City of Lust

by Debra Dunbar

  “I’m really looking forward to your talk today,” I murmured, tracing a finger down the lapel of his jacket. “Maybe after lunch we can find somewhere private and you elaborate more on the Xylose and Arabinos?”

  All the guy heard was “after lunch” and “private”. He nodded his head vigorously and suggested that I meet him in old tower behind the stable/carriage house, which was now a garage. People were starting to take their seats, so I agreed with a knowing, sultry glance, then turned around to see Celio glaring at me.

  Crap. Did he hear that? Even if he didn’t, he probably saw me standing far closer than Americans generally did to strangers or business associates, as well as saw me touching Leo’s jacket.

  He was Spanish. The guy knew flirting when he saw it. And this probably confirmed his theory of me sleeping my way into this event. How embarrassing. I brushed past him and heard him mutter something under his breath. I was suddenly very glad that I’d nearly failed high school Spanish and had no idea what he was calling me. Actually I had a good idea what he was calling me, and I was happy to pretend to be ignorant.

  Once seated, I noticed Bianca up toward the front of the room, standing next to a woman with a beautifully tailored navy-blue pants suit, her silver and gray hair styled in a cut reminiscent of Jackie Kennedy. She had sharp, shrewd eyes as well as the sort of ageless beauty that meant she’d look the same at eighty as she did at fifty. And there was a striking resemblance between this woman and Bianca.

  And the man next to them with, the one who scanned the crowd with perceptive, watchful eyes, halting when he saw me. I shivered. They were the eyes of a predator, or someone who was used to getting his way, of having his orders obeyed without question. It was as if he saw right through me, knew that I wasn’t human. I stared back, more out of shock than any sort of defiance.

  Then today’s presenter broke the spell, telling us all to take our seats and informing us that he was pleased to introduce our hosts: Catarina Montenegro, along with her brother Marcus Montenegro and her granddaughter, Bianca Montenegro. He pronounced their names as if they were royalty, bowing and nodding as Catarina, clearly the matriarch of the family, took his place at the podium.

  She spoke first in Italian, then welcomed us all in an elegant English with a vague European accent. I felt the strength of her character, her pride in her ‘treasure’ that she was sharing with us this week. She spoke about the winery, the extensive vineyards, and how much Castle Abbondio meant to her family.

  I admired her. She was strong, a powerful figure, an astute businesswoman who clearly adored her family from the warm glances she sent toward Bianca and her brother. Bianca obviously adored her back, and even Catarina’s scary-looking brother softened as she spoke about the castle, the winery, and their lands. At the end she wished us all luck in the upcoming tests, and announced she was looking forward to personally congratulating the winner. She left the podium to loud applause.

  Was I the only one who saw her shoulders slump as she neared the doorway? Saw Bianca reach out a hand to take her grandmother’s arm in support? Felt the sadness that came off the woman in waves? That speech…that had been an echo of a former Catarina Montenegro, one who had mustered up this ghost of her earlier self to speak on behalf of her family and their holdings. The real woman was crumbling inside. I wasn’t sure if it was depression, the Melancholy that Eduardo Sommariva had, or if she had a serious illness that was causing her to waste away, but I got the feeling this woman only had years at the most to live.

  One of the other presenters went first, and my heart sank when he launched into more chemistry—this time all about how acidity affects color and the pros and cons of adding citric acid as a brightener. Then he took us all down the rabbit hole of malolactic fermentation either during or after primary fermentation as opposed to adding the bacteria in the barrel.

  There were so many variables in winemaking. I’d gone into this thinking it was all about the grape variety and growing conditions, but all these different yeasts and tannins and flavonols and more chemistry crap than I’d ever wanted to know about played just as much a role in the final product as the grape itself.

  And somehow I was supposed to come up with a recipe and process for the vineyard’s Muscat grapes in the next two days. After lunch we were to work on our tasting and study in small groups, then we’d go home with a bag of grapes and get to work. One more day of lectures, then we’d have a day of testing and presentation of our recipes. Then we’d come back on Friday for our results and the announcement of the winner.

