She Bites (A Paranormal Dark Erotica Series Book 1)

by Banks, Tiffany

  “The media and critics are invited to the dress rehearsals,” I tell him. “I thought they would make me nervous, but all I thought of was you. I performed for you, Nathan. Did you like it?”

  “Celeste, I loved it, and I love you.”

  Bonus Book 2: Tempting Daddy

  Five Years Ago…

  Jennifer Juliet Harriston sat on the third floor balcony – a balustrade her mother called it – gazing out on Long Island Sound. Her blue eyes were still a little red around the rims from crying as she sat in the well padded porch chair and rested her tanned, folded arms on the whitish-gray, stone rail, her chin resting lightly on her hands. She had not wanted to cry, but she had really, really wanted to go on the proud, 50 foot sailboat for the last day trip of the season. Summer was ending and she would be back in her hoity-toity prep school in a mere two week’s time. At 14, Jennifer knew she should not throw temper tantrums-that was baby stuff-and she had tried to reason with her mom, but to no avail. Marian Harriston had insisted that her daughter stay at her step father’s mansion in the Hamptons while they went out and had fun, fun, fun! Nothing she said would change her mother’s stubborn mind. They wanted “alone time”, or some such nonsense. To her young way of thinking, they got to be alone whenever they wanted. Daddy, as she called her step father, Xavier Brandon Harriston, had tried half heartedly to persuade Marian to let her come along, but Mom made her intentions clear and would not budge. Therefore, Jennifer was stuck pouting on the dumb balcony with dark thoughts clouding her brain.

  Jennifer’s mom had chalked the scene up to raging hormones and overrode Brandon’s attempt to supplicate his step daughter. Marian said that he couldn’t give in every time she wanted something, which he admitted he usually did. She also told Jennifer that scowling like that would give her wrinkles prematurely. He had raised Jennifer as his own; she had even taken his last name, since her biological father’s death when she was only four. After 10 years, though they were not related by blood, he thought of her as his own child. He could not have children as he and Marian had found out after two years of trying. The tests and trials at the fertility clinic were embarrassing and final: Xavier was shooting blanks. In every other way he was a virile man more than capable of satisfying his wife’s desires…and his own. He still thrilled to the sensation of bending her over or putting her on all fours and pumping his thick, ten inch cock up her tight ass even though he knew it hurt her some. That was part of what he liked, and he could feel her cum even though she whimpered, begged, and told him he was hurting her. He suspected she liked the pain mixed with pleasure as his ass slicked manhood pummeled her butt.

  Jennifer had screamed and stomped, and then practically flew up the winding marble staircase where she slammed the door to her room. Even at 14, the young girl was blossoming into a beautiful woman although she had not acted like one. Her ice blue eyes flashed with anger as she whipped her long blond hair around to stalk away with her full lips in a moue. Xavier found himself watching her bouncing rear as she ascended the wide stairway, but he was not into little girls. She would be something else in a few years and he’d have to watch the boys that came calling very carefully. Jennifer was already sparking the interest of the jet set boys on the beaches sprinkled around the Hamptons this summer and at parties thrown by the rich and shameless. She loved to dance and shake her booty. Xavier suspected she knew her lithe dancer’s body, blond tresses, and often skimpy attire attracted and teased onlookers. He never broached the subject with Marian because he was not sure how she would react, and he never got the chance.

  Jennifer saw the clouds darken over the Atlantic and move toward shore. The incoming weather matched her present mood. ‘Good,’ she thought, ‘I hope it rains and spoils their fun. That would teach them!’ The sun suddenly disappeared as the dark gray, swirling mass of cumulonimbus invaded the Sound and fat raindrops began to fall from the heavens and plop to the ground. The wind, only a slight breeze a moment before, began to pick up and gust, rattling the leaves of the scrub oaks and bending the tops of the tall pines. Jennifer withdrew her arms as rain began to spatter the balcony rail and then farther in as the wind increased. She regretted her earlier thought. This was turning into a tempest, and although the Pierson 50 sailboat was a large yacht with an able captain at the helm, the storm was bigger. Mom and Dad had been gone for about three hours, so she could only speculate as to how close to the safety of land they might be.

