Wild Nights

by Sharon Page

  The moans of pleasure calling to the deities made her envious. She wished she could take part in the festivities, just as she’d had in previous years. After all these months of tepid sex, she’d planned on having an orgy. Except now she couldn’t, not if she wanted to stay out of Bryce’s hands.

  That deprivation was one more grievance to be laid at that earthworm’s door. Hardly fair, but after the way he’d duped her and played with her heart, she was in no mood for fairness.

  Edging her way around preoccupied merrymakers, Alana headed for the front door. If she could just evade the simulacra until dawn, Bryce wouldn’t be able to do anything. Once the sun rose, she could report him to the garda. She clung to that hope desperately, knowing she couldn’t hold off Bryce by herself—not when he had five simulacra to aid him.

  The boisterous crowd shifted, giving her a view of her destination.

  Alana stopped in her tracks, a shiver of dread sending shards of ice through her veins.

  Another simulacrum stood framed in the entry, just beyond the bouncer, rocking on its legs as though something was pushing it back while it attempted to move forward. The bouncer stood with his back carefully turned to the restless simulacrum. If it made to come in, he wouldn’t stop it. On Samhain, when spirits walked, no one got in their way, especially when the spirit was obviously the product of illegal necromancy.

  She scanned the floor for other exits. One led to the champagne rooms, another to dance rooms for customers who wanted privacy. Neither area had windows or an exit, and the door behind her led only to the restrooms, the back office, and the storeroom—which was not an option. That left only the stairs to the private rooms for those who wanted a bed and more time, but there was no other way down from there.

  The simulacrum turned in her direction, all but facing her, as though it knew she was watching it.

  To evade detection, she spun around, hoping to duck into one of the alcoves along the walls, and ran smack into a solid, leather-clad chest. Mobile, sensual lips filled her vision while large, hot hands caught her shoulders as she stumbled back, rebounding from the impact.

  “Going somewhere?” A mellow tenor with the deep rumble of a hungry lion.

  Her hands flat on hard, broad muscle, Alana stared up at the man who held her, unable to believe her eyes. It was the man who’d bolstered her nerve during her turn onstage, who’d encouraged her with a show of his desire, who’d openly caressed his erection in time to her dance.

  Up close, it was obvious he was Colin, but a very different man from the sleek, clean-shaven jeweler she remembered. This Colin had the look of a dangerous hunting cat, dark cinnamon stubble giving him a roguish air. The way he stood, he seemed much larger, surrounding her with male heat, taking up more space than he should.

  “Actually—”

  Laughter rang out, reckless and somehow desperate. Revelers grew even wilder, their actions more blatantly sexual. The disturbance spreading out from the entrance reminded Alana of her danger. She was supposed to be hiding, not ogling men! She scanned the area on either side of her, but no other bolt-hole presented itself. She’d just have to improvise and hope she blended with the crowd.

  “How about a lap dance?” Praying to Flidais that Colin wouldn’t object, she pushed him into the seat in the alcove and straddled his lap, her knees sinking into soft cushions. Her breath caught as the position dropped her silk-covered mound flush against a hard ridge.

  Unabashed by his palpable arousal, he grinned, slow and sultry, the corner of his lips lifting in a sportive quirk. “Can I touch?” As he lay back, his yellowish-brown eyes glowed with a golden light, like an eagle sighting prey.

  Heat bubbled up inside her at the intent look on his face. Could this really be happening? “Nothing too rough,” she managed to answer around the tightness of her throat, unable to believe the sudden turn of events.

  Almost before the words left her mouth, he took her buttocks in his hands, kneading and spreading them possessively, the motion rubbing her groin against his erection. His hard palms were hot on her bare cheeks, the contact branding her and sending shivers of awareness through her that tightened her nipples to aching buds. “Too rough?”

  Catching her breath at the friction, Alana shook her head, releasing the snaps of her blouse while swaying to the music. “That’s okay.” The thrill that shot through her when she bared herself to him this time was even more potent, sending a spurt of heat trickling from her sex.

