บททั้งหมดของ DARK DESIRE (short steamy stories): บทที่ 11 - บทที่ 20

This was Randall Mercedes, and he wanted me. For a one-night stand or was he talking about something more? Did I care? Not at the moment. I just wanted fresh air and a little bit of time to absorb everything. Randall joined me, leaning an arm on the iron railing. I couldn’t help but stare at his almost-nudity. He would’ve made an amazing and highly demanded stripper. But I would’ve settled for him being my private stripper. Let’s be honest. I would’ve settled for anything he wanted to give me. I wasn’t afraid to admit, if only to myself, that I’d been smitten with him for a while. I just never thought I had a shot in hell with him. Randall turned to face me, keeping an arm on the railing. “I’ve been interested in you for a while. You just always seemed to be with someone.” “Not since your party last year.” He nodded. “But for the past year I’ve spent a lot of time overseas with my company. I haven’t had a lot of time to spend at home. But I’ve found someone who can run my business i

By the pool there were girls lounging on the sun chairs, despite the fact that it was night time and the sun was long gone. Groups of guys crowded around, vying for their attention. Lance led me to a quieter area, over by the shallow end of the swimming pool. He kicked off his flip-flops and sat at the edge, dangling his feet in the cool blue water. “Sit with me!” he said, patting the ground beside him. I removed my shoes and sat, dipping my feet into the pool beside his. We talked about class. It seemed he was an English major, just like me and he wanted to be a writer some day. I liked that about him and found we had a lot to talk about. I was deeply engrossed in conversation with this guy when he playfully dipped his hand into the pool and splashed me. I yelped feeling the cold wetness hit my upper body. Splashing him back, our water fight continued and soon, looking down I realized that my white shirt was now entirely see through. Lance was staring directly at my breasts, their

The remainder of her clothes were swiftly shed—her shirt and skirt, pantalettes and stockings. When he freed the stays of her corset with a hiss of compressed air, she sighed along with the sound, her inhibitions stripped away with her attire. Not that she’d had all that many by the time he touched her. The baron had been seducing her from the moment he commissioned the lovebirds. The journey to this point, both mental and actual, had only lured her deeper under his spell. “Annabelle.” He cupped her breasts through her chemise, lifting their moderate weight and kneading gently, just as she’d imagined mere moments before. He rolled her nipples between thumb and forefinger, and her head fell back against his shoulder, her lips parting on rapid breaths. Both of his hands were warm, his touch both reverent and rapacious. Her nerve endings woke from their extended dormancy, prickling with near-painful intensity. She grew slick and hot between her legs, her sex throbbing with greedy hunger.

Miss Lily had stood just so, while I worked my way through her opulent delights…but with Miklos spread out at my mercy, all other visions faded. Miss Lily would have understood perfectly. “We’ll just see how long you can hold that position,” I said, and took time to check our altitude and assess the balloon’s state of inflation. When I finally moved close enough to press against him I could tell through his expensive broadcloth trousers that he was getting to a considerable state of inflation as well. So, in my way, was I, but it would be easier to keep control of the situation if I didn’t let on. “Consider your head tied, as well,” I said sternly when he tried to duck his mouth toward me. “I’m the commander of this ship.” Then I stood on tiptoes with my body rubbing against him, set my hands on his shoulders, and touched my lips very briefly to his before running them across his beard. It felt silky and rough both at once. The white streak covered a scar of some sort, more like a bur

My body heats all the way through—all the way from my too-red face, right down to the tips of my toes. I can feel each finger he’s touching exactly, and when he moves closer to me I do what I would never dare to in real life. I sway closer to him, as though we’re magnets and metal. As though I cannot help it, and I suppose that is true. I cannot. I want to edge closer to him, and feel every word he speaks with that mean mouth—because he says so little and yet I am certain he says so much. He is the ghost who tries to speak without a mouth, he is the center of my maze, the gleaming spire, oh, lord why am I thinking any of this? Perhaps he is making me, I consider—yes, perhaps. It could be that the very purpose of his machine is to fit strange images and fantasies into a young woman’s mind, then have his wicked way with her. And yet I do not believe so, I cannot believe so, it could not be true, could it? What, by god, would a man like him ever want with a woman like me? And he would ne