  What Jennifer did not know was that while the 4,000 pound keel jutting from the hull on the bottom of the craft would keep the boat from capsizing, the boom had broken loose of its securing rope when the first mate brought the mainsail down. She also did not know that Marian, for some reason no one ever understood, ran up onto the deck from the cabin below just as the wildly swinging boom raked across the back half of the boat. The boom struck Marian in the head as she went from a crouch to a standing position just aft of the cabin entrance, and then she was gone in an instant. Her unconscious body hit the briny, dark water full of eight foot waves cascading one after the other driven by the high winds. Xavier’s screams to the captain were drowned out by the gale force winds and by the time he made himself understood the sea had swallowed Marian and would never let her go. Davy Jones Locker had claimed another victim. Her body was never found.

  The 50 foot boat was tossed as the crew and Xavier attempted to search for Marian, and the Coast Guard was hailed with an SOS (Save Our Ship) call. Following a two day search for Marian, it was called off, and the Hamptons mourned the loss of one of its own. Jennifer spiraled into a state of depression because she felt guilty about her last words to her mother shouted in infantile anger and the loss of the person she loved most in an unfair world. Xavier, while reeling from the shock of losing his wife, tried to console his step daughter as best he could. Months of therapy for them both brought on a shared realization that Marian would not want them to mourn forever and that they had to move on with their lives. Xavier coped by diving into his business and traveling frequently while Jennifer began to study dance in earnest. She could express her sorrows and joy with her body in a way that words failed to do.

  Over time, they say it heals all wounds great and small, the man and budding woman became closer, but there was more brewing just below the surface. An unspoken tension began to develop between the two survivors, and this is one of the reasons Xavier travelled frequently, although he was loath to admit, even to himself, his growing feelings. Furthermore, Jennifer had latent thoughts of her own regarding Daddy, and she was glad he couldn’t see her physical reaction when he was near. Frequent dreams about her step father, always carnal in nature, awoke her and she often felt ashamed and excited at the same time.

  Present day…

  “No, no, no, no,” Patrick chastised, as he flamboyantly sashayed across the dance studio, “That’s not it at all. We have discussed this sequence at length, Jen. Where is your head today? You had this down cold last week! And now? My goodness, you’re moving like a pregnant buffalo on ice skates!”

  “I’m sorry, Patrick. I know you’ve worked so hard to get me ready for the dance recital next week. I can do it, I swear. Maybe I’m just tired? I don’t know. You know I can nail it. You’ve seen me!”

  Patrick, one of Jennifer’s dance instructors at Juilliard, eyed her suspiciously. He asked if she was getting enough rest. He asked if it was a boy. He asked if it was a girl. He asked if there were problems here at school or at home. It was his usual litany used to ferret out external problems: in other words, nothing new. Jennifer answered in the negative to all his questions during the rehearsed interrogation, but Patrick caught her hesitation when he asked about her home life.

  “Ah ha!” he crowed dramatically. Patrick was as gay as the day is long and had never tried to hide it. He was almost stereotypical of what many thought of when they considered homosexuals, with few exceptions. Almost. His secrets were few, but included the fact that his partner was a football player for the New York Giants an
d that he held a fifth degree black belt in some martial art Jennifer could never remember. Three guys had tried to mug the “fag” on the subway as Patrick rode home one night. When the subterranean train stopped at the next station, the diminutive dance instructor walked off unscathed and whistling a show tune, but three toughs lay bloody and unconscious in the passenger car. To add to their troubles, they awoke to find themselves in handcuffs with an unforgiving New York City Police sergeant staring down at them and Patrick saying he wanted to press charges. As for Patrick’s football lover, he would not disclose the name because he did not want to ruin his partner’s career or reputation. He would not even tell Jennifer who was his closest confidante.

