Blood Secret (31 page)
“So he told you?”
“No! He said he would not, as he wanted you to be the one to do it. He hoped it would force us to be together. He gave me tea, then made me promise I would come to you. So tell me—what is this secret truth about my mother?” She heard the catch in her voice. Memories flooded of her mother, of Celia, Lady Wrenshire, who had been beautiful. Lucy had only seen her mother as a dragon twice in her entire life. But her mother had possessed silvery scales and large dark blue eyes. Her mother had always smiled. She had been wonderful.
“What is the truth?”
“Your mother is a direct descendant of the first female dragon. She was a queen of dragons, though she was never officially called Queen. She was of such a pure line, she had all the best qualities of dragons. She was beautiful, strong, but always possessed a noble heart. It appears that at the very beginning dragons were very peaceful creatures and they had to become aggressive when people began to hunt them. You have all her strengths—including her good heart. But also, according to Guidon, you possess certain magical skills.”
“Magic? I’ve never done anything magical!”
His gentle, loving smile made her heart wobble. “You helped James, Lucy. Thanks to you, he is now a happy little boy and seems to be putting his sad and frightening memories behind him. You saved me. You’ve done many magical things.”
“I mean I cannot wave a wand and make things fly into the air.”
“Guidon promised to explain more about your magical skills, once you knew about your mother. He insists you are filled with magic, and I have to admit that I agree, though for different reasons.” His sparkling eyes softened.
It was so wonderful to be looked at in such a way. With so much love. It stole her breath.
Sinjin swallowed hard, and Lucy suspected he was finally willing to hear her answer. Though, really, should he not already know what it was to be?
“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, I will become your bride. Your wife. Your fire-breathing, but besotted, devoted, and thoroughly happy partner.”
Laughing, he lifted her in his arms, and carried her to her bed. On the way, she tugged desperately at his clothes. She freed him of his cravat, and suckled the firm muscles that defined his neck. She unfastened his shirt at the collar and licked him with abandon. Massaged his chest muscles, stroked his nipples through his coat. Slid her hand down and stroked his rigid cock through his trousers.
That made him jerk. “Careful, I don’t want to drop you.”
But then he tossed her onto the bed, so she bounced on the mattress.
“Our fortnight ends today,” he whispered.
“Fortnight?”
“Do you remember the first night you came to me, when you promised to be my lover for two weeks? I have one night left.”
“One night? I just promised to be your lover for eternity.”
“Eternity starts tomorrow, my love. Tonight, I want to end our fortnight of illicit carnal pleasure with a big bang.”
A big bang? Lucy had no idea what he meant. Until he pushed up her skirts, then arranged her so her legs hooked around his neck. Her pussy was creamy and wet, ready to be filled with his thick, hard cock.
She moaned as he slid inside. Then she wrapped her arms around his neck, too, to keep them joined. Joined forever. Joined with his groin kissing her swollen, eager clit with each thrust. Joined so he could reach between them and tease her bottom. She helped him, sliding her finger beside his up her ass.
It ignited her. Sent an orgasm streaking through her. She moaned, screamed, wailed. “Goodness,” she whispered. “I can’t wait to begin on eternity.”
He tried to laugh, but she could see he was close to the brink himself, straining to keep his orgasm leashed, and unable to do more than grunt.
With her finger still up her bottom with his, she slid her hand down and found his rump. As he slid back, preparing to thrust again, she shoved her index finger greedily up his arse.
It was like pulling a trigger. On a loud, animal-like howl, he exploded inside her.
Sinjin collapsed, grinning, then he kissed her mouth hungrily. “I,” he whispered, “am the luckiest man in the world.”
“Indeed,” she said.
He laughed, heartily, warmly, like a man who was truly happy. Her heart soared.
They were attending their first ball as the Duke and Duchess of Greystone. After traveling along the receiving line and thanking people for their congratulations on the marriage, Lucy began to move toward the wall of the ballroom. It was where she had always stood when she was unmarried, and it was where the married ladies congregated.
“Where do you think you are going?”
“Over to the wall to stand with the other matrons.”
Sinjin’s golden brow lifted. “I don’t think so. You are coming with me.”
Lucy let her gaze slide to the whirling dancers. Hope blossomed in her chest. “Do you mean ... you wish to dance?”
He winked. “Later. I have something to show you first.”
Lucy felt many gazes follow them as Sinjin clasped her hand and led her across the dance floor. Matrons had snapped up their lorgnettes to peer at him. Young ladies, making their debuts, goggled at him. Other gentlemen stared with curiosity. Of course, she had forgotten—he never came into Society. She had hidden in the shadows; but he had been mysterious and intriguing to the
ton
for he had behaved as a complete recluse.
ton
for he had behaved as a complete recluse.