  Which wasn’t going to be me.

  The Italian dude left the stage, and my admirer took his place. Leo’s presentation was brilliant, even though I needed to write down phonetically some of the terms he was using to look up later. I’d also noted a few phrases where he’d lapsed into German to have Irix translate for me. I needed to start taping these sessions. Actually I needed to try to learn other languages. It was so frustrating how elves could quickly and easily pick up any language they were exposed to, how demons could Own a soul and instantly be fluent in that person’s language, but I lacked this talent. I more than lacked this talent. I was an idiot when it came to anything but the Americanized English I’d grown up with.

  And if I ever met my sire, Leethu, I planned on having a stern word with her about this lack. She was the one who’d decided what traits I got when I was formed, and for the most part, she’d picked well. I had the things I needed to survive, a wonderful mix of elf and demon that served me well. But this was something I wished she’d thought of.

  By lunchtime my back was aching and my head whirling with all the terms and new information. The other attendees were nodding thoughtfully while I was frantically scribbling in my notebook and trying not to panic. Part of me wanted to just bag the whole test thing and go have fun with Irix, to treat this as a vacation. But one look at that jerk Celio and I kept my ass in the chair and continued writing. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. I wouldn’t give up. And I’d score something respectable on the tests, even if winning wasn’t in the realm of possibility.

  And I’d bang that German presenter. He’d been eyeing me all during his lecture. It had been hard to look sexy and sultry while I was frantically taking notes, and very aware of Celio’s hard stare, but I’d managed an encouraging smile or two. At lunch, I scarfed down a few of the turkey pinwheels and some bruschetta, and headed out to the stables-turned-garage for my quickie.

  Chapter 13

  I snuck through the giant kitchen with a fireplace that looked big enough to roast an elephant, and dozens of shining copper pots hanging from the ceiling on hooks, then through a room with lemon-yellow plaster walls and a terracotta floor. The huge wooden doors swung wide on well-oiled hinges. Carefully closing them, I made my way across the cobblestone drive past the sliding doors of what used to be the stables to the old tower.

  That’s where I stopped and stared, my mouth agape. This was the oldest portion of the estate. The tower had been here before the house and private chapel had even been built. It was small as fortresses go, only made to hold nine or ten guards, but it was still impressive. I reached out a hand to touch the stone, marveling that I was laying my hand on something that was nearly eight hundred years old. I was a half-elf/half-succubus. I’d probably live for tens of thousands of years. In the scope of my life, this wasn’t all that remarkable, but as someone who had been raised human, who’d always thought of her lifespan in terms of less-than-a-century, this was amazing.

  I went through an iron-banded door and down a small hallway to a room that didn’t seem sufficient for ten people to live in.

  “Amazing, isn’t it?” Leo asked me. “The guards took shifts. They slept above the stables. Others would stay here and cook or relax. The tower is up there, but it’s not big enough for more than one or two at a time.”

  It was fascinating. I envisioned a time before the house was here, where humans lived here for months or years at a time, the early
warning system for attack. I’d walked around yesterday and seen the old moat as well as the remains of a suspension bridge that allowed the guards to escape if needed—and to spread the news before the marauding army arrived in the city. It was amazing. I could close my eyes and envision the lives of the men here, the boredom, the camaraderie, the need for vigilance. And I also envisioned the fantasies of the man here with me, spooling them into my mind and making me catch my breath in anticipation.

  Oh, he was a naughty man. And this was going to be so much fun.

  “There’s a dungeon?” I asked, pointing to the grate in the floor.

  He nodded, and I sensed his blood quickening, his heart pounding. “When that metal door is closed over the top, it is absolutely dark down there. No windows. No other entrance or exit. Just stone all around, a few shelves carved into the walls, and a ledge where the prisoner could sleep.”

  I peered down, thinking this was going to be one of the kinkiest things I’d ever done. “How do the prisoners get down there?”

