Sin (29 page)

Sincere thanks go to my critique group for all their support and words of wisdom. Also, many thanks to my agent Jessica Faust, and my editor Hilary Sares, for their wonderful enthusiasm for my work.

Here’s a hot sneak peek at Noelle Mack’s RED VELVET, available now from Aphrodisia…

H
ome. Bath. Bed. The three little words that meant the most to Dee at the moment. She’d dragged the suitcase through the lobby, looking around for the doorman in case there were packages that had been delivered while she was in China, but he was nowhere to be seen.

The elevator door closed silently and she counted the floors going up in her head, almost staggering down the hall to her apartment when the doors opened. Exhausted, Dee unlocked the door and got her suitcase over the threshold without bothering to turn on the lights. She shucked her clothes and tossed them on the floor, then headed into the bathroom, stark naked and shivering a little.

Her thighs and butt were sore from endless hours of sitting on a plane, but she was home. Bath next. Then bed. Tomorrow was another day and if she was lucky, she’d sleep right through it.

Dee crouched by the tub, turning on the faucet full blast, and tossed in an extravagant handful of pricey bath crystals, a gift from a fabric supplier, so she could afford to waste them. The jar was already half empty.

The gift basket had also held a scented candle at least a foot high, lovingly created by a hive of very busy, very talented designer bees just for her, if she wanted to believe the label. She could almost see them patting it smooth with their little black paws. If bees had paws. Whatever. She had been saving the candle for a moment like this.

Dee took the basket down from the cabinet shelf and unwrapped the delicate, crinkly paper around the beeswax pillar, ready for a little atmospheric soaking. She twiddled the wick upright, then remembered where she kept the matches. She padded back to the living room, scrabbled in the box over the fireplace, lit the candle and carried it back.

The tub was nearly brimming and Dee set the candle down on its wide ledge. She shut off the faucet and let some of the hot water go down the drain so it wouldn’t overflow when she got in.

Her bathroom was her refuge—a beautifully appointed space, like the rest of the apartment. Something she couldn’t possibly afford as a start-up designer, but it had been her graduation gift from Uncle Is, who owned the building. And to whom she would be in hock for the rest of her life, Dee thought unhappily.

She reached into a deep cabinet for a stack of fluffy folded towels to place next to the huge tub. A bowlegged table held spritzy little bottles of beauty products and two-week-old copies of rag trade publications. Her mailbox was probably crammed with new issues.

She stepped in, then kneeled, letting the water cover her thighs and her butt, feeling its penetrating heat soothe her nerves and melt away the stress of travel. Dee sat back, arranging a terrycloth-covered inflatable pillow behind her neck.

Then, echoing faintly through the porcelain, she heard footsteps in the apartment downstairs coming into the bathroom right below hers. As expensive as the building was, a lot of the construction costs had gone into luxury surfaces for the interiors, and it wasn’t all that soundproof. She waited for the clonk of a toilet seat flipping up. She didn’t hear it.

The new inhabitant of 16B would have to flip up the seat because he was a guy. Unless he was a hardcore bachelor who never put it down. She didn’t know too much about him besides his name, Tom Driscoll, noting it on the row of mailboxes after he’d moved in three weeks ago.

Dee had seen the delivery van on her way out to buy a weekend’s worth of fashion magazines and newspapers and thought he was one of the movers at first. Tom Driscoll’s arms were massive, chest ditto. Legs, long and muscular. Dark hair, dark eyelashes. Blue eyes. Worn jeans with an eye-catching front bulge, topped by a frayed T-shirt with a few paint spots.

Never mind the moving day clothes, she’d thought. He had to be making a lot of money to buy a place in this building. She’d scoped him, knowing he was watching the movers manhandle a ten-foot black leather sofa down the truck ramp and not her. Dee had slunk away the second he’d turned toward the door with keys in hand and a big grin on his face.

Not that he would figure out that her apartment was on top of his unless she introduced herself and told him. Too bad. He was definitely the kind of guy she wanted to be on top of. Not that she had the time for a romance.

Maybe someday, she’d thought on her way back, swinging the plastic bag of magazines and munching on a Swiss chocolate bar. He’d been directing the unloading of still more black leather furniture. He had to be single and he had to be straight.

Bachelor pad black leather was the first thing a live-in girlfriend kicked to the curb, and gay guys didn’t think it was cool. Not even retro cool.