It was strange to be here. She had always felt out of place, terrified something might happen that would reveal her secret to the
ton.
She had always hidden.
ton.
She had always hidden.
Now that she shared her secret with Sinjin, it felt like a special thing. Something wicked and illicit, kept just between them. It felt rather naughty to be walking amongst the cream of Society, knowing that she was a shape-shifting dragon and a vampire, that her husband was a vampire.
Sinjin led her out onto the terrace. Fairy lights dotted the gardens and when the warm spring breeze blew, the tiny diamonds of light danced in the trees.
“You brought me out to appreciate the view? Did you wish to walk in the gardens?” Dancing would have been delightful, but this was rather romantic. Many couples were already taking advantage of the warm weather and inviting gardens. She could hear laughter rising behind lilac bushes and manicured hedges.
“I planned to, but I don’t believe I can wait that long. The thing with dying and getting a second chance—it makes you realize you can’t hang around and wait for things.”
Taking her hand, he guided her to the stone balustrade that ran around the terrace. They were at the end, beyond the lights that spilled out from the paned terrace doors. It was not exactly dark, but more shadowed.
“Lean against the railing, love,” he whispered hoarsely and his breath was a hot tickle against her ear.
Trembling, anticipating, she did. With a soft whisper, her skirts flew up, cascading around her waist in a silken wave.
“Won’t someone see us? We could cause a scandal.”
“Someone might catch us. But you are my countess now. My bride. I love you, and I promised you an eternity of pleasure.”
“An eternity of scandalous, naughty, dangerous pleasure?” she asked.
“What else would be enough for my fiery dragon?”
Lucy wriggled, batting her bared bottom against the front of his trousers. “I want you to set me aflame.” Then she giggled, suddenly shy. “I trust you more than I’ve ever trusted anyone. I love you completely. But to daringly make love on a terrace in the middle of a crowded ball? I am not sure if I am ready to be that daring.”
“Trust me,” he answered, and she felt the brush of his hand as he undid his trousers. “You are.”
She did trust him. With Sinjin, she had visited Guidon and had begun to explore her magic. When she had jokingly told Sinjin she could not wave a wand and move things, she had been wrong. She could actually move objects with her magical powers by waving her hands.
Here, now, she wanted to let him show her just how daring she could be, how thoroughly aroused she was when he thrust deeply inside her. She knew she had become very daring for she was certain the entire crowd heard her cries of pleasure when she and Sinjin reached their climaxes together.
Laughing, she slumped against the railing, cradled in Sinjin’s embrace.
All her life she had been afraid of being a dragon. Now Lucy knew how lucky she was. For she loved the fiery, wanton side that came with being a dragon.
From behind, Sinjin nibbled her neck and spoke the most magical words of all. “I love you, Lucy. For ever and ever.”
Turn the page for a sizzling preview of Logan Belle’s
NAKED ANGEL
An Aphrodisia trade paperback on sale now!
There is simply not a single ugly move in ballet. Not one ugly move. I like to hold burlesque to the very same standards.
—Dita Von Teese
1
“A
re you nervous?” Mallory Dale’s boyfriend, Alec, asked her.
re you nervous?” Mallory Dale’s boyfriend, Alec, asked her.
“No. Should I be?” She surveyed the room, finally seeing the tangible results of nearly a year of work.
“It’s a big night,” Alec said.
“The first of many to come, I hope,” she said, putting her arms around him. “And I’m ready.”
In one hour, the club they had created would be unveiled to New York. Standing alone in the room, holding Alec’s hand, she felt confident in the world they had brought to life. The Painted Lady was unlike any burlesque club in the city: After careful research and their investors’ generous open checkbooks, they had managed to create a glorious throwback to the roaring twenties.
Mallory had always loved flapper style. It was fashion liberation. In that sense, flappers did for women of the 1920s what burlesque did for her: It shocked her, then irrevocably changed the way she saw herself. And now she’d helped create a space that would have made Zelda Fitzgerald proud: The Painted Lady burlesque club was a decadent tableau of unrestrained art deco. The red walls were decorated with portraits of Josephine Baker and iconic flapper Louise Brooks, a collection of Grund-worth and Yva Richard fetish photographs, and illustrated
pochoir
prints by Erté. The brass and bronze chandeliers had been designed for the 1925 Paris Exposition. And the topnotch sound system was already playing Irving Berlin’s “Puttin’ on the Ritz.”
pochoir
prints by Erté. The brass and bronze chandeliers had been designed for the 1925 Paris Exposition. And the topnotch sound system was already playing Irving Berlin’s “Puttin’ on the Ritz.”