  Making her body available. They both knew where this was leading, what had been offered and accepted. Even if nothing happened tonight, a boundary had been crossed, and there was no going back.

  Humming along with the electric harp, she rubbed her cleavage against Colin, the suede of his jacket clinging to the tops of her breasts. His gaze was like live coal on her skin, searing her wherever it fell.

  “Like what you see?” she whispered into his ear before sucking on his lobe and tonguing it, all the while wondering if Bryce’s simulacrum had entered the club. Would she have any warning, or would her first indication of its approach be the smell of cold swamp?

  This close to Colin, Alana got a whiff of spicy cologne, something that called to mind fire and summer heat and male strength. A seductive scent. She wanted to wrap herself in it and hunker down, forget the world existed until Beltane and the return of growth in the forests.

  “Bright Belanus, yes,” he murmured against her breasts, his breath a warm caress, his stubble leaving tiny prickles on her sensitive skin. His callused hands wandered under her blouse, rough pads tracing her spine and the muscles of her back, then coming front to span her ribs, spreading shivers of awareness wherever they touched.

  “Surely you can tell?” His narrow hips rose slowly, almost lazily, an unhurried flexure of his body that pressed his undeniable erection against her wet nether lips, yet nothing in his expression suggested any resentment at his carnal response. Only then did she realize Bryce considered sex a distraction to be handled with expediency.

  Leaning back, she smiled at Colin, the knowledge of his easy acceptance of her feminine power almost heady enough to make her forget her danger. As she rose to her knees, a placket on his jacket snagged her bra, dragging it down and exposing all of her breasts. “Oh!”

  Colin claimed them swiftly, his palms hot, hard, and rough, his thumbs flicking over her pouting nipples. He lifted them free of her bra, plumping them between his cupped hands and rubbing his bristly cheeks against them with an approving growl. “Lovely. Just lovely.”

  She shivered at the toe-curling sensation, closing her eyes when he plucked the tight tips, trapping them and rolling them between his fingers. Heat streaked down to her core, a flaming arrow that left burning embers in its path. Swift Flidais, he knew how to use his hands.

  “Glad you like them.” Raising her arms to give him better access to her breasts and burying her fingers in her hair, she rocked her hips over him, moving to the music. The pleasure coursing through her body seduced her, loosened her muscles to supple limberness. It coaxed her into caressing Colin’s body with her own, using fluid, undulating strokes.

  Fearful, choked-off shrieks behind her had Alana stiffening and stealing a glance in that direction. Above the crowd, she could just make out the dark head of a simulacrum. It was inside the club! Bryce was getting stronger if it could do that.

  A sharp tweak on her nipple sent an arc of pure electricity crackling through her body to lash her creaming sex, wrenching her attention back to the man between her thighs.

  He stared up at her, a frown knitting his level brows. “Surely you can do better than that?”

  That reminded her: she was supposed to be giving him a lap dance as camouflage from the simulacrum’s search, maybe even protection from its presence. Resolving to do better, she forced a smile in apology. “Sorry, I got distracted.”

  Pulling her ponytail over her shoulder, she fanned the ends along his neck, getting a thrill when the strands grazed her bare breasts an
d from how closely she skirted propriety by using her unbraided tresses this way. “Better?”

  He hissed a breath as she feathered her hair over his skin in teasing strokes. “Naughty.”

  Too right. She wouldn’t have dared on a normal day. “It’s Samhain,” she reminded him, leaning down to trail her hair over his belly and the bulge at his fly. “Live a little.”

  Colin reached down, recapturing her breasts, his tanned hands dark against her milk-white skin. “I intend to.” He fondled her lightly, his touch like lightning to her senses—breathtaking and electric, raising wild sparks everywhere he touched.

  Her nipples must have had a direct link to her core: even the slightest twitch of his thumbs showered glittering delight through her belly. Was he using fire magic on her? She wouldn’t have thought it possible before, to be so thoroughly aroused with so little effort.

  Bryce had never learned to do that in all their months together. Or maybe he simply hadn’t bothered to learn.