Dee sank lower into the water, settling into a state of blissful relaxation. She reached out with a dripping foot and turned on the hot water faucet with her toes, thinking about her China trip and the problems of the new bra prototype. Scratch that, she told herself. Think about Tom Driscoll. Think about sex.

She let the hot water trickle, in the habit of topping off the tub until the bath was exactly the temperature she liked. Then she heard the click of a medicine cabinet door being opened in the bathroom below. Maybe he was shaving for a late-night date. Dee could imagine what he would look like bare-chested, a towel tied just above his groin, sorta covering that interesting bulge.

She wouldn’t mind investigating it, playing with his cock and balls while he slapped shaving cream on his face and told her to quit it, giving her a Santaesque smile in the middle of all that white foam before he picked up his razor.

Nothing nicer than kissing the baby-soft, freshly shaved face of a just showered, totally naked man.

Dee slid a hand between her legs. If he were on all fours over her right now—she mentally moved the action to her own personal cloud nine, her antique fourposter—with his mouth on her pussy, licking and nipping her labia and thrusting his tongue deep inside, she’d be in heaven.

Just the thought of looking up at a set of heavy balls and a thick, erect cock, her head resting between two strong thighs while he satisfied her first, aroused her to fever pitch.

Her fingertips touched her clit, brushing over the sensitive tip. Over and over. She would tease his scrotum with her own tongue, licking all around, warmly, lasciviously, feeling it tighten and his cock get thicker, wanting him to get totally hot while he serviced her but not be able to come…

Dee opened her eyes, looking dreamily at the ceiling—and realized that the water in the tub was almost over her shoulders. She sat up, screwed the faucet handle the other way, and got out gingerly, being careful not to slosh.

She listened for more signs of life from the apartment below but heard nothing.
Thanks anyway, Tom. Nice to have met you. Maybe you can join me in the bath sometime
. She smiled as she wrapped a towel around herself and used another to dry her legs and arms. The first towel fell off when she wrapped yet another around her wet hair and she left that one on the floor, rubbing her feet in it to dry them.

Dee, soothed by her hot soak and stimulated by her fantasizing, decided to take it a little farther. Her skin was dry from the long hours on the plane. Her legs and ass could use some lotion. And her breasts too. Best for last. She could get close to climax with some just-right fondling and nipple attention, especially if she watched herself do it in the bathroom’s tall freestanding mirror.

Then she could finish off with a vibrator in her bedroom and fall asleep. Not a bad way to end a generally disastrous day. She put a folded towel on the ledge of the bathtub and sat on it, reaching for the lightly scented lotion, pouring a warm stream over one stretched-out leg and catching the excess in her palm, rubbing it into her skin in long strokes.

She did the same with the other leg, then stood, rubbing her oiled hands over her ass cheeks, savoring the sensual pleasure of handling herself just the way she wanted to be handled.

The steam had cleared enough for her to see her blurred reflection in the freestanding mirror at one end of the bathroom. Dee wrapped a fresh towel around her lotioned-up hips and ass, sliding it back and forth, enjoying its nubby texture on her skin. She danced a little, a basic bellydance wriggle from a half-remembered class, making her heavy, firm breasts bounce. Dropping the towel, she took both her nipples in her fingertips and tugged at them. They got longer instantly and she bent forward, bare ass out and legs apart, like she was about to push her breasts into the face of a seated man.

Suck them, Tom. Big, gorgeous tits with long nipples. I know you want to. Just looking at them makes you hard.

She grabbed the bottle of lotion, shot a stream into her palm and rubbed it over both breasts, circling the nipples, then pinching them gently. Dee closed her eyes, wanting to imagine her new downstairs neighbor more than she wanted to see herself. Her breasts would more than fill his big hands. She hadn’t been nicknamed Double Dee in high school for nothing.

The rest of her was shapely too, with hips that curved into athletic legs and a comparatively narrow waist. But it was the tits that had made the boys stare; and the men, for that matter.

Some days she’d hated it. Some days she hadn’t minded. Depended on who was doing the staring.

Now, if Tom Driscoll were looking at her tits, hungry for them, going crazy from watching her caress herself, she wouldn’t mind that at all. Dee cupped her breasts from underneath and squeezed them together, admiring the deep vee they made.

