piano was being played full tilt by a man wearing a black bowler hat, red suspenders
and a red-and-white-polka-dot bow tie. His hands were moving rapidly over the keys
as he plied the pedal with his right foot, a cigar clamped between his teeth. Garishly
dressed whores strolled among the crowd or perched precariously on a miner’s thigh as
her breasts were pawed. None of the gilded lilies gave him a second look.
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BlackMoon Reaper
“Reaper,” he heard someone say, and heads turned toward him, but no one seemed
inclined to scatter, to move back or to make themselves scarce. They eyed him then
went back to what they were doing.
Phelan snorted. Such behavior was not normal and it concerned him as he walked
up to the bar, slung his saddlebags on the next stool.
“What’ll it be, milord?” the barkeep asked.
“Whiskey,” Phelan said, tilting his hat back to get a better look at the nude painting
over the back bar. It looked almost lifelike and represented a woman who was by far
the most beautiful he’d ever seen. With flaming red hair, dark green eyes and a
voluptuous body that made the male in him stand to attention; he studied every detail
of the painting from scarlet fingernails to the silver high-heeled shoes that were the only
thing she wore.
“A real beauty, ain’t she?” the barkeep asked as he poured Phelan’s shot.
“That she is.” Looking at her, Phelan felt as though he’d been poleaxed between the
eyes she was so lovely. His shaft leapt as he studied the painting.
“She don’t normally take on customers, but I know for a fact she’d make an
exception for you, milord,” the man said. “You being a Reaper and all.”
Phelan paused with the shot glass almost to his lips. He stared at the barkeep.
“She’s a real woman?” he asked. “Who is she?”
“Me.”
The voice was sultry as it breathed into his ear and soft hands slid over his
shoulders. The dual press of breasts pushed against the back of his shirt as she leaned
into him.
Phelan turned his head as she moved to his side, sliding her body along his. Her left
arm draped across his shoulders and her right hand curled around his biceps. He saw
no fear of him in her gaze. No disdain. No dislike. She was smiling, her red lips
glistening. When their eyes met, hers widened as though trying to take in every inch of
his face. When she spoke, there was awe in her tone.
“Hello,” she said in a throaty, sensuous voice.
Phelan’s throat felt constricted as he stared in her verdant eyes. His heart began to
pound so fiercely he could hear it thundering in his ears. He had to swallow before he
could force any words past his lips.
“Hello yourself,” he said, and his cock leapt again.
Her gaze shifted from the brim of his hat to his chin. From right cheek to left then
she lifted her hand and ran the backs of her nails over the tattoo on the left side of his
face then stroked her thumb over his lips. She seemed caught in a trance, her own lips
parted slightly, eyelids half closed.
“You are Lord Phelan,” she whispered. “Lord Phelan Kiel.”
He nodded. He was fascinated by the color of her eyes. He’d never seen eyes that
deep a green before and they were looking back at him in a way that stirred something
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Charlotte Boyett-Compo
within him he struggled to understand. He found himself wanting her so badly he
burned with the need, ached with it. He shifted uncomfortably on the barstool.
“And you are?” he asked.
“Lucy,” she said, her voice low and sultry. “Lucy Louise Springbrook. My friends
call me Lucy-Lou.”
“Lucy-Lou,” he repeated, testing the name. He liked the way it rolled off his
tongue. It had a playful sound to it, a happy sound.
Once more her gaze tracked over his face then settled on his mouth. Her head tilted
to one side as she studied him.
“What can I do for you, milord?”
It was out of his mouth before he thought.
“Anything you want to, wench.”
Lucy smiled. “I want to give you pleasure such as you’ve never known,” she said.
“I want to make you happy.”
I want that too
, he thought. He felt drawn to her like a moth to flame. He wanted to
crush her to him, take her right there on the barroom floor. No one else existed for him
at that moment. There was no sound but the soft, excited rush and release of her breath
as she looked at him. He could smell her arousal and it went straight to his cock like a
lightning bolt.
“I am yours for as long as you want me,” Lucy said in that husky voice.
The whiskey in his hand forgotten, he felt himself being pulled down into the
vortex of her green gaze. Her hand moved down his face, his neck and into the V of his
silk shirt where she stroked the mat of hair growing there. He shivered, experiencing a
trill of pleasure at her touch that he’d never known.
“I’ve heard you are a large man, Lord Phelan,” she said. “I promise you I can take
whatever you care to give.” She ran her tongue over her lips. “As much as you want to
give for as long as you wish to give it.”
Phelan shivered at her words. He found he could take sex or leave it and wasn’t
even tempted to take matters in hand—a restriction the goddess had imposed on all
Reapers anyway. But he wanted this woman and he wanted her bad. So bad he realized
sweat had gathered in his palms.
“Who told you that?” he asked. Despite being so aroused it was all he could do to
sit there, it annoyed him that a whore would discuss his anatomy so openly even to a
woman like the Madame standing there at his side.
“A little birdie,” she said with a smile.
He slipped into her mind as easily as a hot knife going through butter and read the
name of the culprit—which surprised him since it wasn’t a prostitute who had revealed
such personal information about him but a young man he’d encountered a few years
back.
His eyes swept over her. “I want you so bad I can taste it.”
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BlackMoon Reaper
His words shocked him since he had not come into the saloon for sex. He was here
on business, yet the temptation her lush body was exerting over him had pushed that
business right out of his mind. He found he wanted her hands on his naked flesh, her
mouth enveloping him, and wanted to know what her own flesh felt like beneath his
calloused palms. He wanted to know the scent of her sex in his nostrils and on his
tongue, the warmth of her sheath slicking his fingers. He wanted to pleasure her as she
pleasured him.
