When the music ended, they kissed and ignored everyone around them.
"I love you, Mrs. Lord."
"I love you, too."
* * * *
Well after midnight, they finally said good-bye to everyone. Victoria assured them she and Madera would be fine. She told Matthew to enjoy himself and his anniversary surprise.
"You're a gem, Mother."
They left the ballroom, arm in arm and headed for the elevator. Once inside, he pressed the button for the top floor and leaned against the rear wall of the car.
"Did you do what I'm beginning to think you've done?"
"You'll see."
He pulled her into a kiss, his hand slipping underneath her dress and between her legs.
"Good, you're ready."
"For you, always."
The doors opened and he lifted her into his arms and carried her across to their room. She slid the keycard in then pushed the door open. Matthew carried her inside and didn't put her down until he'd taken her into the bedroom of the suite.
She gasped seeing rose petals covering the bed and the floor around it. She took note of six vases of roses in the exact places they had been a year ago.
"I take it you remember?"
"Everything but the rose petals. It's exactly like the night we met."
"And you said yes."
* * * *
While Matthew went to answer the door for room service, the devil in Ava took over. She removed the beautiful dress she'd worn for the ball and put on the mask. Wearing only that and the stilettos, she waited for her husband to return.
She heard the door open and turned to face him.
"My God, Ava,” he gasped.
She seductively sauntered over to him, remembering how the women at the exclusive men's club in the movie Eyes Wide Shut walked. Once she stood next to him, she traced the side of his face with one of her long fingernails. Carefully, she made sure to touch only certain spots knowing how her touch could arouse her husband.
"Ava, you're gorgeous,” he said, catching his breath.
"What do you want to do?"
"If only you had a clue,” he whispered.
"I'm yours, Matt. I give you myself, my heart and soul, my body. Please..."
Matthew Lord pulled his wife into his arms and kissed her. His hand went to her pussy, barely brushing over her sensitive skin. He felt her tremble with anticipation, her body fusing to his as she gave her entire being to him.
He carried her to the bed, laying her in the center of it. He removed his tuxedo slowly, torturing her with temptation. Once he finished, he laid next to her then set to teasing her senses.
"Your desire is obvious, my dear wife."
"But it began as a masked desire last year."
"They say Mardi Gras inspires many."
"It did it for us,” she said, her nail tracing along his side.
Matthew took her nipple and suckled it while three fingers entered her pussy. He lazily finger fucked her while he drove her over the edge.
"Is my seductive masked goddess ready for what's to come?"
"More than ready,” she gasped.
"Good."
Matthew thrust into her, his cock pounding her willing and desirous body. She cried out his name before his lips covered hers. Her moans threatened to echo through the room had he not taken them inside him.
Breathless, she flung the mask off, needing to see him without feathers in the way.
"I love you, Matt,” she gasped. “I think we did it again."
"Did what?"
"Conceived a brother or sister for Madera."
"How can you tell?"
"This time felt different—I feel like I did when we conceived our daughter."
"Are you positive?"
"Yes, Matt, I am."
Matthew thrust into his wife again and fiercely pounded her body once more. He fell to her side after he filled her, breathless.
"God, I love your masked desires,” he whispered.
Ava grinned.
"Only for you."
[Back to Table of Contents]
KNOCK THREE TIMES
by
Honey Jans
Chapter 1
Chemise Logan tucked a wisp of strawberry-blond hair behind her ear as she fumbled with the safe's dial. Trust her eccentric aunt to leave the combination in a cryptic note, along with the deed to the antique shop. Chemise's life had been a series of disasters of late; first she'd been fired from her job at the museum after the scroll she was conserving had seemed to spontaneously combust. Now she had her thirtieth birthday party to get through tonight. She wasn't quite sure she was ready to face her ex-coworkers yet. Not with her future in jeopardy. Dr. Edwards had even threatened to press criminal charges against her if his suspicions that she'd been negligent were confirmed. She knew they wouldn't be, but living under a cloud of suspicion sucked.