  I thought of a guard tossing someone onto the stone below and winced. Having someone with broken bones, bleeding slowly out on the stone and moaning while you were trying to cook your and your coworkers’ dinner, didn’t sound fun. Plus, I was assuming these prisoners needed to be kept alive.

  “There used to be a ladder that they’d lower down, then pull up once the prisoners were inside. Now they have metal bars embedded in the stone as a sort of ladder for people to climb up and down.”

  I leaned over. “And do people climb up and down?”

  He walked up to me, putting his hands on my waist. “Very rarely. Most people find the dungeon to be horrifying.” He nuzzled the back of my neck. “I have known the Montenegro family for many years. I’ve been their guest here many times. And this dungeon has always held a particular fascination for me.”

  I turned toward him, pressing myself against him and wrapping my arms around his hips. “Should we go down? Do you want to…down there?”

  There was a certain amount of shyness and hesitation that he wanted in me, and I willingly gave it. Yeah, screwing in the dungeon sounded cool, but the part of me that had been raised as a human was screaming a warning. No one knew I was out here with him. If I climbed down first, he could shut the metal door on me and I’d be down there in total darkness until someone found me.

  But they’d find me. Even if none of the seminar attendees noticed I was gone, Irix would. He’d track me back here, and set up a search party, and they’d eventually find me. That is, if I didn’t manage to escape myself. I wasn’t as strong as most demons, but I could blast that metal lid off with a lightning bolt. And then I’d hunt down this German prick and make him rue the day he’d locked me in a dungeon.

  But that wouldn’t happen. I saw his fantasies, and they had nothing to do with entombing a woman or raping and killing someone and leaving their body in a cell. He was just as nervous as I was, wanting to be gallant and go down first so he could help me down the metal rungs in the wall, but afraid that I might do what I’d just been imagining and lock him in the dungeon.

  “Candles?” I slid his shirt up and ran my fingers along the sensitive flesh over his ribs. “Or dark? There will be a bit of light through the grate, so at least you can see what you’re getting.”

  He leaned in to kiss me, slow and full of passion. Then he pulled his mouth just a breath away. “No candles. I’ll go first, then I’ll help you down.”

  “No, me first.” I ran my hand around to the front of his chest then downward, hooking my fingers in his waistband and tugging. “Do you want me naked and waiting down there, or do you want to take my clothing off yourself?”

  I saw him thinking of ripping my clothes off, then realizing that I had nothing to change into for the rest of the seminar. Plus, he was remembering that ripping clothing wasn’t as easy as he’d thought it to be, and yanking forcefully on fabric that wouldn’t give didn’t portray a sexy, manly image.

  “I’ll be naked,” I decided for him. “I’ll be your prisoner and you the guard. You can do what you wish with me, force me to comply with your every demand.”

  I got the feeling his demands weren’t going to be anything out of the ordinary. This guy’s excitement was all about the location, the novelty of fucking in a dungeon. My purpose would be to make this exciting, in spite of cold uncomfortable stone and darkness. I was thinking lots of sexy talk, and lots of role play.

  Leo stepped away from me and pulled the grate up on the dungeon, grunting from the effort. Even though there was a bolt and loop for a lock on the gate, it had to have been heavy, otherwise the prisoners might have been able to open it themselves.

  Although now that I was staring down into the hole, I wasn’t sure how they would have accomplished that. There was nothing to use to push the grate upward, and it was high enough from the floor and the ledge of the cell to make jumping and knocking it upward impossible. A very agile person could have possibly jumped up and grabbed the grate with their hands, but then their weight would have made opening it impossible.

  I shivered again and climbed down the rungs, gratefully taking Leo’s assistance in getting my grip and balance on the first two. Once down in the cell, I realized how bleak incarceration down here would have been. It was cold and damp and dark. The room was barely six by eight with no blankets or mattress to relieve the ache such cold stone would cause to muscles and bone. Someone had scratched something into one of the walls, but what it was I couldn’t tell in this dark. It chilled me to wonder what the prisoner might have used as a carving tool.