Lucy Springbrook smiled and pulled her hand from the V of his shirt to run it down
his body so she could cup the heavy erection pushing at the leather of his pants. She
leaned into him, putting her lips to his ear so only he could hear her. “I promise you a
ride you’ll never forget.” Her tongue spiked wetly into his ear and she squeezed his
cock hard.
Another shudder ran through him and it was all he could do not to sweep
everything from the bar with the back of his arm, lift her onto it, toss up her skirts and
feast on her cunt right there in front of everyone, her legs draped over his shoulders.
As though she had seen the image in her own mind, she smiled so evilly it made the
hair on the back of his neck stand up.
“I haven’t had but one man in nigh on three months so I am going to do things to
you tonight no woman or man ever has,” she promised, and stepped back. She crooked
her finger. “Come with me, Reaper man.”
No one was paying attention to him and that was a good thing, Phelan thought,
since he had a boner the size of Exasla pushing at the front of his pants. It was a good
thing he had his saddlebags to place in front of him to hide the erection, plucking them
from the barstool to use as camouflage. As it was, he could barely walk, his cock was so
tight, his balls on fire with need. She was walking backward, egging him on with that
ancient, knowing look all women were born with, her hips swaying from side to side in
the black satin gown she wore.
Up the stairs, down the hallway—he was like a man in a daze as he followed her
into her private quarters. When she shut the door, she came at him like a feral kitten,
tearing at his clothes, her mouth on his neck, his chin, his lips as she ripped the shirt
from him and tugged at his belt.
He gave in to her need and, with a wave of his hands, both his clothes and hers
were gone. The pile of red curls atop her head came loose of its pins, tumbling over her
creamy shoulders.
“Oh,” she said, her voice low and throaty, “I like that!”
He backed her against the door and covered her lush breasts with his palms,
squeezing the firm flesh. He bent his head to capture one plump button. Her fingers
dragged through his hair to hold him to her, closing her eyes as his lips pulled at the
taut little buds.
His tongue danced upon the straining peaks and she squirmed against him.
“Aye, milord,” she whispered.
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Charlotte Boyett-Compo
Then she was on him, lacing her arms around his neck and jumping up to clamp
her long legs around his waist, hooking her ankles together behind his back. Her mouth
latched on to his and her tongue stabbed into his mouth.
He turned and walked with her to the bed, fell upon it, flipping them over so she
lay atop him, her legs straightening to bracket his. She was writhing on him like a
serpent and his cock was a steel rod between her legs.
“Not in you,” he said as he realized she was trying to impale herself on his shaft.
“No.”
She groaned then slid down him until she could take him into her mouth. Her
tongue swirled over his swollen head, flicked at the slit. Her lips encircled him and
suckled hard. One hand slid under him to squeeze his balls and the other sent its fingers
to his right nipple where she pinched him.
Phelan sucked in his breath but the triple sensation of having his nipple tweaked,
his cock licked and then his ass probed with a firm, demanding finger made him
squirm on the mattress. He let his legs fall wide apart and arched his head back into the
pillow as she continued her wicked assault. It didn’t take him long to come and when
he did, she swallowed every last ounce of his cum, leaving him drained and sated.
“That’s only the appetizer,” she told him as he lay there spent.
For the next hour she licked every inch of his body as he lay spread-eagled on the
mattress. Beginning at the soles of his feet and working her way up. She paid particular
attention to the insides of his thighs and the creases along his groin, his bellybutton and
his nipples—which she raked with her nails and worried with her teeth until they were
sore. Her fingers ran all over his chest and legs and arms. She dragged her ample
breasts over his cock and cupped him in the deep valley between then slowly and
methodically arousing him, but let him suffer as she worked her wicked way down his
legs once more. Every toe was suckled. Each ball was licked and licked until it was as
hard as stone then she settled her lips on his cock and drank her fill still again.
Yet she was not finished with him.
She made him turn over and started on his backside, her tongue slipping between
his butt cheeks to tease and tantalize him as her hand worked beneath him to stroke his
swollen cock. She flicked her tongue in the sensitive area behind his knees and at the
base of his spine. She writhed atop him and used her legs to push his wide apart so she
could slide between them, nipping his ass with tiny little bites that made him squirm.
This time she used her middle finger to gain his attention and made him come as she
alternately prodded his anal opening with one hand and squeezed his cock with the
other. His climax was a shattering experience that left him no more than a limp puddle
atop the mattress.
“Turn over, baby,” she said, and when he flopped to his back, she moved up so she
could position her spread legs over his face. The scent of her arousal was heavy, wet.
All Phelan wanted to do was sleep, but he took her hips in his hands and lifted his
head so he could lick at the juncture of her thighs. Her hands were gripping the
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BlackMoon Reaper
headboard, her head thrown back, her long red hair tickling his cock as he laved and
licked and drew her clit between his lips.
“Aye,” he heard her moan. “Aye, lover. Just like that.”
He flicked his tongue down each warm groove then thrust it into her channel. He
felt her body ripple with pleasure and slid a finger into her ass.
She came hard, and the sweet nectar from her cunt oozed into his mouth as he
latched his lips upon her nether ones. He suckled her as hard as she had him and she
came again and still again, bucking her hips as he pressed his middle finger into her as
far as it would go.
She shook her head and her hair fanned over his growing erection. She bore down
on his finger and arched her hips forward as he lapped her from back to front.
“I would kill to have you inside me,” she said, and slid down his body once more
until she was lying stretched out atop him. “I want you inside me.”
“Can’t happen,” he said, although he was stunned to realize he wanted it too. He