The stage name had been chosen to fit her act. Every time she moved on to a new club, a new town, Angelique reinvented her burlesque persona. In Manchester, she’d been Domino Vain, in Soho, Vivienne Sin. Like Brighton itself, this routine, this name fitted her perfectly. She didn’t want to think about the day when she would have to give it up.
The heavy velvet drapes parted, revealing her to the audience. The cradle had been decked out to look like a new moon, designed to conceal more of Angelique’s body than it revealed. There were cheers of approval at the sight of her long, stocking-clad legs, which she’d hooked over the lower curve of the crescent.
As her chosen music—a slow, soulful instrumental version of Blue Moon—played, Angelique began to strip. Burlesque was all about the art of the tease, of letting those watching think they had seen—and were going to see—more than they ever actually did. In turn, she removed each glove, twirling it in her fingers before letting it drop to the stage, a couple of feet below. Next were the stockings, eased down with care so as not to snag the gossamer-fine nylon.
She leaned forward a little to offer the audience a sneaky glimpse of her breasts. In the moment before she started undoing the corset, she noticed two men sitting at a table stage left, watching her with undisguised intent.
Before the renaissance of burlesque, she’d worked in more traditional strip clubs, but she’d never particularly liked performing in such a sleazy, male-dominated environment. Here, her shows were attended by almost as many women as men, and the atmosphere was one of lighthearted enjoyment. Most of the time, she barely noticed the people watching her, but something about these two had her senses on high alert.
The blond—well, she’d have noticed him anywhere. The wide eyes, the full lips and broad-shouldered body… He couldn’t fail to remind her of the man who had first brought her to this city. Hogarth, her first lover, unforgettable for so many reasons. Though this man appeared younger, softer, and more of an innocent than Hogarth had been. He seemed more likely to be in need of her protection than to offer it to her. To her surprise, Angelique did not find that prospect unappealing.
The guy sitting alongside him piqued her attention equally, though for very different reasons. He had messy dark hair, a strong growth of beard on his chin, and a way of wearing his clothes that suggested he’d be far more comfortable naked. Even if she hadn’t been aware of his distinctive, feral scent—something to which the rest of the club’s patrons clearly remained oblivious—she’d have known him to be part wolf.
What’s one of his kind doing here? More importantly, why was he watching her as though he longed to settle between her legs and feast on her pussy? He had to have recognized her for what she was, and yet he didn’t display any signs of revulsion or hatred, the reactions she’d experienced when she’d last found herself in the company of lycans.
Doing her best to put her awareness of his presence out of her mind, Angelique undid the last of the hook fastenings. With one hand clamped over the swell of her breasts, she reached out and tossed the corset over the side of the cradle.
Coming towards the end of her performance, she kicked up her legs and threw her head back, mimicking the throes of sexual bliss. She cupped her breasts, letting the audience get a brief view of their diamanté-covered tips, then the stage lights went out. She could hear wild applause as the curtains were pulled to, but she didn’t move to take her usual bow. Much as she wanted Blondie to see her in her all-but-naked state, the thought of his companion eyeing her was a different matter. It disturbed her, but she couldn’t deny it turned her on, too, and that reaction, to borrow a phrase she had picked up from Sally, was so many shades of wrong.
* * * *
The dressing room was empty when she returned to it. Sally would have already left for her rendezvous with Chrissie, and Irina, tonight’s other featured dancer, changed into her street clothes and gone. Irina said her boyfriend didn’t like her to socialize with the rest of the girls, and Angelique had the impression that the man was far too possessive for his—and Irina’s—good. She’d met his type before and she had ways of dealing with them. Maybe she should sound Irina out, discover how upset she’d be if the man should suddenly disappear.
She shook her head, dismissing the thought. One sniff of a lycan and all her baser instincts came to the surface. What she needed was a drink or two, and the chance to catch up on all Chrissie’s gossip. Even though she could barely remember a time when she’d been able to walk in the sunlight, she still craved stories of that other, unattainable world.