“You definitely look ready. You are by far the sexiest flapper ever to grace a stage. Were women allowed to be this hot in the 1920s?” Alec asked. He pulled her over so she could see her reflection in one of the mirrored picture frames.
She’d never been more excited about a costume. Her former boss—and onetime owner of the famous burlesque club the Blue Angel—had created the pink satin flapper dress and beaded headpiece for her. Then, after scouring the best vintage shops in the city, she and Alec had found the perfect accessories: ropes of pink and black beads to wear around her neck, and black patent leather heels with ankle straps. Even her face was transformed to Old World glamour: Her best friend, notorious burlesquer, model, and actress Bette Noir, had spent an hour at her apartment earlier applying her makeup to look flapper chic.
Alec kissed the back of her neck, running his hands up from her waist to her breasts. She sighed, a swell of desire rising in her chest. But she forced herself to push his hands gently away. “We don’t have time. Save it for later, okay?” she said. Still, she felt a twinge between her legs. Alec could always get her going, even when she had less than one hour before the beginning of the biggest night of her New York life.
“Now that you mention it, I
am
saving something for later,” he said, the tone of his voice especially devilish.
am
saving something for later,” he said, the tone of his voice especially devilish.
She turned to look at him. “Oh, yeah? What’s going on?”
“I have a surprise for you.”
“You know I don’t like surprises,” Mallory said.
“Hmm. The last time you told me that, things turned out okay, didn’t they?”
She knew he was referring to the night he took her to her first burlesque show on her twenty-fifth birthday at the Blue Angel. Now, just two years later, it was the opening night of her own club. Well, The Painted Lady wasn’t technically
her
club. But she was the creative force behind it, along with Alec. It was their baby, and after designing the look and feel of the club, hiring the staff of dancers, choreographing the début show, and writing the script for the opening night’s MC, it was finally the moment of truth.
her
club. But she was the creative force behind it, along with Alec. It was their baby, and after designing the look and feel of the club, hiring the staff of dancers, choreographing the début show, and writing the script for the opening night’s MC, it was finally the moment of truth.
Bette Noir strutted over to them. With her signature black bob, she already looked like a modern-day Louise Brooks.
She carried a large flower arrangement wrapped in plastic. “Someone has a secret admirer,” she said, handing the package to Mallory.
“Is that my surprise?” Mallory asked Alec.
“No. It’s not from me.” He raised an eyebrow, as if looking at her with suspicion.
“Busted—my secret lover,” she teased. A year ago, it might have been true. But all of that was behind them now.
Mallory tore the plastic wrapper away to reveal a remarkable bouquet of pink flowers that happened to match the exact shade of her costume.
“Will you look at this!” she said, almost afraid to move the arrangement, it looked so delicate and perfect—more like a sculpture than a flower arrangement. A dozen or so Phalaenopsis orchids brimmed over the top of a long, rectangular vase. Underneath the flowers, circles of grass were arranged inside the glass walls, as if an artist had painted green loops with a delicate brush.
Mallory detached the card. “For Mallory: Thanks for all your hard work. Tonight, we see it bloom. Our love, Justin and Martha.”
“You gotta love those guys,” Bette said.
Justin Baxter and Martha Pike were the money behind The Painted Lady, and they were among Manhattan’s most visible—and unusual—couples. Martha had made her millions in the vaginal rejuvenation field: She’d invented a device called the Pike Kegel Ball, and many a bold-faced name over the age of thirty, when pressed, would admit it had helped take years off her vag. Justin was a drop-dead gorgeous former playboy who’d settled down with the less-than-attractive Martha when he was in his early thirties, and the two seemed extremely happy together. They both had an appetite for beautiful young women and kinky sex, and they happily indulged their desires together. They also threw the most decadent, incredible parties on both coasts and were major patrons of the arts. When their favorite burlesque club, the Blue Angel, was bought out by a woman they knew would run it into the ground, they decided to open a club of their own. That’s when Mallory and Alec had gotten their dream jobs: The club was theirs to create and run. Martha would write the checks.
“Now I’m tempted to give you my surprise,” Alec said, putting his arms around Mallory. She tilted up her face so he could kiss her.
“So give it to me, baby,” she said.
“Ah, my favorite thing to hear,” he said, pulling her close. “But you’re just going to have to get through the show.”
“You’re such a sadist,” she said.
“And you wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Violet Offender paced the dressing area of the club formerly known as the Blue Angel. She ran a hand through her short-cropped, white-blond hair, her cheeks flushed with irritation.
“What do you mean it’s by invitation only?” she snapped at the petite redhead busily getting into costume. For once, the sight of the woman’s luscious breasts bound in a corset wasn’t enough to calm Violet’s nerves.