  Determined not to let thoughts of that earthworm ruin this stolen moment, she lunged forward in blatant mimicry of the act she wanted to share with Colin, stroking his swollen length with her crotch. She could feel him against her naked cheeks and nether lips, the silk covering her sex a barrier barely worth mention. The steady friction called more heat to her belly, heavy with promise.

  She threw herself into the lap dance, hoping the gods in their approval would see fit to protect her from Bryce’s simulacra. She undulated over Colin, running her fingers through his short hair while she used her entire body to pleasure him—and herself.

  “Much, much better,” he murmured, placing a hand on her hip as she rolled her pelvis, urging her lower until her sex was flush against his, no matter how she moved.

  Alana’s eyes fluttered shut at the delicious sensations as she gave vent to a soft, disbelieving moan. She could feel every jerk and twitch of his cock sliding against her wet labia, the roughness of his pants against her cheeks, the hard buttons of his fly pressing on her clit. By the Lady of the Forest, all that from a simple lap dance?

  “Oh, yeah. That’s it.” Colin’s breath warmed her neck, his stubble scraping her collarbone, then his lips closed on her shoulder. A hot, stinging counterpoint to the creamy sweetness between her legs and the downy suede of his jacket against her breasts. His fingers continued their delicate plucking and strumming, playing her body like a stringed instrument and making it hum.

  Rolling her hips to his rhythm, she let her head fall back, losing herself in carnal hedonism, moaning when his hips rose to partner hers in their rocking, swaying dance. Swift Flidais, she didn’t want it to end.

  “Faster,” he growled into her ear, his teeth nipping her lobe, only to soothe it with a gentle swipe of his tongue.

  She cried out at the slight pain and moved faster, caught up in the rising spirals of breathless delight. His fierceness was like a fire licking at her heels and threatening to flare out of control.

  His hands were firm on her hips, anchoring her against him, fondling her tight cheeks and laying them wide. His body worked beneath her, thrusting and rolling, his cock grinding against her mound and teasing her throbbing clit.

  Pulling him closer, she rubbed her swollen breasts against his cheeks, getting another sizzle when his prickly jaw rasped a distended nipple.

  What would it feel like if he used his stubble all over her body? A frisson of excitement washed over Alana at the thought. Perhaps she’d find out tonight.

  “Bright Belanus!” Colin stared up at her, his glittering eyes narrow, his skin taut over his high cheekbones. Surging beneath her, he matched her lunges, move for move, so in tune with her body, as if he could read her mind.

  His breath warmed her breasts, his chest a hard, broad wall she clung to in their wild dance. His body was tense, his thighs like solid oak against her calves. He’d come soon, would take his release from her attentions.

  She wanted that for him, needed to see his golden eyes turn inward, dark with rapture. After the way he’d encouraged her tonight, she wanted to repay him with ecstasy. This wasn’t about her pleasure.

  Bending down, Alana stroked him with her breasts, wishing his jacket and the turtleneck he wore under it weren’t in the way. If this night was all they’d have, she wanted to feel his bare chest against her own. She continued to roll her hips, relishing the jerks of his cock against her nether lips.

  Colin groaned, his jaw set, a heavy flush across his cheeks, his lips red.

  It would be soon. She could tell he was close to the edge.

  A scream erupted behind her. She ignored it, intent on bringing Colin to completion. A simple lick of his ear might do it. Or a line of kisses along his neck? Maybe teasing him with her hair? He seemed to enjoy that game.

  Another shriller—and much closer—scream shattered her concentration, made her falter.

  Hissing, Colin shuddered under her, his hips shaking between her thighs like tree trunks battered by gale-force winds. His face contorted with grueling effort, hardly the look of a man in the throes of ecstasy—more of one dragging himself back from the edge.

  The disturbance was spreading, shocked exclamations quickly hushed, coming closer. The chill scent of damp loam freshly turned reached Alana, heavy with danger. She gripped Colin’s arms, fighting not to look over her shoulder toward the source of the scream.

  “Expecting someone?” Colin’s eyes narrowed; gold glinted through his lashes. “Or are you avoiding someone? Alcott, perhaps?” Despite the roughness of his voice, he looked remarkably lucid for someone who’d just stopped himself from coming through sheer willpower.