She was just stepping into her dress when a knock sounded at the door. Expecting it to be Mick, who’d seen her in a state of undress more times than she cared to recall, she called out, “Come in!”
When the cute blond stepped into the dressing room, she could only stare at him in open-mouthed astonishment.
“Hi,” he said, seeming embarrassed at having caught her half naked even though he’d just seen her strip down to little more than pasties and a thong on stage. “I’m sorry to burst in on you like this, but I just had to see you. I—I told the guy outside that I was an old friend of yours from school.”
Angelique wanted to burst out laughing. If only he knew that what education she’d received had been at the hands of a governess, in that little attic room of the family home in Paris. Poor dear Estelle—killed by the hands of the mob, like so many others whose crime had been simply to be in the employ of a wealthy family.
“Is your friend with you?” she asked, turning her back on him as she zipped up her dress.
“What, Lucas? No. He—he decided to go home. He thought I should do this on my own.”
“Do what?” Angelique faced him, a little more secure now that she knew that brutish, undeniably sexy wolf wasn’t lurking in the corridor outside. Though being alone with this man presented its own challenges. Her pussy lips had plumped up, the thin crotch of her panties slipping into the crease between them, and she was all too aware that her nipples were now hard points, jutting against the cups of her bra.
“Ask if you maybe wanted to come for a drink with me, or…” He ran a hand through his gelled fringe, causing it to stick up stiffly.
The result, Angelique thought, was to make him look like a nervous ingenu, and even more endearing than he already did. “Or?” she purred.
“God, that accent of yours. It does things to me.”
Glancing down, she could see what he meant. The thick, curved outline of his cock was visible through his grey suit trousers. It was all she could do not to lick her lips. As a dancer, her rule had always been ‘look but don’t touch’, never letting any man get as close to her as he might want. But rules were made to be broken.
“I’m sure you get told how fabulous your performance is all the time, Miss—Clair’s not your real name, is it?”
“No, it’s not. You may call me Angelique.”
He seemed about to stick out a hand for her to shake, then drew it back. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Angelique. I’m Tom. Tom Lawless.”
The name seemed familiar, but she could not think where she had heard it before.
“And I really did love your act,” he went on. “But I’ve taken up too much of your time already.” He took a couple of paces back, and took hold of the doorknob.
“Don’t go, Tom. Please. You’re right. You’re not the first man who’s wanted to take me for a drink, or to praise me on my dancing. But you’re the first in a long time who I’ve actually had the desire to get to know better.”
Tom’s face brightened, and he stopped trying to make his exit from the dressing room. “Wow, that’s great. So, I know this little bar just round the corner…”
“Let’s skip the formalities. I have a bottle of very good Bordeaux at home, and a roof garden with a perfect view over the city. Why don’t you come back with me and we can enjoy them both?”
Her invitation could not have been more blatant, but Angelique was in no mood for subtlety.
/> He nodded eagerly. “Okay.”
She wrapped her shawl around her shoulders then retrieved her handbag. As they left the dressing room, Tom took Angelique’s hand in his. It sent a little thrill of desire trembling through her, and she hoped they wouldn’t bump into Mick. She liked the guy too much to let him see that one of the punters had succeeded where he’d failed.
The walk back to her apartment was mostly uphill, away from the bright lights of the bars and clubs clustered near the seafront. Tom matched the pace of his steps to hers, as she trotted along in the fuck-me heels that were so impractical but gave her the all-important extra few inches of height that brought her head on a level with his. They seemed enveloped in a little bubble where nothing mattered but the other.
“So, tell me what brings a guy like you to a burlesque club,” Angelique said.
“Oh, that was Lucas’ idea. He reckons I’ve been shut up with my work far too much recently, and I needed to come out and play.”
“And what is this job that’s taking up all your time?”
“I’m a sculptor. I’m just putting the final touches to an exhibition that’s going to be held at the Pavilion. Part of the Cities After Dark project—I don’t know whether you’ve heard of it?”