Want to put your cock there, Tom? Nice and tight and well-oiled. It’s intense if you’re into it. Or you can get on your knees and tease my clit while I play with my nipples. Get down. Tongue tip only. Flick it. Yeah…like that.

The condensation on the mirror had nearly cleared. She studied herself, imagining Tom Driscoll again, kneeling in front of her to eat her pussy. Her fingers were a more than adequate substitute for a masculine tongue, but she didn’t want to come without at least the fantasy of a man doing her. Going solo was fine, but sex with a hot guy was better.

She bent forward a little, her big breasts swaying, her other hand coming up to brush over the nipples. Dee began to move her hips as she masturbated, putting her whole body into it.

She began to moan under her breath, saying Tom’s name in a breathy whisper just to have a man’s name to say, until she heard the bathroom door open.

Dee’s eyes opened wide. There was a man in the mirror with her, just in back of her, barefoot and bare-chested, wearing only jeans. Tom Driscoll.

He grinned. “Looks like I got here just in time.”

Dark. Thrilling. Highly erotic. Don’t miss BLOOD RED by Sharon Page. Coming from Aphrodisia in January 2007…

The Village of Maidensby, Yorkshire, 1818

C
an you imagine both our mouths on you, love?

Althea sighed as the seductive male voice whispered behind her. His warm breath danced over the nape of her neck, stirring loose strands of her hair.

A moan spilled from her lips as his big hands closed over her shoulders, slipping beneath the straps of her chemise. One pair of hands—a gentleman’s hands, long fingered, elegant. Hot, slightly rough, and all too real.

How could a dream stir her senses so?

Her dream lover massaged her shoulders and the controlled power in his touch vibrated through her. His fingers stroked the top of her spine. A bolt of desire raced down and exploded between her legs, drawing out a gasping sob from her very soul. A desperate sound. A plea.

For mercy? Or for more?

With a low chuckle, he held her as her legs melted beneath her.

Against her ear, his husky voice promised sin.

Can you imagine my hands and his worshipping you?

No. She shook her head, and that, too, felt real. No, she could not begin to imagine it. It was too scandalous. Too forbidden.

How could she, a virgin, be dreaming this?

Then perhaps it is not a dream, Althea. Perhaps it is a premonition.

No, she argued. It is a dream. Only a dream.

His head bent to her neck. His silky hair brushed her tingling skin. She shuddered at the gentle scrape of pointed teeth. But she could not pull away, even as he drew the straps from her shoulders. He’d unfastened the tapes and the neckline gaped at her breasts, exposing them. He tugged it down further and she grabbed at his hands to rescue her modesty.

No, sweet. Let us enjoy.

Her mouth dry, she stared down at her pale curves tipped with puckered nipples, small and pink. Two large male hands framed her bosom, holding the lacy neckline.

She’d never truly looked at her own breasts, not with the interest, the fascination, of these men. She’d never caressed them, never.

For the first time, the second man spoke.
Beautiful.

Her gaze riveted on him. He lounged on a massive bed, shirt open to reveal sculpted muscles, swirls of golden curls and dusky pink nipples. Skintight buff breeches encased his powerful legs. His long fingers skimmed over his crotch, stroking the thick curving ridge that lifted the fabric. Her body ached in response. Her heart hammered, lodged in her throat.

His long golden hair fell across his eyes, shadowing his beautiful face. Only moonlight lit the room, glittering as it fell across his dark eyes. In the bluish light, his hair glimmered like moonbeams, but she knew, the way dreamers did, what his coloring must be.

Aren’t they?
Satin brushed her back as the man behind her moved closer. The buttons of his waistcoat pressed into his spine. She felt engulfed by him, small, delicate.

But not afraid.

She tried to twist around to see the man behind, but she couldn’t. He seemed formed of light and shadow. Only his hands were rendered in detail. The backs traced with veins, the knuckles large, the fingers astonishingly strong yet graceful. Mesmerized, Althea watched his fingers release her fragile chemise, which dropped to her waist.

She swallowed a cry as those sensual hands cupped her naked bosom. Her tight, swollen breasts fit into his big palms like ripe apples. He lifted them, displaying them to the other man.

Pinch her nipples,
suggested the man on the bed and he flicked open the first button securing his breeches.

