“It’s for the best, Bastien. How could we ever have claimed her for eternity? We’d have to turn her and we have no right to do that.” Hoisting on the door’s handle, he jumped up into the carriage. He sat at Althea’s side and nuzzled her cheek as Bastien took the seat opposite. The carriage moved on, making all possible haste through the crowded London streets.
“Would you take off my mask?” Althea asked.
Yannick reached for the ties.
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“No, don’t,” Bastien protested. “You are lovely and mysterious when masked. All you need is a whip….” He gave a lusty sigh.
Yannick couldn’t help but grin himself. Bastien was determined not to give in to emotion, to play the scoundrel right to the end.
On impulse, Yannick drew Althea into a hot kiss and lifted her onto his lap. Her rounded bottom settled across his thighs, sweetly cuddling his erect cock. When she’d offered her soul in return for his life, he’d known terror like he’d never felt, even more than on the night he’d died.
His blood had run ice cold. Althea’s soul could not be claimed unless she were dead or undead and he’d expected the demoness to trick Althea into sacrificing herself in some way so she was lost to them forever. Thank the devil that Elizabeth had refused the offer.
Yannick broke the kiss and brushed his fingertip along Athea’s bow-shaped upper lip. The mask made Althea mysterious and enticing, her deep green eyes and tumbling burgundy curls a lovely contrast to the black.
He lifted her chin and, holding her gaze, kissed her again. He groaned as her tongue slid into his mouth, toyed with his fangs and tangled with his tongue. She kissed expertly now but this kiss was more…more intense. It was raw and needy, poignant and sad. Her fingers slid in his hair, clutching, holding him tight to her as she devoured his mouth.
Yes, angel, kiss me hard.
His cock swelled and pressed eagerly upward toward her bottom.
She wriggled on him, deliberately teasing.
Bastien made no move to join them. In truth, Yannick thought he deserved some private delights with Althea.
He
wasn’t the bloody idiot who had condemned them to destruction over a point of honor toward a demon who’d tried to imprison them for eternity. But he did understand why Bastien had done it. His brother was soft-hearted—weak, their father had complained. For all Bastien had fought in dozens of duels, he always deliberately ensured he never killed anyone.
Bastien was sensitive, like the poets. He wounded deep, but refused to show it.
Yannick could understand why Bastien felt he owed a life to the vampire who’d saved him from a humiliating death, but it didn’t stop him from wanting one night to make love to Althea in private and express his love for her.
He wanted it, but could not do it. What was the point in laying his heart bare, in trying to coax Althea to fall in love with him, when he was only going to die? He couldn’t risk hurting her.
Bastien had the right idea.
Tonight, it was time to introduce Althea to all the delights a threesome could offer.
“Welcome to our home, sweet angel.”
Still masked, Althea waited as Bastien removed her cloak and handed it to the impassive, white-haired butler who had opened the door.
“That is all,” Yannick commanded. The man bowed and left.
“Very correct,” Bastien commented, “but we shock him. He’s been here since Father’s day and has never approved of us.” His handsome face lit up with his cheeky grin. “None of the servants approved of us—except the young maids. Our valets even used to spy on us, providing Father with regular reports of our scandalous behavior.”
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“Was he very moral then, your father?” she asked tentatively.
“No. And let us not discuss him.” Bastien led her to the sweeping stairs. “Let us get to bed.”
As she’d suspected, Brookshire House far outshone Sir Randolph’s townhouse. Yannick’s home was an enormous manor on Park Lane, overlooking the verdant stretch of Hyde Park.
Over the generations, the most exquisite art and furnishings had been acquired, she could see.
Portraits and other oils covered every inch of the paneled walls. Chairs and tables in every imaginable style filled the foyer, all beautiful, priceless. Overhead, the foyer ceiling was a painted dome, richly detailed with gilt and elaborate moldings. It was breathtaking. Althea felt foolish gawking, but couldn’t help it as she let them lead her upstairs.