“I did what you told me to do: I went to get a ticket for the show tonight, and the woman at the door told me the opening night was by invitation. Press and friends only.”
“Jesus! Why do I have to do everything myself around here? Give me a phone.”
The girl scrambled to hand over her iPhone. Violet punched in the number of her reluctant business partner and bankroller, the magazine publisher Billy Barton. “Billy, I need you to get off your ass and do something for this club for once: We need press passes to the opening of The Painted Lady. Apparently, I am the only one around here who seems aware of the fact that a major competitor is opening up shop tonight. I didn’t buy this fucking dump to get steamrolled by Mallory Dale six months later. Call me back ASAP.”
“Baby, there’s nothing to worry about,” said the redhead, half-dressed in her costume, a sexy equestrian ensemble complete with riding boots and crop. “We’ve already been open for months and months.”
“Don’t be an idiot,” Violet snapped. “This isn’t the Internet: Getting there first doesn’t mean shit. It just means you’re old news. Change back into regular clothes. I’m getting you into that show tonight one way or another. And I want you to report back everything: the music, the girls, the costumes. Take photos.”
“They probably won’t allow photos,” said the redhead.
“I’m not asking you to get permission, I’m
telling
you to get photos. God, I’m tense,” Violet said. She knew there was only one way to relieve her stress. Now that she was running the club, she barely had time for her former day job and favorite pastime, her work as a professional dominatrix. Fortunately, her latest fuck toy, a five foot two inch former investment banker with enormous breasts and the burlesque name Cookies ’n’ Cream, was always willing to bend over backwards—sometimes literally—to accommodate her needs.
telling
you to get photos. God, I’m tense,” Violet said. She knew there was only one way to relieve her stress. Now that she was running the club, she barely had time for her former day job and favorite pastime, her work as a professional dominatrix. Fortunately, her latest fuck toy, a five foot two inch former investment banker with enormous breasts and the burlesque name Cookies ’n’ Cream, was always willing to bend over backwards—sometimes literally—to accommodate her needs.
Violet locked the dressing room door. “Take off your clothes,” Violet said. “But leave on the boots.”
Cookies wordlessly complied, unfastening her corset and stepping out of her lace panties. Her legs were covered in black English riding boots with zippers up the sides. The rest of her costume, including a black riding helmet and riding crop, was by her feet.
Cookies’ delicate porcelain skin was red from the pressure of the corset, and it gave Violet the irresistible urge to see matching welts on her ass.
“Turn around,” Violet said, picking up the crop. Cookies obeyed, letting Violet push her down so she was leaning on a vanity table, her ass in the air. “Don’t move,” Violet ordered. She paused for a minute to look at Cookies’ pale, creamy ass, a hint of russet pubic hair visible between her legs. She resisted the urge to get on her knees and lick the girl’s pussy. She knew in order to get true satisfaction she had to do things in the proper order. Violet understood the need for control, something most of her lovers did not. At least, not until she taught them.
She raised the riding crop and brought it down hard on Cookies’ left ass cheek. The girl cried out, but did not move a muscle. A satisfying red mark emerged almost immediately on her flesh. Violet repeated the lashing on the other side. She dropped the crop and kneeled behind Cookies. She pressed one finger into Cookies’ pussy and was satisfied to find it very wet. Violet was surprised to feel the building pressure in her own cunt. There was something about Cookies that always got her excited. She wasn’t sure what it was, but it was a relief to not be bored yet.
She worked her finger in and out, reaching up to graze Cookies’ clit before resuming the sharp strokes inside of her. She slipped one hand inside her own underwear, mirroring the motions inside herself as she worked Cookies into a frenzy. She felt Cookies’ pussy contract on her fingers, and the girl cried out as she came.
Violet quickly pulled off her jeans. She tugged on Cookies’ hair to turn her around. Violet sat on a chair, spread her legs. Cookies knelt in front of her, hands on Violet’s thighs, her tongue lapping at her wetness.
“Fuck me,” Violet growled. Cookies darted her tongue in and out of Violet’s pussy. Violet pulled on her head, trying to get her deeper. She felt a rush of impatience. “Use your hand.”
Cookies moved her mouth to Violet’s clit, her fingers pressing inside with the sharp, fast strokes she knew Violet liked. Sure enough, Violet shuddered to a silent climax. Cookies sat back on her heels, wincing when she accidentally put pressure on the freshly bruised skin on her ass.
Violet noticed her discomfort and said, “If you think your ass hurts now, you don’t even want to know what it will feel like if you come back here tonight without photos of The Painted Lady show.”
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