  The questions added to the coldness inside her. How did he know? Was he in league with Bryce? Impossible. Bryce couldn’t have known she would come to the HardWood; she hadn’t known herself. But how did Colin guess? “In a way.”

  “You’ll have to tell me about it.” His gaze darted to something over her shoulder. “Later.”

  Giving in to the urge prickling the back of her neck, Alana checked behind her.

  Just a few feet away stood one of Bryce’s simulacra, a distinctly unnatural presence, moaning low and wordless, in the middle of the busy strip bar. Its malformed head swiveled in all directions as if searching for a scent, though it didn’t seemed to notice her astraddle Colin’s lap.

  This close, she could make out coarse sand grains on its dark, humus-rich skin. Dried leaves stuck to its body while brown tufts of weeds dotted its shoulders and head. It stank of rot, the noxious stench of decaying plants and other things.

  Its touch was slow death, leaching life from its victims.

  She shook, unable to look away, praying to Flidais it would continue to ignore her. Lady of the Forest, let it pass her by.

  “Shhh, it’s okay.” Colin pulled her head down into a kiss, his lips feathering over hers, sweet in their unexpected solicitude. His tongue tangled with hers in a teasing dance of enticement and conquest.

  Alana tried to lose herself in his embrace but couldn’t forget the simulacrum close by. She shivered, the skin on her back crawling at its proximity, certain it couldn’t miss her.

  He broke off the kiss suddenly, glaring up at someone behind her. “Leave us alone.” If vehemence was all it took to command obedience, his scorching delivery would have routed a horde. But it wasn’t a horde behind her.

  By the time she’d twisted around, the simulacrum had a hand stretched out to her, reaching for her brooch. She flinched away from it in horror. “No!”

  At her cry, Colin snatched up a glass and flung its contents at the simulacrum. Drawing her away with an arm around her back, he gestured with his free hand, his teeth bared in a fierce snarl.

  Flames splashed on a sandy chest, catching on sere leaves and dead weeds. With a sudden woof, the simulacrum was engulfed in pale, blue-green fire like an enormous torch. Staggering back, it screamed—the uncanny wail of a soul in torment.

  “Upstairs. Quickly, now! That won’t hold it for long.�
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  Alana found herself on her feet with Colin surging out of the recliner, the simulacrum howling behind her.

  He dragged her with him to the stairs, his arm like a solid ironwood bar wrapped around her waist as he scaled the flight two steps at a time. “Why is it after you?”

  “My brooch.” Struggling to keep her feet under her, Alana clutched the piece, a prized memento of the great-grandfather who’d raised her. She couldn’t lose it again.

  At the top of the stairs, he released her. His eyes darted to the clenched fist at her hip as he shifted his hold to her free hand. “What for?” He pulled her along behind him, not waiting for an answer.

  Bryce’s treachery fresh in her mind, Alana wasn’t sure she could trust Colin. She countered with her own question: “Where are we going?”

  Colin threw her an impatient look over his shoulder. “One of the private rooms.”

  A frisson of excitement surged through her at his answer. She quashed a wild wish that they could use the room for the purpose it was meant.

  Of course, one of the rentals—they were the only rooms on the upper level—but how would they escape from there? She bit her lip to hold in her questions, her heart still racing from Colin’s use of fire magic and the mad dash up the steps. He had to have a plan; after his quick thinking with the simulacrum, they couldn’t have come upstairs only to be trapped.

  He led her down the corridor, past several occupied rooms, their footsteps barely audible on the wooden floor. Behind the doors came muffled groans and voices crying out in pleasure, along with rhythmic thumping from the walls.

  “Is it safe?” Alana asked Colin’s broad back. “He can move the earth. He did it to bring my house down.” The memory of her little cottage collapsing around her turned her cold. She’d survived only because the heavy beams had contorted to protect her.

  He shook his head, his hand squeezing hers reassuringly, warming more than just her palm. “This is the Pleasure Quarter. There’s too much life around. He can’t do that here, not even during Samhain.”