Love on the Dark Side

by Love on the Dark Side [Black Lace] (retail) (epub)

  He tilts his head to one side and brushes his fingertips down the pale white expanse of his own throat, then peels back the torn collar of his T-shirt. I don’t understand what he is showing me at first. Then I see it, a red impression just over his jugular – a bite mark. He tears away the T-shirt, and there are many more marks spread across his torso.

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Once is rarely, if ever, enough,’ he says.

  He leans over me and opens the car door. It’s only then that I realise we’ve been stationary for several minutes.

  ‘Run, Kristy, run. Run until your heart’s fit to burst.’

  I bolt on to the verge, but I don’t run. I don’t run because he wants me to, and there is no hope in being chased. Better I accept my fate now.

  ‘Fool,’ he hisses, and strides past me to a wrought-iron gate, beyond which steps lead up through a tangle of briars to a redbrick house.

  He disappears along the path of thorns, and I find myself drawn along behind as if the thread of destiny is tugging me. I can’t escape him any more than I can escape the images in my head. I see him naked, his chest smooth, his two nipples pointed. Blood trickles in tiny rivulets down his thighs, and his cock juts proudly towards my mouth.

  I lick at the offering, suck him deep. I know what I’m doing is crazy, that I’m not in control, but I want what he’s offering. I want it, the whole fantastic dreamscape.

  Inside, the walls are fiery red. The hall is tiled in black and white, and each step echoes. There’s a soapy floral smell in the air, too, that reminds me of a funeral parlour. I pursue him straight upstairs to what I assume is the bedroom, and not just his coffin repository.

  I’m not disappointed. The room is airy and dark, lit by a single bubbling lava lamp that paints inky-blue colour on to the thick swathes of velvet on the bed.

  He’s waiting for me just inside the door, where he stops me with the icy press of his hand against my chest.

  ‘What?’

  He presses a finger to my lips, but too late, apparently …

  An ear-splitting shriek breaks the silence. From out of nowhere, a man lurches towards us. There’s a sharp clink and he jerks to an unsteady halt in the middle of the room, and only then do I realise he is shackled.

  ‘Show her to me, Lucius. Free me.’

  I cling to my date as if he’s going to protect me. Crazy really, all things considered, but, of the two men in the room, he seems the tamer option. The prisoner is naked, with skin as pale as porcelain and hair so black it betrays obvious Eastern ancestry. Even chained, heexudespower.

  I tremble under his gaze, but still allow myself to feast upon his form. He’s cut like an athlete, all pecs and abs and triceps. His legs are long and broad across the thighs. It’s just a peek from there to where his cock slumbers in a nest of dark curls. He’s beautiful, but in a different way to Lucius, who is all hipbones and wiry perkiness. And my capricious body responds to him, warming my cheeks yet again.

  ‘Lucius,’ he demands.

  Lucius takes my hand and twirls me before him, showing off all my most obvious assets – bottom, thighs and bust, all of which fail to soften his gaze.

  ‘Raffe,’ Lucius drawls. ‘Go easy on her. You can’t say she’s not what you want.’ He pulls back my hair and reveals the unblemished buttermilk expanse of my throat.

  Raffe’s eyes immediately blaze with hunger. ‘You haven’t tasted her!’ His voice sounds as choked as I feel.

  ‘Just a drop.’ Lucius offers up my hand for inspection. He squeezes the incision until blood beads in the wound again. This he then smears across Raffe’s tongue.

  The effect is startling; he swallows and groans, writhes as if tormented. ‘More,’ he demands. ‘Release me. Give her to me.’

  ‘No!’ I struggle but Lucius’s fingers bite hard into my wrist.

  ‘Soon,’ he promises Raffe. ‘I just need to decorate her a little first.

  He strokes my neck, runs his hands all over my body and finally settles his attention on my breasts. My nipples grow tight and tingly. I lean into his body, and a hand delves lower, under my skirt to exactly the spot I need to feel him.

  ‘The chains,’ Raffe demands.

  ‘A little precaution first.’ Lucius fastens a spiked collar around my throat then throws him the key.

  Far from pouncing, Raffe stalks me like a panther, slowly circling and showing his teeth.

  There are no boltholes in the room for me to run for, no place to hide except the bed or in Lucius’s arms. Except his attention is now all on Raffe.

