Her Home Run Desires

by Jenna Payne

  “Speak of the devil himself,” murmured Lucas. Violet noticed that when Oliver arrived, Lucas stood a little taller. He couldn’t take his eyes off of him.

  “Who, me?” Oliver replied, with a low rumble of a laugh. He closed the door behind him, and made his way over to one of the bookshelves. He moved as if he were leaning against it, and the entire wall of books swung back, giving way to another room.

  “Goodness gracious,” Violet exclaimed. The drug had loosened her tongue and returned her sense of confidence. She gazed into the secret room with wonder. It was like nothing she’d ever seen. Strange symbols, drawn in white chalk, adorned the dark walls. The floor was lined with a perimeter of red dust. It was a narrow room, lit only by candles that burned in brackets on the walls in intervals. At the end of the room was a table, laden with burning candles, statues, and all manner of mysterious objects. It was an altar to the Voodoo pantheon. The room smelled of rum, and smoke, and lavender. It should have frightened Violet, but instead it intrigued her. She drew closer to the altar, observing the figures with interest. They all seemed somewhat familiar—reminiscent of the Christian saints.

  “Oliver is a conjure man…” Lucas whispered in her ear. Violet turned, and saw that he was standing very close behind her. The hair stood up on her arms as she realized that their host was watching them. His expression was unreadable, as he collected items from a cabinet in the far corner of the room. It felt strange to be so intimate in what was obviously a sacred space, but Violet did not pull away when Lucas placed his hands loosely on her hips. He looked as though he wanted to kiss her.

  “Tonight, we bring Papa Ghede into our midst,” Oliver said, watching them still.

  “He loves beautiful women,” Lucas added. “Like you.”

  Violet didn’t know who Papa Ghede was, but she guessed from the nonchalance of the men that she was in no particular danger. Oliver was leading the way out of the room now. He closed the door behind them.

  “Who is Papa Ghede?” she asked before she could stop herself.

  “He is the crossroads where life and death meet,” Oliver said ambiguously.

  “He’s a party animal,” Lucas added with a grin. “A patron saint of voodoo, if you will.”

  Oliver lead the way, and Lucas and Violet followed, his arm wrapped around her waist. They went out onto the lawn. The partygoers had assembled there: men in their summer suits, and women dressed in satin and velvet gathered around a symbol that had been burned into the grass. As they drew nearer, Violet saw that it was an elaborate cross, lined with white stones. There were men with instruments now—the makings of a jazz band. As Oliver approached and took his place in the circle at the head of the cross, they began to play. Slowly at first, the drums and horns playing out a mournful dirge. Oliver began to speak in a different language. His deep voice mixed with the rhythm of the drums and became indistinguishable. They played faster. Violet began to move her body unconsciously with the rhythm that shook her legs. The men and women around her swayed and dipped their knees. The pace quickened. Oliver was moving now too. He shed his graceful countenance and moved his body fluidly, violently in time with the music. He began to strip off his shirt. His voice grew louder as he spoke in tongues, his arms and legs shaking in time with the endless beat as he anointed himself with rum. The crowd was moving with him now, the feverish pace of the drums driving them into a dancing delirium. Violet was in the circle now, with Lucas at her side. Her heart was pounding as she danced, throwing back her head as she let the music take her. Oliver took hold of her, pulling her into his dance, throwing his body against hers and spinning her around and around until she lost sight of the waking world. He showered her bare shoulders and chest with rum. The drums pounded in time with Violet’s heart as Oliver pulled her against him, thrusting against her in time with the beat.

  It was as if she had been transported to another world. Hours slipped away and she lost all sense of time. She could no longer recognize her body as her own as she danced. It didn’t matter that her clothing was in disarray. Sweat dripped from her face and mixed with the rum that soaked her skin. She was taken by intense euphoria as the conjure man grabbed at her hips and pushed his body against hers. She knew that he wanted her. She could feel his desire flowing through her, his naked arms around her, and she let out a loud delighted, animal yell as the music grew faster. She collapsed to the ground, and he continued to move his body over hers, frantic now, feverish and panting he pantomimed the most carnal of acts, pulling at her clothing frantically. He placed his lips against her neck and bit like an animal tasting its prey. As blood flowed over her white skin, the pain mixed with pleasure, and Violet cried out in a language that she didn’t know. And then, without warning, the drums stopped. And they collapsed into the grass, panting.