The safe's dial finally loosened with a click, and Chemise let out a relieved sigh. At last. Auntie had been so protective of this—paranoid, even—so the safe's contents had to be interesting, maybe even valuable. Going through the mystery goods would keep her occupied until Janelle picked her up for the party at Charlie's Bar.
The heavy safe door swung open with an audible creak. Brimming with excitement, she peered inside, and then groaned. The safe was nearly empty. A glint of gold from the top shelf caught her eye. She drew out the jeweled pendant bearing the image of Isis, Egyptian goddess of love. If it was the real thing, it would be priceless, but what would Aunt Betty be doing with a genuine artifact?
The pendant had to be part of the Egyptian tourist junk that had flooded the market after Canarven unearthed King Tut, but it was expertly done. She slipped the exquisite necklace on, thinking it the perfect accessory to set off her turquoise dress, and felt a sense of warmth overcome her as it nestled in her cleavage. Another metallic object was tucked way in the back of the safe ... a priceless statue perhaps? She was sure she wouldn't get that lucky but the treasure hunt was fun, not to mention distracting.
Her heart raced as she reached in and pulled out an Egyptian oil lamp. Now this was the real thing. She could feel the item's antiquity; the former curator in her was as excited as a schoolgirl. It didn't matter if she made a dime when she got to touch beauty like this.
Why had Auntie stuck this treasure away? It belonged in a museum. Cartouches decorating the artifact told her it had belonged to someone important. Roughly translated, they read, “Knock three times.” She smiled and did just that, rapping three times on the table.
The lamp warmed, thunder clapped outside, and Chemise fell back against a fainting couch as steam escaped the lamp. Blinking her eyes in disbelief, she watched the mist instantly transform to naked male perfection before her eyes. She was obviously hallucinating, but what a sexy way to go crazy.
Her fascinated gaze swept over her phantom genie, focusing on his stirring cock. His body heat, his very presence wrapped around her, making her blush. She gulped and managed to tear her eyes off his impressive package. Her stunned gaze traveled up, past six-pack abs and broad shoulders, and finally focused on his handsome, scowling face. As their eyes met, an unexpected wave of lust hit her, taking her breath away. He was irritated and sexy as hell, and his whiskey brown eyes seemed to read her thoughts. He was wearing a pendant just like the one in the safe. At the thought of it, the gem seemed to heat up in her cleavage. Chemise's sex grew wet, her nipples budded tight, and her lips tingled as she stared at him. He was everything her wet dreams could have conjured up. Happy birthday to me!
He frowned and ripped his pendant off. “If she sent you to fetch me, vixen, tell her to screw herself."
She watched in shock as he opened his palm and the pendant he'd torn off vanished into thin air. Of course he'd speak English—she'd dreamed him up—but his British accent and his fury took her by surprise. She pushed away from the couch and her knees buckled. His hand shot out to steady her, wrapping around her forearm.
His warm palm made her tremble. He wasn't hurting her, but he wasn't letting her go either. A tingle of energy shot through her as his grip firmed. She'd always dreamed of a demanding lover, not that she'd ever admit it. She only dated men who couldn't see past her dowdy image. And sex, there was precious little of that.
But this was different. She couldn't say who moved first, but they came together as if drawn by a magnet. “Holy moly, what a hunk,” she blurted out. Well she'd finally flipped. When she went off the deep end, she did so with gusto, dreaming up her very own genie. But at least she'd picked a dream lover who couldn't give her away. She watched his glare focus on the lamp still clutched in her right hand. The damned thing heated up again, darned near burning her fingers. She glared back at him. Well, hell, he certainly wasn't acting like a dream lover.
He stared at her, hard. “What does she want?"
Bewildered by his aggressive tone, she asked, “She?"
"The goddess you serve. Isis.” He focused pointedly at her pendant.
The breath caught in her throat as his gaze lingered on her cleavage. Her breasts seemed to swell, the nipples stiffening, her primal response shocking her. Her chin rose mutinously as she tried to get her racing hormones under control. “Goddess I serve?"