  He drapes a silk kimono around Raffe’s shoulders, which falls away moments later when he closes in for the kill.

  In desperation, I scuttle backwards until I hit the bedpost.

  Raffe’s hands land upon my shoulders, pinning me. ‘Do you have a name, girl?’

  ‘Kristy.’ I look up into his face like a frightened rabbit. His eyes are fathomless pools of deep magenta, not feline like Lucius’s but infinitely more knowing and, if not wiser, definitely older. ‘Please,’ I beg. I’m not ready to die.

  His lips curl. He strokes away the tears that are forming in my eyes. ‘Do you enjoy pain, little Kristy?’ he asks.

  ‘No!’

  ‘Liar!’ says Lucius.

  He entwines his arms around Raffe’s neck, and presses an idle kiss to his jaw. Suddenly, I understand where all the bite marks have come from and at least part of their significance. They are lovers, of sorts, and the marks denote just how much they have shared.

  Lucius watches my reaction to the kiss, then slides his hand down Raffe’s front to his crotch. He teases Raffe’s slumbering cock, massaging it in a fashion that is both dirty and deliciously crude, but fails to rouse its full attention.

  ‘Not enough blood,’ says Raffe.

  He turns so that their bodies press together from shoulder to knees and kiss aggressively. The lamplight plays across their skin, shading the contours of their bodies in tones of ink and frost. I try to slip around them, but I am also mesmerised by them.

  When they part, I’m no more than five paces away, and Lucius’s lip is torn and bloody.

  ‘Come,’ he says to me and holds out his hand.

  My heart flutters. I look to the door, to the bed, the window. In the end, Raffe simply grabs me and hoists me on to the bed. He covers me, and his lips skim over mine. His kiss is smoking hot. It invades and penetrates. It is so much more than a melding of mouths and tongues. And I love it, and I loathe it. I struggle beneath him, trying to push him away, while my pussy grows wet and my body aches for more of him.

  The first bite is more painful and more exquisitely sensual than I could ever have anticipated. I drown in its intimacy; my treacherous body alight with hurt as Raffe’s teeth dig deep into my breast.

  The second bite lances into the tender flesh of my inner thigh, and is a thousand times more painful. It is bitter and sharp, and makes me feel dizzy.

  Like decadent twins, they cover me. I kick and whimper, but cannot push them off. Raffe alone is easily twice my weight and far more muscled, and, so pinned, I stare up into the canopy only to find its darkness chased with silver. My reflection stares back at me; spread alone and naked on a bed apart from a bunched-up skirt that hugs my hips like a girdle.

  Lucius finds my clit, and I writhe like a whore, but his touch is flighty and teasing, not insistent, as I want it. He toys with me, pushing a thumb inside me while Raffe takes possession of my mouth again.

  This time, he tastes of fresh blood, my blood. His lips are flushed crimson, and his cock has risen. It brands my hip, pushes eagerly against me seeking admittance.

  ‘Yes …’ he murmurs, ‘yes …’

  Then he straddles my head, and pushes into my mouth.

  His hands weave themselves into my hair. The taste of blood in my mouth grows stronger, and I realise he’s weeping tears of it from his cock.

  ‘Take it. Take it all. Drink me down,’ he urges.

  Above me, h
is eyes glow red. His hips buck faster. He begins to pant. His rhythm almost chokes me.

  ‘Stop it!’ Lucius drags him from me. ‘Not yet.’ They roll on to the sheets beside me, spitting and hissing like cats, and tearing at each other with sharp black claws.

  ‘I need to possess her!’

  ‘Stop it!’

  ‘A few love bites won’t hurt.’

  ‘Control it, Raffe.’

  ‘Ow!’

  ‘Fuck! Get off.’

  They fall still with Lucius on top, one hand wrapped around Raffe’s balls and his other pressing into his eye socket.

  ‘Be calm. Don’t spoil it. Concentrate and you can salve both thirsts at once.’

  ‘The burn’s too strong,’ Raffe’s voice is husky and choked. ‘We’ve left it too long this time. You should have let me out days ago. I warned you it would be like this.’

  ‘It’s not too long.’ Lucius strokes his hair and brow. He bites into his wrist and offers it to Raffe, who latches on like a babe and sucks greedily.