  When Violet finally sat up, she saw that many other guests had collapsed to the ground as well, their clothing in some disarray. Oliver was entwined around her, panting. Lucas was sitting up next to them, shirtless, scratched and bleeding, breathing hard. Without saying a word, he leaned over and ran his tongue over her neck.

  “I missed the taste of you, my sweet, beautiful Violet,” he murmured.

  “Ghede wanted a taste, I see,” said Oliver as he sat up. He caressed Violet’s neck with a gentle hand. Although he had stripped his clothing off, and his face carried a shadow of exhaustion, his demeanor resumed its previous elegance. “Papa Ghede never could resist a beautiful woman.”

  Violet’s head was still spinning. Her heart thumped against her ribcage and she struggled to catch her breath. The scene surrounding her shifted in and out of focus. Her vision blurred, and she fainted into Lucas’s arms.

  When Violet awoke hours later, she felt dazed. Her body ached, and her mouth was dry. She sat up slowly and saw that she was in a suite-style bedroom with dark mahogany and green furnishings. She was reclining on a chaise lounge beneath a silk sheet. Lucas was seated in a chair across from her, smoking a cigarette and reading. She looked under the sheet and realized that she had been undressed down to her lingerie.

  “W-what happened?” she asked, her cheeks reddening.

  Lucas looked up. “Ah, you’re awake,” he said, closing his book and leaning forward. “You fainted, that’s all. It can happen when a possessed conjure man brings you into his fold, so to speak.” He seemed unconcerned, smiling across at her with his legs crossed casually.

  The memory of the evening flooded back into Violet’s mind: the drums and the dance—Oliver taking control of her body. It was like a vivid dream.

  “And what happened to my dress?”

  “Covered in rum.” Oliver emerged from somewhere behind her where she lay. He was dressed in his white linen again, and looked as immaculate as ever, though his shirt sleeves were rolled up. He was holding an ornate porcelain opium pipe in his hand, which he placed on the table next to Lucas’s book. “But how are you, my darling?” he asked, leaning over her with concern written in his pale features. He caressed her cheek and tilted her chin up, looking into her eyes. Violet wasn’t used to being poked and prodded like this, but as she looked into the dark blue eyes of her host, she felt herself give in to his touch. She gazed up at him and thought that he was ageless. His skin was paper-white and flawless. His red hair, previously smoothed back, was now slightly untidy. A strand fell forward, framing his face. He seemed completely at ease, although his expression was something reminiscent of concern.

  “My beautiful Violet,” he murmured, running his thumb along her jaw. “Even our patron saint knows how special you are.”

  Lucas watched them from where he sat. He felt a mixture of jealousy and desire, watching Oliver and Violet together like that.

  “It’s true,” he added, overcoming his feelings for the moment. “I’ve never experienced such an intense ritual.”

  Oliver withdrew, and sat on the sofa opposite Violet. “Do you like it here?” he asked, continuing to watch her.

  Violet sat up and rearranged the pillo
ws behind her, clutching the sheet to her chest. She was worlds away from everything she knew. The streets of New York City that seemed like a dream against the backdrop of the past couple days. Her life—the modelling, the cinema, all of the time spent with New York’s bright young things in high society seemed somehow irrelevant in this strange new reality. She took a deep breath.

  “Well, Mr. Deveroux, it’s difficult to define exactly whether I like it or not,” she said at last.

  “Go on,” he replied with an incline of his head. He had picked up the opium pipe, and began to prepare it, setting out a small lamp and preparing a small dab of opium tar over the flame. He kept his eyes on her as he stretched the dark paste over and over again with a practiced hand.

  Violet watched, wondering at the deftness with which he prepared the drug. “It’s like nothing I’ve experienced,” she said at last, “somehow, it’s more foreign than anywhere I’ve been in Europe…stranger…” she trailed off.

  Oliver inserted the opium into his pipe, and held it over the flame, inhaling deeply. Tendrils of white smoke rose from the pipe, and the air of the room became sweet and hazy.