His eyes narrowed. “Don't lie to me. I will not tolerate it."
The implied threat made her angry. She would have to dream up a nut. “I serve no goddess, only myself."
"You wear her image."
"So did you.” His expression turned remote at her words. She could feel his suspicion, his anger, but most of all his need. He needed her. It wasn't his fault he was mentally off-kilter. Everything she touched lately was a little off, especially the scroll she'd somehow destroyed. Why should her dream lover be any different? The loss of the ancient book of spells that'd combusted before her eyes still pained her. “Should I call you Genie?"
She watched the corners of his sultry mouth turn up with reluctant humor, and she relaxed. Now that was more like it. The smile made him approachable—yummy, even. Her lips tingled as she stared at his sultry mouth. She so wanted a big bite of him. She knew she was desperate for sex when her urge to jump her hallucination was almost irresistible.
"Why should you call me Genie? My name is Lucien."
"I thought all men who emerged from magical lamps were genies."
"Not if they had the job foisted on them by an evil genie. I was working on a dig in the Valley of the Kings when Zander captured me to serve out the needs of his mistress, Isis."
So he was an Egyptologist who'd been the love slave of a goddess. Now that she would have dreamed up, seeing that her passion was Egyptian antiquities.
He gazed around her shop. “What kind of rubbish shop is this?"
She glanced at the cluttered shelves filled with assorted dusty collectables and sighed. Her former co-workers had voiced similar opinions, putting her on the defensive. That was another reason she wasn't looking forward to her birthday bash. Aunt Betty's tastes had certainly been eclectic, but she'd had a good eye. “This is Aunt Betty's Antique Shop.” Her chin rose. “I sell old things, like you, hot stuff."
His eyes narrowed. “I am not for sale, Aunt Betty..."
"I'm not Aunt Betty,” she said with a smile. “I inherited the shop from her. I'm Chemise. Miss Chemise Lawson.” Time seemed to stand still as she looked into his eyes. His firm grip on her arm relaxed into a caress and she couldn't stop herself from leaning into him, feeling his potent strength. She bit her lip, holding back a moan as her curves pressed against his tempting hot body. She closed her eyes, embarrassed by her reaction, as he bit out a low curse.
"Hell, I've no time for this,” Lucien muttered, but he bent to nuzzle the nape of her neck.
Panting, almost swooning in his arms, she stiffened. She wasn't some charity case. If he didn't want her he could just poof back into the lamp. She pulled back to tell him so, then hesitated. Lucien's smoldering gaze swept over her breasts; she could swear she felt him touch her there. Her nipples budded tighter as she pressed against him, aching to have him inside her. Her clit tingled and her sex grew creamy. His sultry smile said he knew how she was feeling. Hell, he was probably a mind reader too. He couldn't just cut and run; she'd dreamed him up, damn it! “You can't go,” she said. “You owe me three wishes."
He gently tugged the lamp out of her hand. “You've been reading too many fables, my lady. You're mistaken. I owe you nothing."
She frowned as he stole her lamp. “Wrong, I know the fairy tale as well as you do. I release you and you grant me three wishes."
"You don't have the power to truly release me. Zander will soon learn of my escape and come for me. I must go. A gentleman does not put a lady in jeopardy."
Well that just tore it. Only she would dream up a reluctant genie. She looked away to hide the tears of frustration misting her eyes. “Go then if you don't want me. I've got a man coming to pick me up in a few minutes anyway."
Lucien pulled her against him, saying, “Don't be daft, woman. How can you say I don't want you?"
Chemise gasped as he ground his throbbing erection against her and she stopped thinking completely. She let out a murmur of pleasure, wrapping her arms around his neck, when his mouth slanted over hers with fierce demand. Shaking with need, she melted, aching for him to possess her.
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Chapter 2
Sir Lucien Darby's head swirled with suspicions, unanswered questions, and desire as he tested his stiff cock against Chemise's soft womanly body. She was built for love, for him, but who the hell was she? His beloved? Nonsense, he wasn't falling for that again.
