Dark and Dangerous

by Anwar, Hart, Harte, Mcbride(Lit)

  She kissed his shoulder, nibbling up his neck, enjoying the tension of his muscles as they reacted to her touch. He groaned sharply and picked her up, forcing her through the stream of water to the back wall as he trapped her against it and hauled her up until his cock found the opening of her body.

  He nudged her opening as she sucked at the corner of his jaw, her hands gripping his shoulders with desperation. Shifting until he’d centered her, he pushed through the seeping moisture of her body straight into her core, impaling her on his cock.

  Cher cried out, arching her head back. She dug her nails into his shoulders, biting her lip at the fierce mingle of pain and pleasure.

  He grit his teeth and buried his face at her temple, fingers digging into her buttocks as he hauled her tighter to him, rocking his hips until he could pump fast and hard inside her.

  Cher’s back rode against the tiled wall, her breasts rubbing sensually against his chest, her clit massaged by his pubic bone as he ground into her.

  Their rutting was hard and fast, but unbelievably enticing. Her pussy clutched him, her previous orgasm making her coming so much the faster this time, and within minutes, they were both crying out as they climaxed.

  She thought he was finished with her, instead, he withdrew, washed his semen from her body, and carried her out of the bathroom into the bedroom, where he dried her off before drying himself.

  Almost as soon as he was done, he was on her again, wrapping her in his arms, kissing her with a fervor that she was nearly dismayed to realize rose inside her again. She couldn’t believe how hungry he was, and how much her own hunger matched his.

  She sucked his tongue, kissing him as if she was dying of thirst, and she was surprised when he broke away to take them tumbling down on the bed.

  "I’ve wanted to taste you from the moment I laid eyes upon you, chere," he said with a husky growl, his eyes devouring her like his words implied.

  Pleasurable shivers coursed down her body, making her pussy cream with renewed need.

  "So what are you waiting for?" she said tauntingly, lying back on her elbows. Something about him made her incredibly bold, like she’d fed off him and absorbed some of his essence inside her.

  With intense eyes, he held her gaze as he moved down and settled between her thighs, pushing them wide apart. He cupped her mound, dipping his fingers inside her cunt and withdrawing them. She could see her frothy lubrication glistening on his fingers as he brought them to his lips and tasted her. His eyes darkened just before he closed them and groaned softly, as if he’d just tasted ambrosia.

  He withdrew them and looked at her. The hunger was there again, so darkly sensual, it aroused her need to fevered heights. "I’ve never tasted anything so good in all my life, Cher. I could devour you and never appease this hunger."

  "Oh god, Nigel, I want you to eat me. Please!" she said desperately, quaking with frantic need as he continued to stare at her, tormenting her with his nearness. She shouldn’t feel like this, not after having so much pleasure, but she did. "Eat me until this fire goes out. I’m burning up."

  "As you wish," he said hoarsely.

  Raw heat fired her loins. Her breathing quickened as he planted his hands on her thighs and spread them further apart as he lowered his head. She nearly screamed when his fingers pulled her lips apart and his hot breath fanned over her damp flesh just as his tongue swiped a heated trail up her slit. Her clit throbbed with his nearness, begging as his rumble of pleasure vibrated through her slickness.

  "Please, please lick it. Suck my clit. I can’t stand it anymore," she said on a hoarse gasp, her throat aching with the need. "Lick me. Eat me," she begged.

  Her thigh muscles jerked in response as he moved upward. She whimpered, choking on a cry as his lips at last locked over her clit.

  She did scream then, her hips jerking upwards, grinding herself against his open mouth. He held her still, forcing her to accept his slow, sensual invasion. He tugged the swollen bud, swiping it with his tongue in a flickering, erratic move that had her cunt spasming with near orgasm. Her clit throbbed against his tongue, her sex swarmed with her rapid pulse and the beat of desire.

  He tortured the bud, toying with it, his tongue rough, wringing whimpering cries from her throat. He moved one hand to plunge two fingers into her, setting her body into the awakening that occurred when completion was near.