So that was how she knew the name. She’d seen details of the event on a poster fixed to some railings near the Clock Tower.
“Sounds interesting.”
“Oh, I could bore you with the details for hours, if you wanted. This is my first major exhibition, and I’m so excited about it.”
They turned the corner, and in moments were standing on Angelique’s doorstep. As she put the key in the lock, Tom encircled her waist with his hands. He dropped a kiss on her collarbone, where it was left exposed by the shawl, and that was all it took.
They half fell through the open door and into the hallway, colliding with a bicycle that one of the students who lived in the ground floor flat kept chained up there.
“Merde, now we’ll have woken everyone in the building up.” Angelique barely knew her neighbors, though she occasionally saw one or other of the students if they were staggering home at the same time as she arrived back from Club Peekaboo.
“Don’t worry, I’m sure it’ll be fine.” Tom paused on the stairs to kiss her again, on the lips this time.
His mouth was warm and soft, and she realized with a shock just how long it had been since she’d been properly kissed.
By the time they reached her front door, Tom had pulled off her shawl, and she had loosened his tie and undone half of the buttons on his shirtfront. Need pulsed through her veins, and when she gazed into his eyes, she saw that the pupils were wide with lust.
Angelique dragged Tom into her flat without effort. Her strength and muscularity didn’t seem to surprise him. Perhaps he put it down to her gymnastic dance routines.
She pushed him up against the wall and quickly undid his shirt the rest of the way. He shrugged his jacket off, then the shirt, and Angelique smiled at the sight of his bare, brawny chest. His skin was tanned an appealing shade of honey. A small, deeply buried part of her envied his ability to spend time in the sun.
Tom drove the thought from her mind by mashing his mouth to hers, while with one hand he groped for the zip on her dress. She went limp in his arms as he stripped the garment from her, only stepping out of it once it had dropped to the floor.
This wasn’t how she’d envisaged the seduction. She’d planned to take him up to the roof garden, where they could have drunk wine and maybe enjoyed a few stolen kisses. But his blood was roused, and she could scent his excitement, more subtly masculine than the sharp, intoxicating stink of his friend, the wolf.
Don’t think about him. He has no place here…
Tom brought her back to the moment by reaching for the fastening on her bra and pulling it open.
“Gorgeous,” he murmured, looking at her breasts with stunned admiration.
So funny of him to be so in awe of what he’d already seen on stage, but she supposed he must be trying hard to separate her fantasy persona, the distant and untouchable Clair de Lune, from the woman who stood before him now in nothing but lace panties and heels.
“You’re pretty easy on the eye yourself,” she responded, pressing herself tight to him as she worked to unbuckle his belt. His cock, long and virile in his clinging trousers, was imprinted in her mind, and she was desperate to hold that big, beautiful thing in her hand.
She nipped at his neck, playfully at first, but as he responded to her caresses, she felt her canine teeth begin to lengthen. They pricked at his skin, hard enough to draw blood. The rich, coppery aroma awakened her need to feed on him, and she fought the urge to sink her fangs deeper.
“Hey, what are you…?” Tom, obviously reacting to the pain she’d caused him, broke away from her.
Angelique put a hand to her mouth, but she knew what he’d seen, what he’d felt. “Tom, I’m so sorry. I couldn’t help myself.”
Already he was searching around for his discarded shirt and jacket. “What kind of fucking freak are you?”
She had to do whatever it took to stop him from leaving. “Please, this doesn’t have to be the end between us. Let me explain. Perhaps you’ll be more sympathetic once you know how I became what I am.”
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About the Author
Lucy Felthouse is a very busy woman! She writes erotica and erotic romance in a variety of subgenres and pairings, and has over seventy publications to her name, with many more in the pipeline. These include Best Bondage Erotica 2012 and 2013, and Best Women’s Erotica 2013. Another string to her bow is editing, and she has edited and co-edited a number of anthologies.
Email: [email protected]
Lucy loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at http://www.totallybound.com.
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