the back of his mind that something was seriously out of kilter, Jack desperately tried to cling to his dream. The female might be overdressed, but she was as beautiful as any creature he’d ever seen. Shiny brown hair fell in wisps around her oval-shaped face, with huge brown eyes, a tiny straight nose, and generous lips—lips that had been wrapped around his cock right before she’d redirected her attention to his balls.
“Damn it to hell,” he muttered as the dream faded completely and his cell phone continued its tinny rendition of The Devil Went Down to Georgia. “Uncle Ben calling,” he said through clenched teeth. He should know—he’d purchased that particular ring tone with Ben in mind. It wasn’t that he didn’t love his uncle, it was that his uncle could irritate the hell out of him. He lay still, waiting for the phone to kick over to voicemail. In his aroused state, the last thing he needed was to endure a conversation with Ben Durban.
Propping himself up on his forearm, he gazed down at the clock sitting on the floor beside the bed. Six-fifteen in the morning. Knowing he’d never go back to sleep, he sat up, stretched, and blew his breath out in a sigh. It was time to get up anyway. After only three weeks on the job in his new location, he didn’t want to risk running late.
Besides, he needed a long, cold shower.
Half an hour later, with just a towel wrapped around his waist, he carried a bowl of cereal to the living room and plopped down on the edge of his recliner to watch the local weather. He really needed to buy some furniture one day soon, although the simplicity of living with just a bed, a chair, and a big-screen TV wasn’t a
ll that bad.
The weatherman faced the camera with a folksy grin. “Good morning, fellow Atlantans. Bring out your sunscreen ’cause it looks like Hotlanta is gonna be an appropriate name for us today. Yep, we’re in for another scorchin’ and muggy one with the usual chance of thunderboomers in the late afternoon. Highs today should be in the mid to upper nineties, with a low tonight around sixty-five, so strap yourselves in and hang on.”
“Same ol’, same ol’,” Jack said as he grabbed the remote and clicked over to a sports station. He’d heard rumours that the catcher for the Memphis Redbirds was being promoted to play for the Cardinals, but if so, the news hadn’t made the big-time sports shows yet. “Guess I’ll have to check the Commercial Appeal online,” he muttered.
Shovelling in the last bite of his corn flakes, he switched off the TV, stood, then turned. “What the hell?” His bowl and spoon slipped out of his suddenly numb fingers. The plastic bowl bounced across the hardwood floor, stopping only when it rolled into a small, slippered foot. The woman from his dream was back, and he wasn’t asleep this time.
She stood in the doorway to his bedroom, wearing the same ball gown as in his dream, but now she’d pulled her arms out of the cap sleeves and pushed her bodice down so that both her breasts had been freed. Smiling, she slipped her hands under her huge tits and lifted them so that the nipples were pointing straight towards Jack.
Fear had dried his mouth and set his heart to racing, but his stupid cock seemed unaware of the incongruence of a strange woman appearing out of nowhere. It stirred and then bobbed up and down, seemingly wanting to wave at the two large nipples that were surrounded by dark areolae. Fortunately, it was still hidden behind the bath towel he’d wrapped around his waist.