  Watching them together like that makes my cheeks burn. I feel I am spying on something desperately intimate. I pull myself up on to the mound of pillows and draw my knees up to my chest. They are beautiful, frightening and strong. I want to watch them forever. The bond between them is so strong. Lucius’s eyes glaze with pain, but still he lets Raffe greedily quench his thirst.

  ‘Are you still here, Kristy?’ he asks.

  I nod and shuffle forwards a fraction so that I can touch him.

  ‘You’re not very good at escaping.’

  ‘No,’ I admit.

  ‘She likes what she sees too much,’ says Raffe.

  He offers Lucius’s wrist to me, but I shake my head. Then he offers his own, and I’m forced to shake my head again. I don’t want to be like them. I just want to watch them.

  ‘Next best thing, then,’ he growls. ‘Let’s fuck.’

  He pushes Lucius on to his back and peels off his snakeskin trousers. Bite marks cover the whole of his body. He focuses on me next, and pulls me astride Lucius, whose hands warm my thighs, then mould my breasts.

  Raffe straddles him too and presses up close against my back. His erection slides between my cheeks and brands me with promises. They are both too near and too far. Everything grows slippery and warm as we writhe together, tongues and fingers exploring each other’s flesh. My muscles flutter as Lucius massages my clit with his cock. I want them inside me now – together.

  ‘Together?’ Raffe whispers into my ear as he teases the lobe with his tongue. ‘Do you think you’ll fit us both in your cunt?’

  I know he knows that wasn’t what I meant.

  How can they know my every thought?

  Lucius’s eyes are black with hunger and his breathing is heavy. Raffe licks incessantly around the edge of the spiked collar.

  Is it even possible, outside of extreme pornography? I’m in unknown territory being explored by ghostly fingers. Raffe’s tongue creeps up beneath the collar, as he releases the buckles. Lucius urges me forwards for a kiss. He slips inside me. He urges my hips down on to his, over and over. Raffe massages my back. He rubs circles into my arse, then scissors his finger down around Lucius’s cock as he slides in and out of me. It’s pure magic. I feel like I’m glowing, but I know that the best and worst is still to come.

  As I rise and writhe, Raffe holds me still. He clasps their cocks together and when I fall it is on to both of them.

  They are like iron twinned inside me. Stretching me so the pleasure is intense. But it’s still not enough for them. They sink sharp teeth into either side of my neck. And I’m lost in a world of cocks and claws, of teeth and hair and light-headedness. My heart is beating three rhythms at once. They know everything about me now, what every little touch will do, how to make me sing and weep. I can’t fight the inevitable. They’ve drunk down more than just my blood – part of my psyche too.

  When my orgasm breaks, I’m weeping ruby tears of my own.

  I don’t wake the following day, or the next. I sleep through a week and into a fortnight. When I finally come round, I’m in a hospital bed with no memory of how I got here. Pain streaks through my body like electric fire. Any light is too bright. Not even morphine dulls the pain.

  They won’t let me eat. They just feed me constant bags of saline via a drip.

  Everything is very white.

  Why is the room full of lilies?

  I wish I could remember. Then I do and wish I couldn’t.

  Messers Cox, Cooks & Evans let me go. I’m not sure they can do that, but I don’t care enough to fight, because I’ve a burning thirst that the ice cubes they bring me to suck won’t quench.

  It’s a lust for the pale skin of the two dark angels who led me along this path.

  A lust for blood …

  Sun Seeking Janine Ashbless

  He had the most beautiful arse.

  I’d seen a lot of naked backsides that morning, male and female, big and small, but one glimpse down the length of that hall took my breath away. It was … just awesome. Not a bum; bums are soft and round and a bit silly. There’s no muscle in a bum. Kids have bums. Women have bums, particularly when they’re worrying about whether their pants are too tight. Even builders have bums. This was emphatically not a bum. It wasn’t a nearly non-existent student slacker rear either, or a slightly hairy squared-off male backside.