  I heard a step on the rungs and realized that I needed to get busy. Shedding my clothing, I piled it off to the side where I was sure I could find it all later. It would be horribly embarrassing for someone to discover my underwear down here, although it would probably go unnoticed for weeks. I doubted this was a regular spot for the residents. Then I remembered Daniela’s fascination with the wet grotto at Villa Sommariva and chuckled. For all I knew, the Montenegros came down here all the time.

  Leo hopped off the last step. The faint light from the tower room above cast dark shadows on his face and body, making him seem menacing and brutal. He was far from that, but I knew that I needed to play along. It wasn’t just the energy I wanted to siphon from him, but the need to fulfill his fantasies. I wanted this. I wanted to please him, to give him an experience that he would remember for the rest of his life. It wasn’t just about securing a strong viable source of energy to feed my succubus side, it was about giving him a gift of ecstasy, of a precious moment to cherish in a life that was sometimes disappointing, sometimes even heartbreaking.

  I whimpered. “I can’t take it down here anymore. Please let me out. I’ll do anything. Please.”

  He walked over to me and grabbed my wrists, yanking me against him. “You can…oh sorry. Did that hurt? I’m sorry.”

  Oh sheesh. Spare me from nice guys with naughty fantasies. I ignored his concern and kept in character, standing on my tiptoes to trail a line of kisses down his neck. I was lucky I didn’t miss, because it was so damned dark down here I couldn’t even see his neck. Hopefully he could find the right hole. Although with me, it really didn’t matter where he stuck it in.

  “Please,” I begged. “I’ll do anything.”

  He hesitated, and I felt him waver, felt his indecision. This was too weird, too kinky. He was afraid of hurting me, afraid that I’d not enjoy this, that he’d not enjoy this. Did this make him a pervert? Would I later accuse him of rape, or tell the Montenegros that he accosted me and forced me?

  Oh, for Pete’s sake. I yanked the rest of his shirt out of his pants, and expertly unbuttoned them, easing the zipper down. Then I dropped, ignoring the cold stone grinding into my kneecaps. Sliding his pants to his ankles, I pulled his cock out of the fly of his briefs and stroked it gently, pushing the foreskin back and licking the tip. He groaned, leaning into me, his hands in my hair.

  I played with him until all his fears w
ent away and all that remained was desire. Then I worked my way up his body, unbuttoning his shirt and kissing my way up his chest and along the column of his neck to skate along his jaw and finally take his lips with my own. His hands in the meantime were busy, telling him everything about my body that his eyes couldn’t see in this darkness. I felt him stiffen further against me and rocked against him, standing on tiptoes and spreading my legs to position him so he slid between my thighs.

  “Take me. Anything. Just let me escape. You can have me any way you want as long as you let me out of this dungeon afterward.”

  He made a strangled sound deep within his throat and spun me around, placing me face-down on the stone ledge. I shoved my rear in the air, smiling as he kicked my legs apart, and guided himself up through my folds.

  Then he eased into my ass. And immediately froze, uncertain what to do. I sensed his embarrassment, his coming apology, his confusion about whether it would be acceptable to screw me in the pussy after having been an inch in my ass. Was that unsanitary? Did that make him a weirdo?

  I moaned and shoved my butt against him, relaxing so he went all the way in. I heard him gasp, felt his hands tighten on my hips. Then without giving him a chance to overanalyze the situation and doubt the whole thing, I set up a rhythm, bringing him in deep, then pulling away to where he was at the very edge of my entrance. Irix was an avowed ass-man. He’d taught me the joy was partially due to the novelty, the very different feel of anal versus vaginal sex, as well as the feeling of the tight ring at the very entrance.

  Leo had obviously never had anal sex before, and he was excited to be doing this down in the dungeon where he’d fantasized for years about bringing a woman and having his way with her. Three strokes in and he took charge, his fingers digging into my hips as he slammed himself in, building up a frantic rhythm that had my boobs bouncing wildly and my head on the edge of hitting the wall. I pressed my hands against the stone and braced, the whole time moaning and shouting encouragement, telling him how fucking good he felt and how I was ready to come.