  Jennifer, for her part, told her friend and instructor everything that happened in her life. He was her mentor, a shoulder to cry on, a sounding board for her worries and aspirations, and more. Patrick always seemed to know when she held something back, but usually did not pry, preferring instead to let her come to him when she was ready. And she usually did.

  “What does ‘Ah ha’ mean, Pat?” But of course she knew.

  “So tell me what’s wrong at home. Is the penthouse too small?” he jibed.

  “Ha ha, very funny. No, actually, I talked Daddy into redecorating. His new girlfriend is a world renowned interior specialist, and I think she’ll do wonders with the place.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard of the famous Raquel Morehead. She’s a bit out of my price range if you know what I mean. But tell me what’s wrong, then.”

  “It’s nothing, Pat. I can work it out for myself-no help needed. I swear. Look, it’s one week until my dance recital and then I have winter break the week after. I will handle both with style and aplomb, as you always say.”

  “Alrighty then,” Patrick answered in his best Ace Ventura imitation, “take five, no make that 20, to rest and regroup, and then we’ll reconvene and nail this bitch to the wall! You’re the best jazz-fusion dancer I’ve ever had the pleasure to teach, but I need your head in the right place.”

  Patrick pirouetted and strode purposefully across the dance studio on the third floor of the Juilliard School and disappeared through the door. Jennifer watched him go, knowing that he knew she had not disclosed the entire story. She sat on one of the benches at the far end of the beautifully appointed oak floored room complete with stretching Barres and contemplated…

  Eight Months Ago…

  The letter from Juilliard arrived in the snail mail three weeks before her nineteenth birthday! It seemed like life had accelerated at a breakneck pace lately. The competition to get into Juilliard was fierce whether one was a musician, dancer, or drama student. The performing arts conservatory, established in 1905, only took about 850 undergraduate and graduate students at any one time, so the available slots for newcomers were scarce, to put it mildly. The school, though it had moved around Manhattan several times since its inception, was located in the Lincoln Center for the Performing Arts on the Upper West Side of the borough. Juilliard is known worldwide as one of the finest music schools, but a dance curriculum, added in 1951, is also respected as one of the elite as is drama, added in 1968. All in all, Juilliard is the holy grail of those studying the fine arts in the United States.

  Jennifer’s hands trembled as she sat next to Xavier who was home from one of his business trips abroad. She slit the top of the envelope with the letter opener he had brought back for her from Ireland several years before. The burnished, wrought iron, horse headed blade carved an easy path through the pliant paper. Praying that it was good news, she slid the single sheet of heavy bond paper, which was folded in thirds, from its housing as if it were an idol to be worshipped. Sweat formed on her brow and in her armpits as she slowly unfurled the flag of her future.

  “Well? What does it say? Are you going to keep me in suspense for the rest of my life?”

  Jennifer’s wide, baby blue eyes scanned the document. “Oh my God! I’m in! Daddy, I made it! I made it!” She threw her arms around his strong neck and squeezed hard in her joy, her thighs brushing across his legs. She was almost sitting in his lap and he could feel the involuntary reaction between his legs as his balls tingled with desire for an ass that would have made J-Lo envious. Jennifer disguised her own arousal but couldn’t help grinding her sex across his knee before hopping off and dancing around the room. Xavier Brandon Harriston marveled, and simultaneously shuddered, that he was increasingly attracted and drawn to his step daughter. She had grown from a kid into a voluptuous woman and he had grown into a what? A lecherous pervert? He swore to himself that he would never try to act on his impulses, to take the young, nubile woman that he had sworn to protect. But could he protect her from himself? Raquel was enough, insatiable, and he did his cock and manhood proud the way he plowed her field. But, damn!

  Jennifer paraded around the penthouse far above the mute masses on Fifth Avenue brandishing the Juilliard letter of acceptance, but she kept thinking about having her father’s, check that, her STEP-FATHER’S hands exploring her body, having his way with her. They weren’t related by blood, but was it still so wrong to want Brandon? She had spent many a fevered night imagining what he would do with her…to her. The outline of that big, coiled python sometimes showed through his handmade, Italian cut trousers. How could she even begin to wonder how to broach such a subject? And then there was Raquel Morehead, Daddy’s new “girlfriend”. She was gorgeous and reminded everyone who saw her of Stana Katic, the actress who played Kate Beckett on the popular show “Castle”. On top of that, she was actually a nice person. Jealously was a stone cold bitch. Xavier clapped in appreciation as Jennifer’s pussy creamed and his cock threatened to burst through the wool of his pants.