  No, this was an arse. A truly magnificent arse. He stood tilted on one hip as if about to take a step forwards, the right buttock clenched. Both cheeks were distinct, the crack between them a deep cleft. I felt an urge to grab those proud glutes and run my tongue up that crack. It was something to do with the dimples at the top of his cleft, something about the easy line of his spine, and the way the long folds of his cloak hung off one shoulder as if he’d just let his clothes slip and casually revealed himself to me. As I walked up the Archaic Sculpture hall, my flip-flops snapping on the flagstones, I realised my pussy had suddenly grown warm and puffy, and I blushed.

  Nobody was supposed to get hot looking at sculpture, I told myself. I’d been round the Archaeology Museum in Athens on the first day of my holiday and I’d been in this little museum on Delos for nearly an hour already, admiring the marble torsos of athletes and deities and heroes, and they’d never had this effect on me before. They were certainly beautiful. But this statue – far bigger than life – he was sexy.

  I looked at the typed label on the plinth as I drew close. Kouros: 5th Century BC: Parian marble. They weren’t into long explanations in here. Kouros just meant ‘young man’. I looked up again. Now I could see the cracks where they’d pieced him back together. They hadn’t found everything; he was still missing most of his arms, both feet and, most obviously, his head. But they had his long thighs and his broad shoulders and lithe hips and that fantastic edible-looking arse.

  God, I was really letting it get to me. The barren room with its stone exhibits suddenly felt warm and airless. I wanted so badly to run my hands up the old marble. I wanted to touch myself.

  ‘D’you like him?’ said a voice at my shoulder.

  I jumped and spun around; I’d had no idea there was anyone else in the room. All the other tourists had gone to look around the ruins first, before the museum.

  ‘Huh? Yes.’ I went pink again.

  The woman was taller than me and wore shades propped to the top of her head, where her mahogany hair was pulled back in a long plait.

  ‘He’s lovely, isn’t he? Apollo. My favourite piece in the museum – I always make sure I look in on him.’

  ‘Right. Do you come here often?’ Then I realised what I’d said and dissolved into flapping embarrassed giggles. ‘I mean – do you work here?’

  She raised her eyebrows, smiling. She really had the whole Lara Croft thing going; khaki shorts over long legs, a webbing belt and a tight sleeveless top that displayed tanned and toned upper arms. Not the pneumatic breasts though – or the guns, of course.

  ‘I do some consu
ltancy work,’ she said, ‘for the archaeologists.’ Her accent was almost inaudible; it might have been Greek or French. The archaeologists on Delos were mostly French, I recalled.

  ‘Wow. What a great place to work.’

  She tucked a stray wisp of hair back behind her ear. ‘Better than most. Plenty of sun. No mud. You’re from England?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘I lived in London for a few years. Are you staying on Mykonos or on a cruise ship?’ She kept her eyes fixed on mine, which was a bit disconcerting.

  ‘Mykonos.’ I’d come over to Delos on the first ferry that morning.

  ‘On your own? Or is your girlfriend around?’

  Boy, was she direct. I blinked. It was an easy mistake for her to have made; there are a lot of gay holidaymakers on the party island of Mykonos.

  ‘Well, I was supposed to be here with my boyfriend,’ I admitted, slightly emphasising his gender. ‘Only, we split up just before the holiday. Actually, I dumped him.’

  ‘So you came out on your own? Enjoying yourself?’

  I shrugged. ‘Yeah. It’s great.’

  Actually, I’d been shocked to find out how much of my confidence, after three years, had been dependent on having Lee around. It had taken a couple of nights for me to work up the courage to go to a club.

  As if reading my thoughts, she asked, ‘You like the nightlife?’

  I winced inwardly. Everyone else on the island seemed to be with a pack of friends. It was impossible to break into a group of women, though it was easy enough to hook up with some lads – in the same sense that a side of beef can hook up with a tank of piranha.

  ‘I’m not that much of a party animal,’ I said, trying to sound casual.

  My first attempt at a two-fingers-up-to-Lee holiday fling had been a huge disappointment. I’d gone with an English lad back to my room in the small hours; sex had been over within minutes, and then he’d hogged the bed, snoring, for the rest of the night. In the morning, we’d had nothing to say to one another. My exciting stranger of the previous evening had turned out to be, well, just an ordinary bloke from Sheffield, not particularly good looking and no conversationalist for sure. ‘Cheers,’ he’d said as he’d slipped out. Cheers! – I ask you!