Thumbs tapped her hard nipples, shocking her with jolts of pleasure and agony. He strummed them, and she arched back, thrusting her breasts forward. He wasn’t so gentle anymore. He squeezed tight, plucked, pinched, and tugged at her nipples. But she loved every coarse, rough caress. He knew far better than she what she wanted. What her breasts enjoyed.

The man on the bed shifted to his knees. His lean muscular abdomen rippled. Waggling his brows with teasing amusement, he drew down his open breeches to the middle of his thighs, revealing his small clothes. His intimate parts, etched in relief by shadow and silvery light, pulsed as he moved.

She caught her breath. Strangely, in this room, with these two men, in this startling, wonderful dream, she couldn’t speak. Perhaps she wasn’t allowed to—because she should be protesting her innocence. She should be fleeing for safety.

The man on the bed possessed large, beautiful hands too. Hands tugging down his linens, struggling to release his…

His cock, love.

The man behind her arched his hips forward and she felt the ridge, hard as a poker in his trousers, jab against her bottom. His hips swayed, bumping his staff across her derriere.

It must be a dream. It had to be a dream.

The golden-haired man dropped his linens, freeing his cock. She understood the term “rampant rod,” which she’d heard whispered by maids. This thing seemed to have a mind of its own. It wobbled, swayed, and grew longer before her astonished eyes. A nest of hair surrounded it, a cap crowned it, and it glistened as though wet. Moonlight played along its length, revealing a spine along the back that led a dangling sack that must be his ballocks. The maids called them jewels, as though they were incredibly precious.

She couldn’t draw her gaze from it as he slid from the bed. As he pulled off his boots, kicked off his clothes. He swaggered toward her, his cock standing proud, straight and tall, amidst the thicket of golden curls. She could tell he was proud of it, too, and his hand settled around it in a possessive gesture.

Her legs trembled as he gave one long stroke to the base and back up to the tip. Behind her, her other lover arched hard against her, trapping her thin chemise between the cheeks of her bottom as he pushed his clothed cock against her.

It had been delicious to be caressed by one man but to have two touch her at once was a sensation unsurpassed. Someone tore her chemise away. Ripped it from her and tossed the tattered garment aside. Four hands moved over her skin, hot as candle flames, smooth and sensuous like a silken robe. They didn’t touch her between her thighs but coasted flat palms over her dark red pubic curls.

Althea shuddered, caught in a horrifying cusp between fear and unbearable arousal. Their hands were pale, stark against the peach tinted skin of her tummy and breasts.

As though they’d said, one, two, three, go, they both bent and took her nipples into their mouths. Her cry rang out into the room. Both nipples in hot male mouths at once. Both nipples lightly scraped by pointy fangs.

As they began sucking in earnest, they took on their own unique rhythms, the contrasts more stunning than having them work in unison had been. Golden hair spilled over her neck and face from both sides. Two hard male members bumped her hips, one nude, the other clothed.

Hands parted her thighs and she whimpered in relief. Their tongues licked her nipples. Their fingers slid between her nether lips. She was slick, scandalously wet and hot. From their groans, she knew the men liked the feel of her wetness on their fingers. Liked the musky perfume floating up from between her legs.

Something built inside her. She sobbed with it and began to rock against their hands. Seeking more. Needing more.

Yes. Yes.
Their voices joined, a chorus urging her on. Their mouths moved over her, pleasuring her nipples, her neck, capturing her mouth. With her lids almost covering her eyes, she couldn’t see who kissed her where. She gave herself to them, floating between them.

A finger touched the entrance to her bottom and she gasped. Fingers stroked the top of her sex and she screamed. She ground herself hard against their big hands. Harder. Harder.

Make yourself come, sweetheart.

God, yes, come for us, love.

She drove relentlessly, gasping, moaning.
Yes, yes, yes
. She cried the word over and over. A frenzy gripped her, possessed her. She snapped inside. Pleasure swamped her like a wave and her body bucked over their fingers. They held her tight, praised her, groaned with her.

Oh. Oh, yes.

Her eyes shut tight, plunging her into a velvety darkness as the throbbing faded into a light-headed joy.

Faintly she heard a wicked voice murmur against her ear.
“You have never been bitten, have you, angel?
”

Weak, Althea shook her head. But for their arms around her, she would dissolve into a puddle on the floor. She was powerless. Powerless.

Can you imagine the erotic pleasure of having both of us bite you?