Isis had had an astrological chart made for him. Oswald had assured him that someday his beloved would release him from captivity. Three signs would mark her. She'd trust him for no reason, she'd risk her life for him, and she'd bear a heart-shaped beauty mark on her left breast. He'd been fool enough to believe the prophecy, thinking Isis was the promised one. It'd all been a trick and after he'd uncovered her deception, she'd banished him to his lamp. He didn't know how long he'd languished there in slumber. It didn't seem to matter when Chemise kissed him.
She was a far cry from the simpering handmaidens Isis always sent to fetch him. Even if he hadn't had her strange provocative dress and language for clues, Chemise's feisty attitude would have told him she was different. He was a man out of time, but he didn't care. He found her spellbinding, arousing. But why was she wearing Isis's symbol of protection? The pendant was real—he knew because he possessed one. It was his last link with the goddess and he'd sworn he'd never use it.
Chemise whimpered, rubbing her hard nipples against his chest, and he forgot all about the past. He'd never felt such warmth. He could tell she was hesitant, untried, but her instincts were good. When she tumbled him down onto the couch, he acquiesced with a grunt, pulling her atop him, even though he knew he should hurry. The urge to be with her was just too strong to resist.
Sprawled atop him, she froze for a moment as if shocked by her own boldness, and he stifled a groan. He couldn't bear to let her go now. He smoothed a hand down her spine, and her clothes vanished in his hand's wake. He waited breathlessly for her reaction; would she play the shy maiden, or would she keep ravishing him? Her blue eyes widened in surprise, and he watched, bemused, as a blush spread from her face to her delectably curved ass.
"How did you do that?” she asked with a sultry smile.
"Magic,” he said, gazing at her through a haze of desire. His cock was so hard he thought it might burst, but when she lay on top of him, it grew even harder, aching. It had been so long, centuries, and he'd never been near anyone like her. She dared to make eye contact with him, her blue eyes smoldering with desire. He felt the same heated rush, and his cock twitched in response; she wanted this as much as he did. When she bent to lap at his nipple, he let out a hiss, his body arousing to painful pro
portions. She moved onto the other and he lay back with a laugh, letting her ravish him.
She raised her head and gave him a troubled frown. “Are you laughing at me?"
"I wouldn't dream of it,” he responded. When she shimmied down to dip her tongue inside his naval, he lost all thought.
"Good,” she said, slipping lower to flick her tongue against his cock.
He mumbled to himself, his body jerking in response as she licked him like a sweet. Knowing he couldn't last much longer, he grasped her arms, urging her up. He wanted to be inside her. She gave him a moue of disappointment and let him pull her up.
Lucien's heart skipped a beat when the heart-shaped mark on the curve of her right breast came into sight. Fate was laughing at him again. Oswald's prediction had come true; his beloved had set him free. What would Chemise say if he told her of it? He licked one of her sweet strawberry peaks.
She moaned, “Lucien."
He suckled her, his cock nestled against her soft wet heat. She rubbed her mound against him, and his balls tightened. He groaned in an attempt to slow things down. “Do you want this, Chemise?"
"More than you could possibly know."
"Oh, I think I've got a good idea,” he grunted as he began to enter her tight wet sheath. Her sex spasmed, clamping down on him, forcing him to gasp.
"You're too big,” she said with a cry.
"No, beloved. It will be perfect.” He played with her stiff little clit, feeling her shudder and let out her juices. He eased the rest of the way into her until she took him all.
Chemise whimpered, rocking against him.
"That's it,” he praised, his cock throbbing as her sheath rippled over him. It was perfect. Gripping her hips, he thrust up into her harder and deeper until they were both gasping. She came, crying out his name, and he jerked, coming high and hard inside her.
Finally sated, he pulled her down on top of him. She settled against him with a sigh of pleasure, and he held her tight, knowing he'd found a treasure.
A Torrid Celebration! Page 13