  Both Brandon and Jennifer tried, and somewhat succeeded, to put their carnal thoughts aside. It was a time for celebrating a new and wide open chapter of the young girl’s life. He covered his burgeoning member by leaning forward and covering it with his suit jacket while she walked away hoping that the wetness between her legs soaking into her thong was not making a squishing sound as she left to change. Did her perky, erect nipples poking through the flimsy satin fabric of her blouse give her away?

  Patrick had attended one of her shows two months earlier, a modern dance number that featured a host of men and women displaying a ballet/jazz/modern style that was the new “thing” which only New York can present without being too ostentatious or pretentious. When he saw Jennifer, he knew he would be the one to nurture and guide her career. She moved with a natural motion that was presented only rarely in a lifetime. Jennifer was a little raw in some respects, but that was her strength. She had already applied to Juilliard with a decent chance of getting a position within the next three years-competition was crazy wicked-but Jennifer knew that it would be tough to make the grade. Patrick, who had a voice and vote in the selection process, recognized the woman’s name from his viewing several weeks before and immediately pushed for her acceptance. Ms. Harriston had a certain something that could not be taught, however, it could be nurtured. She had the potential to be a star. And that was that.

  Six Months Ago…

  The summer had seemed to drag on forever. Normally, Jennifer enjoyed the time off from school to travel and relax, but high school at Columbia Preparatory was over and in the past. Juilliard was her future now, and she wanted to get started. During orientation, she marveled at the hallowed halls where some of the biggest names in fine arts had either attended or taught, or both. The maestro, Frank Damrosch, the pianist and composer from Australia, Ernest Hutcheson, the Pulitzer Prize winner and creator of the L&M (Literature and Materials for Music) method, William Schuman, were among some of the music greats to “grace the place” according to their post graduate guide. Jennifer’s ears perked up when he mentioned Martha Hill, the first director of the Dance Division. Most of the litany of information was dry and boring, but Jennifer was still in awe of the environment where only about seven percent of applicants were accepted each year.

  Jenn
ifer elected to live in the penthouse she shared with Brandon when he was not on one of his junkets to make money and manage his business interests. The location was close enough to Juilliard to make getting her own place impractical. She knew his company dealt in weapons technology but he did not discuss the secretive nature of his work. He simply said, ‘I’m the brawn and cashola that keeps the brains happy and producing newer and better ways to defend our country.’ Thus, he was constantly meeting with leaders all around the world and only spent about six months out of the year in New York. Step father and daughter talked almost every day whether he was in New York or not, but she missed his presence just the same. Jennifer was used to the arrangement and welcomed the occasional company of Brandon’s new girlfriend, Raquel Morehead. She would stop by or they would have lunch from time to time when Daddy was out of town, and had become somewhat friendly.

  It was at one of their impromptu luncheons that Jennifer broached the subject of Raquel giving the penthouse a makeover. Raquel was hesitant at first because she did not want to intrude on Brandon’s decorative tastes and create tension in the new relationship, but Jennifer insisted that she could smooth the way for a complete overhaul. Her father would be home in two days, so she carefully planned and rehearsed her sales spiel. Brandon arrived late on a Friday in a taxi from JFK International Airport and Jennifer met the tired man at the door.

  “Oh Daddy, I’ve missed you so much!” she said as she threw her arms around him and kissed him on the cheek. “I hope you’re going to be here for awhile this time. It’s so much better when you’re home. Come, I have some baked brie and crackers prepared. I know you always like that when you’ve had a long trip.

  “And here, let me take your attaché case and overcoat. Would you like some wine? I’ll get it. Go sit and make yourself comfortable in the living room. I’ll be right back.”