And finally she was in Yannick’s bedchamber. But she realized he didn’t use it, of course—
he slept in his coffin. Curious, she whispered, “Where do you keep your coffin?”
“In a secret room—accessed through a panel by the fireplace.”
She nodded. “We had searched for you at the Inn during the day, Father and I, but couldn’t find where you had hidden.”
“That was a huge undertaking.” He grimaced. “First I had the box hidden in one of the old stables no longer used by the Inn, and then I had to erase the memory of every servant who’d helped to place it there.”
He lifted her hand and tugged at her satin gloves. “But tonight, angel, we are just a man and a woman.” A smile curved his seductive mouth. “
Two
men and a woman.”
A shiver raced down her spine as Bastien began to undo the buttons along her back. Bastien was far more adept with fine gowns than Sarah. Her dress gaped in no time, and his hands, warm and strong, slid in to capture her breasts.
“Bloody corset ties,” he cursed.
But suddenly she felt them give, felt the tight garment slacken, even as his hands cupped her breasts. He’d cut the ties with his fangs.
Being undressed by two men was the most delicious delight. Yannick slid her gloves off, nibbling her fingers after he did. Her gown dropped to the floor, displaying her curves, still molded by the corset and hidden by her gauzy shift. In a heartbeat, her corset sailed over into the corner. Bastien drew up her shift and lifted it over her head.
Yannick left, then, and returned with a full-length cheval mirror from his dressing room. It reflected the most scandalous image: a red-haired woman, nude but for garters and stockings and a black mask, and two men in impeccable evening dress.
She wanted this. Wanted to watch what it looked like. Wanted to be both voyeur and delighted participant.
Neither twin moved to remove his clothing. Instead, fully dressed, they bent their heads to her nipples. Sensation exploded through her from her breasts at the exact instant she saw the reflection. One golden head and one white-blond head suckling at her, their pale hair a startling contrast to the midnight black of their clothes.
Four hands skimmed up her naked thighs and stroked amongst the dark red curls at the juncture. She was already sopping wet, already so aroused, so ready for them.
Bastien moved around to her rear and turned her. Stubble scratched over the sensitive curves of her bottom. She squealed as the whiskers abraded between her cheeks. Moaned in Blood Red by Sharon Page ©2006 Advance Reader Copy www.SharonPage.com 190
anticipation as Bastien’s tongue massaged her puckered entrance.
“Look behind you at the mirror,” Yannick urged, his voice thick and husky.
She did. Gasped. Her curves reflected back to her—the indent at the small of her back and the flare of her bottom. With his hands on her cheeks, Bastien was buried between the plump globes of her derrière.
All the tension inside her snapped with the force of a lashing whip. The climax hit her hard, and she screamed with it.
“God, she’s coming already,” Bastien said.
Yannick’s hand was between her legs, his hand catching honey that poured out of her. She blushed as it spilled over his fingers. There was so much of it.
She knew they could wait no longer and neither could she.
Yannick carried her to the bed as Bastien tore off his clothing. Buttons popped off his gorgeous satin waistcoat. He trampled his starched cravat after he removed it. His linen shirt flew and almost landed in the fire.
“Bloody boots,” Bastien cursed, as he jumped around to tug them off.
Althea dissolved into helpless giggles. Which stopped the instant he was naked and he pushed her down onto the bed. He kissed her senseless, but she still peeked around him to watch Yannick undress. Yannick merely shifted shape for a moment. His clothes fell to the floor as he changed to bat form and then he changed back.
He flashed a triumphant grin.
She couldn’t resist giggling. It was wrong to laugh, knowing what would happen at dawn, but she wanted just a few hours of happiness…
And she wanted to try to understand the queen’s words. How could she help them find their souls? What could that mean?
But her wits scattered to the winds as Bastien pinned her arms above her head. His large hands wrapped tight around her wrists. Pointing upward, her breasts, tipped by swollen, hard nipples, poked his naked chest. His long, strong leg clamped across hers. Being captured was exhilarating. A little frightening, but terribly thrilling. She struggled playfully, but he had her imprisoned, utterly at his mercy.