  Her muscles clutches his thrusting, curling fingers, tightening. Lightning seemed to sizzle along her nerve endings as he finger fucked her, driving her toward orgasm.

  It leapt to life, whirling through her system in a torrent of feeling. She gasped, her muscles tensing, her fingers digging into the mattress like claws as he continued to lap at her clit and drive his fingers in and out.

  Pleasure spiraled out of control, making her mindless with it, enveloping every sense until she was in tune and anticipating each lick, each suck and thrust. She rode the climax, trembling, and still he continued, pushing her past it into another, more intense. So intense she blacked out as it burst through her body. And finally, his thirst slaked, he stopped and moved up beside her, pulling her against his chest to stroke her back as she rode the high down to nothingness.

  Warm, relaxed and more thoroughly sated than she could ever recall being in her life, Cher lay against him limply, half drowsing.

  Nigel rolled back, propping his head in his hand as he studied her. "You’ve no notion of what any of this is about, do you, chere?"

  Cher roused enough to lift her eyelids. "You’re damn right I haven’t got a clue. The sex I understand. But what was that little ritual thing in the yard? And what in the world is a Lycan?"

  "Wolf folk."

  Cher was wide awake now. "Wolf folk?" She frowned. "You called us shewolves," she remembered suddenly.

  "The others were."

  "The others were what?"

  "Shewolves—Lycan—as I am. As is everyone else you saw when you came. You stumbled upon our mating rites, chere."

  Cher sat up. "Wait a minute. I saw the look on their faces. They looked as scared as I was. Now you’re trying to tell me they knew?"

  He shrugged. "Some of them probably didn’t even know they were Lycan—but no, they did not. I find them, bring them here, and the males vie for mates."

  There was that aggressive male arrogance again. She glared at him. "What, exactly, are wolf folk?"

  His eyes narrowed, gleaming predatorily. "Werewolves."

  "You think you’re a werewolf?" she asked uneasily.

  He studied her a long moment. "You think those were mere mortal men out there?"

  She shivered. "They were strung out on something, that’s for sure."

  "When the moon is full, the beast comes upon us—whether we shift or not, the beast is barely within our control--and sometimes not at all."

  She studied him skeptically. "So…. You’re saying I’m a shewolf now? A werewolf?"

  He shook his head. "You are human. That’s why I tried to send you away. That’s why I tried to protect you. I knew your chances for survival were not good if any lost control of their beast and bit you. Females—human females—rarely survive the transformation, which is why females are so sought after. This is why we have the hunts."

  Cher frowned at him. "Ok—just so we’re straight on this—I’m not a shewolf, but you’re a werewolf—so we’re not mated."

  "Almost correct," he murmured. "I’m Lycan. You’re human. But we most definitely and thoroughly mated."

  The End

  Dream Shadows

  by

  Angelica Hart

  © copyright June 2004, Cynthia DiSciullo

  Chapter One

  The dream closed around Violet with familiar warmth. It started a year ago and had increased as the nuptial auction drew near. She knew that it was only a dream, and that no one would save her from being coupled with a conjurer, a being whose power came from darkness and intensified in shadows. She was a creature of the sun, yet they kidnapped her to train her a
s a proper spouse.

  Violet twisted beneath the coverlets as the truth emerged. She hadn’t been taken, simply sold, for despite the purity of her intent and soul, she had a rebellious streak that her family couldn’t abide once her father had passed. He wouldn’t allow her to be sold. She remembered his words before he died. "My daughter, you have a light within that none will quench. In that light, your soul will speak. In that light, your spirit will thrive. In that light, you will learn control and the true nature of being of the sun caste."

  When he died, her relatives thought only discipline and training mentors were strong enough to turn her into a docile and proper mate. Violet showed an unusual talent for magic and that instantly propelled her into training for the arts. She fit well and outmatched her peers, but she never fully became the compliant lady that everyone expected. Oh, she faked it well enough. Even with her stubborn nature, she could only take so much torture before submitting. They never broke her spirit, and she hoped that spirit would one day set her free of the Seraglio.