  “Of course if Lucas hadn’t ended up in your backyard, you might be having a singularly mundane experience of the place.”

  Violet laughed. “That may be true,” she conceded. “But there is something in the air here. It’s like a smell or, electricity or something.”

  Oliver smiled at her, flashing his fangs. “That’s one of the things that drew my family here from up North, so many moons ago.”

  “I was born and raised, here, but I’ve never wanted to live in another state,” Lucas said, moving across the room to join Oliver on the couch.

  The older vampire passed him the opium pipe, and he took the delicately painted ceramic stem in his hands, leaning over the flame and inhaling deeply. He set the pipe down and let the smoke escape in slow-curling wisps as he leaned comfortably against Oliver’s shoulder. He stroked Lucas’s dark hair, brushing it back from his face. Before Violet could wonder about the nature of their relationship, Oliver took him in a slow and tender kiss. Lucas’s eyes fluttered shut, and he let out a low moan. The redheaded conjure man’s eyes were on Violet as he nibbled Lucas’s lower lip. She felt her cheeks grow red as she watched the two men in their embrace. Perhaps it was the sweet vapors from the opium pipe, but she had begun to feel warm and relaxed. There seemed to be no place for jealousy in her heart as desire flared in her loins. The kiss was broken, and Lucas turned to look at Violet, smirking.

  “Lucas told me that you’re the only woman he’s ever desired—even before he met you,” Oliver said as he casually began unfastening buttons of the other man’s shirt.

  Violet raised her eyebrows. She guessed that this meant that he had seen her in the movies. She wondered if it had truly been by chance that she had found him in her backyard that evening.

  “He says he wants to paint you,” Oliver continued, as he unbuttoned the final button of Lucas’s shirt. It fell open, and he caressed the other man’s chest and stomach. “Why don’t you show me what has driven my sweet Lucas so mad?”

  Violet understood what he meant at once. All of her inhibitions melted away in the opium haze under the attentive gaze of the two men. She slowly pushed the sheet down, revealing the black lace chemise and stockings that she wore beneath. The feeling of having both men watching her undress, taking her in with a look of absolute hunger in their dark eyes, was a sensation unlike anything Violet had experienced. She felt as if she were teetering on the brink of absolute euphoria. She shrugged one of the straps of her chemise off, allowing it to slip down her shoulder. Oliver’s hand was moving lower down Lucas’s stomach. He was aroused. She could see the outline of his manhood, straining against the front of his trousers as he watched her. Oliver caressed him, and he moaned aloud. He looked as if he might succumb to lust. Violet let her slip drop to the floor. She stood there now in only her stockings, her slender body completely exposed. Her small breasts and soft thighs were for Oliver and Lucas to feast their eyes on.

  “Good girl,” Oliver murmured. In spite of having taken opium, and the passionate scene unwinding around him, he seemed to be in complete control. Violet couldn’t tell if he was enjoying himself or not. His face was neutral and perfect in its ageless beauty. He was undoing Lucas’s trousers now, pulling the buttons of his union suit apart in rapid succession, revealing his body to her. Lucas looked wanton. He pushed his hips against Oliver’s touch, but his eyes were on Violet.

  “Come, Violet, let’s give our Lucas a little bit of what he wants, shall we?” Oliver said with a slight smile as he released Lucas’s manhood.

  Violet dropped to her knees in front of them. She felt it now, the hunger that she saw in the men’s faces. She wanted to taste Lucas. She wanted him to take her in front of Oliver. She wanted to be devoured whole by these men. She crawled to the sofa and nestled herself between Lucas’s legs, taking him into her mouth. He let out a hiss of pleasure and grasped a handful of her hair. Oliver was pinching his nipples and biting at his neck, leaving little red dots across his pale skin. He remained there for an instant, watching Violet on her hands and knees, ass up in the air as she pleasured Lucas. He stood up suddenly, crossing behind her. In a swift motion he dropped to his knees, caressing the smooth skin of her bottom before giving it a good hard slap with the flat of his hand. Violet gasped in surprise. He slapped her again. Her skin flushed red under each assault. He caressed her, and then rested a finger teasingly between her thighs. She moaned and pushed back against him. Lucas was immobilized by her ministrations, his breath ragged as he moaned aloud.