  But not tonight, tonight she wanted only to slip into the ecstasy of the dream. Everything around her turned to wispy threads of fog except for the brass bed, strung with gauzy drapery. It wasn’t the sensible iron bed of her cubicle. It belonged to the fantasy, where a sun mage claimed her in a world where the Seraglio didn’t exist. Since childhood, the mage invaded her dreams. She welcomed the specter first as a friend and mentor, and then as a lover. As always, he appeared within seconds. She couldn't make out his features, but she sensed power and confidence; experienced warmth.

  She held out her arms, and he drifted into them. She still didn't know who he was, nor could she see anything that would define him. He existed in mist, and her loins burned for him. When his arms closed around her, she felt his hard flesh rippling over his long muscular frame. Felt his breath as it stirred the tendrils of her hair. Felt his hands as they moved over the feminine length of her curves.

  Closing her eyes, Violet melted against him, lips parting, accepting the bold invasion of his tongue and offering her own exploration as she had done so many times before. He ravished her mouth with sensual expertise, and she surrendered her will, for here she could, here no one would know, here she was free to experience and capitulate without consequence. They tasted each other for long minutes, her body molding itself to his. She couldn't get enough of this mage and found her lips at his throat, marking him with succulent kisses.

  His hoarse moan spurred her confidence. She wrenched open the billowy shirt, popping buttons as her tongue trailed downward, tasting hard nubs, then lower to swirl about his belly button, then even lower. Would she dare this in reality? Would she be so bold? She who barely knew the look of a man and had never held a masculine hand? Violet didn’t know. Perhaps she’d fight or run. It wasn’t what they were taught. The talented beauties of both sun and shadow castes had been pooled together as treasures for the gifted of the realm. The girls were taught sensuous, compliant positions and submissive stances, taught to be at their husband’s disposal in every way whether sexual, an assistant, a hostess, or a breeder. They were to be perfect in speech and manner and outlook, a reflection of their future husband. Violet could only be herself, and in her dreams she gave as she willed and the mage took all she offered. His breeches slipped down about his ankles as she found the male swell of him. She licked and teased and filled herself with his hardness, moving her head slowly back and forth, sucking as if she could devour the throbbing manhood of him.

  He gasped, and then pulled her away, taking back control before she could utter any protest. Catching her up in his strong arms, he laid her across the bed, ripping away her nightdress as if it were no more substantial than the fog about them. He cupped her breasts, fondling them as his mouth once again found her lips. He wasn't in any hurry. It was as if she was a banquet and he intended to savor every morsel. And, oh how Violet yearned to be savored and taken with slow procrastination even as her body demanded instant release.

  He took even more than she relinquished. He captured her wrists, holding them above her head as he spread her thighs with his knees. His mouth toyed with swollen nipples and his free hand played with the enflamed nub throbbing between folds of nether flesh. She arched to better feel his taunting. She begged for more with tiny whimpers and soft moans.

  He obliged. His ravishment became rougher, more demanding. He squeezed her breasts with wild abandon. "More," she begged. "Please, more."

  He didn’t disappoint her. He forced her knees to her breasts until she was totally exposed to him, totally vulnerable to his cravings and her needs. He positioned himself at her opening, the hard, vivacious tip of him ripping into her in one deep long thrust. She caught her breath for she had forgotten the size of him and how pain mingled with pleasure at that first invasion.

  Suddenly, though, the sweet eroticism of the dream evaporated. Rough hands pulled her to wakefulness and tossed her across the tidy, sparse chamber as if she were lighter than parchment. She smacked into the wall and knew bruises would soon mar her pale flesh. She was going to remind Sir Venore, the lead eunuch, that it wasn’t wise to mark a lass so close to the nuptials, but seeing the extent of his fury, she thought better of it. Besides, they had balms that healed damages quickly.