  “Lucas,” came Oliver’s voice from behind her, his voice portrayed complete calm, “I’m going to take your woman. Would you like that?”

  Violet could sense him moving behind her, undoing his button fly. One hand rested on her hip, then she felt him push against her, easing into her heat. She couldn’t help but gasp aloud at the sensation. She braced herself against the couch, looking up at Lucas. His dark eyes were clouded with desire as he watched Oliver thrust into her. He reached for the opium pipe and held it over the flame once more as he inhaled. Tendrils of white smoke drifted up from his lips in lazy spirals. His expression was one of absolute bliss. Violet moaned as Oliver filled her to her core, moving slowly, ever restrained in his desire. She pushed back against him, demanding more, and he pulled away, leaving her wanting.

  Without a word exchanged, Lucas got to his feet and took his place behind her. Violet cried out and thrust against him, grabbing at his thighs as pleasure shot through her, electric and unrestrained.

  “My beautiful Violet,” Lucas was murmuring as he grasped her hips.

  Oliver sat back on the sofa, watching the two of them. He had never seen Lucas so passionate about a lover before. This Violet Miller—a famous muse from New York City—would she want to stay with them? The love that Oliver felt for Lucas was one of father and lover combined. He couldn’t bear the thought of what his unhappiness might be if Violet left Louisiana and returned back to her charmed life up North.

  Violet was lost in ecstasy now. It was as if she had fallen into a trance again. Her hands were braced against the couch as she offered herself in nothing but her stockings to the man behind her. It was strange that she trusted him implicitly. The rest of her life faded into obscurity as Lucas thrust against her, hands around her slender waist as he increased his pace. She could feel pleasure building inside her, threatening to explode.

  Oliver was undressing now. Letting his white linen drop to the floor as he pulled off his shirt and trousers. Violet took in the sight of him hungrily, admiring his powerful build. His white skin was covered in black tattoos. Voodoo symbols and coats of arms. An elaborate cross was tattooed on his chest, which rose and fell rapidly, betraying his desire as he moved to embrace Lucas from behind. Without a word, Lucas withdrew, and Violet moved up to the couch, spreading her thighs apart and resting a hand there as she watched as Oliver
kissed Lucas’s cheeks. He nibbled his neck from behind as he stroked his manhood and slipped a skilled finger inside of him. Lucas was beside himself with arousal. He surged forward, thrusting into Violet as Oliver spread him apart, pushing inside of him—taking him whole. He let out a strangled moan of pleasure and bit down hard on Violet’s neck. Oliver thrust hard into him, and his face transformed into a mask of ferocious desire. Each thrust drove him closer to the edge—closer into Violet’s heat. She writhed against them. Lucas was sucking at her neck now, and the pain of it mixed with the pleasure, as he drank of her body and soul. She was barely conscious of Oliver whispering.

  “Take her. Take her, Lucas,” he was murmuring over and over again in the younger man’s ear as he thrust into him. “Together.” He was taller than Lucas, and he leaned over him, sinking his fangs into the other side of Violet’s neck. She writhed and moaned at the mercy of the men. Lucas pushed into her one final time, bellowing into the crook of her neck as he came to his crisis, filling her with his seed. Violet bucked against him, lost in a haze of absolute pain and pleasure, losing control as her orgasm crashed over her. Her eyes rolled back, and the room went dark.

  When she awoke hours later, she found herself nestled in between Lucas and Oliver in a large four-poster bed. Each man had thrown a protective arm across her as they slept. She was surprised to find that her neck was free of pain. Her teeth felt unfamiliar and strangely oblong. They were sharp. And then she knew. Her heart swelled with a strange happiness as she felt the steady breathing of the men beside her. She had fallen in love with them. She had fallen in love with New Orleans.

  THE END

  Bonus Story 35 of 40

  Son of the Dragon King

  It had been a year. She was certainly over him.

  She stared blankly at the blinking computer screen in front of her, unable to concentrate on anything as thoughts of her ex-boyfriend Brian flooded her mind.