  "What is this?" Venore screamed as he held up a colorful rope that had taken her months to weave. Fibers borrowed, as she preferred to call it, from discarded rags and worn clothes to misplaced scarves and lost mittens. Well, at least her chamber sisters thought they lost a mitten or two.

  Violet didn’t even blink. Instead, she gathered herself up stiffly and kept her gaze on Venore’s rather large feet strapped in leather sandals. She said, "It’s a rope, sir."

  She stole an upward glance and noticed the vein throbbing under his monk-like cap of graying hair. A green cassock with a scarlet-lined hood covered his bullish form while a medallion with the house crest identified his rank. The eunuchs weren’t a religious order, but they were honored for their devotion to the training arts. Many saw it as a spiritual vocation. Violet doubted that any of the trainers chose to have his manhood eliminated. Their families had sold them, too. It always spurred a measure of compassion for them no matter how tough they had been on her.

  "I know it’s a rope," he spat, spraying her with frustrated spittle. "I want to know what you intend to do with it."

  "That isn’t what you asked," she responded with aplomb. Her sisters would have been in a pool of trembling tears by now. Violet refused to give him the satisfaction. She should have, though. Her continuous impertinence only enraged him more. "Considering the amount of times I’ve attempted escape, one would think you’d already know the answer."

  Large, blunt fingers knotted a fistful of long, unruly blond hair and yanked her up off her feet. She expected something quite like this, yet couldn’t hold back a small yelp. It wasn’t enough to satisfy his rage, and he carried her by the roots of her hair through stone halls lit by torches whose walls dripped with condensation. There was a time when she would have kicked and screamed, hands ripping at his fingers to free herself, but it never did any good. At six-feet, five inches, and three hundred pounds of muscle and fury, she wasn’t even close to a match for his strength. All she could do was to press stiff palms against her scalp to lessen the pain.

  Violet, so named for her unusual dark, purple eyes looked as delicate and fragile as her name suggested. At five foot, three inches, her full breasts contrasted nicely against a waist tiny enough to accommodate a man’s hand span. Slender hips tapered into tight thighs and calves. Her nose was a tender thrust of perfection while pink-tinged lips appeared just lush enough to demand a thorough kissing. Hair, twisted in an unrelenting mass of spiral curls, fell past her tiny, curved buttocks. It was those extraordinary eyes, though, dominating the heart-shaped countenance that could mesmerize any normal man. Those of the arts, though, weren’t of the norm.

  "I do not know why we put up with you!" Venore exploded as he carried her
without effort.

  "Because I’ll fetch a fortune," she spat back through tears and whimpers, instantly regretting her remark as he shook her by the roots of her hair. Maybe her hair wouldn’t hold. Maybe he’d pull every strand of it out and toss her into the forest, bald and empty-handed. Somehow the thought wasn’t all that disconcerting. After all, at least she’d be free.

  He froze, twisted her until she faced him, and with renewed rage, bypassed the instruction chamber where she had expected to be taken. Instead, he carried her up a flight of stairs until they reached the balcony outside the turret.

  Night hovered over the valley like a stalking creature. Not even the moon creeping in and out of clouds dispelled the ominous shadows, nor did it illuminate the nocturnal crawlers that kept the villagers snug around hearths and under well-lit lanterns. Being born in a sun clan, shadows and darkness unnerved her. She preferred the sky littered with bright stars. Now, though, it wasn’t just the unrelenting night that provoked a sensation of sand ants crawling under her skin ready to devour their prey from the inside. It was the chilled wind throttling her body. It was the emptiness beneath her feet. It was the moat far below riddled with carnivores.

  Even more, it was Venore’s fury-induced words. "Perhaps you are not worth the profit after all, Violet Haze."

  * * * *

  The blindfolded naked lass trembled, drool spilling from one corner of her mouth, but she did not cry out as the flogger marred her once smooth, pale breasts. She no longer had the strength for anything but whimpers. Her entire body, stretched like an X and anchored by chains to the floor and ceiling, resembled a patchwork of purple-black bruises and raw, crimson lines.