She licked her lips, breathless with anticipation. Soft fabric brushed her arm. Bastien’s cravat, looped around his right hand.
“Hand me your cravat,” he called back to Yannick.
“What in blazes are you doing?” Yannick demanded.
“Tying me up, I believe,” she said, as calmly as she could. But the very words sent another rush of molten fluid pouring from her cunny.
Bastien whispered hotly by her ear, “Sometimes, being absolved from control allows one to be the most daring.”
“I want to try,” she whispered. The linen looped around her wrists to bind her hands.
Bastien’s scent, sandalwood soap and the tantalizing hint of sweat, was imbued in the fabric.
Snug, it bit into her skin.
“Too tight?” Bastien asked.
A little, but that made it more exciting, so she shook her head.
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With Yannick’s cravat, he secured her bound hands to the corner post of the bed. She was stretched diagonally across the large mattress. A not-so-innocent captive of gorgeous vampires.
Spread upon an altar for their pleasures…
Fear struck suddenly. “You aren’t going to whip me, are you?”
“No, little dove. Only torment you.” And with that threat, Bastien licked the rim of her ear and made her feet tingle.
Powerful, stronger than mortal men, the twins touched her with gentle caresses that inflamed her heart. They touched her swollen, aching breasts and she gasped at the relief. Skimmed their palms over her smooth belly. Slid their fingers between her thighs. Yannick’s fingers stirred her into a moaning, sticky frenzy.
Althea squirmed on the bed. It drove her mad that she couldn’t touch them too. It was torture not to stroke the muscles of their shoulders and backs, or squeeze their taut, delectable asses, or play with their hard, wobbling cocks.
She yearned and wanted and needed and couldn’t bear it anymore. She wanted to join with them as intimately as possible. In a soft voice raspy from her sighs, she begged, “Make love to me, please. I want you both. Both at the same time.”
She dredged up her courage and met Bastien’s gaze. “You wanted to cram me full.”
At her naughty words, both men gave deep, throaty groans, and their need crackled in the room like magic, like sparkling lights and spinning stars.
Bastien spread her thighs wide and, despite her eagerness to try, she tensed. She remembered Ruby’s screams from Madame Roi’s.
“Relax, sweeting, just relax,” he urged. “We will make it beautiful for you.” He licked his finger, then slid the wet tip over her clit.
Jolts of dizzying pleasure raced up from her nub and she could barely think. She looked from Bastien to Yannick. Their eyes were gold discs, reflecting candlelight—hiding their hearts.
Hiding their deepest emotions.
She knew they had so much pain in their hearts from their pasts. Even though they were vampires, they still knew pain, they still ached for love.
Was this what the queen had meant about their souls? That they still possessed souls because they were capable of love?
“But first…” Althea gulped. Here she was, tied up, and about to coerce two vampires to reveal their hearts. She took a long breath to steady her nerves. She wanted to see inside their hearts—she loved them and she needed to know who they truly were. “How did you die, Bastien? What happened to you?”
“Not now.” He bent to her breasts.
“No,” she protested. “I must know. I need to know before I can make love to you, Bastien.”
Her legs were free and she skimmed her feet up his long legs. She pressed her heels into his taut buttocks. “Please.”
Like a springtime river over a dam, his story spilled out—so quickly she had to struggle to follow. About his father’s whippings over Zayan. About his rage and humiliation; his death in the gutter. About a bastard child. He spoke without emotion, but she knew the pain churned underneath.
“What of your…your child?” she asked around the lump in her throat.
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“It didn’t live. Nor did the mother, a maid. I wanted to provide for the child, I did, but I never had the chance….”
Two tears dripped down his cheeks, falling off the prominent ridges of his cheekbones.
She’d never seen him give in to emotion. No, these men had souls. She believed it.
“How is it that you are my prisoner, Althea,” Bastien whispered, “but you have forced me to reveal my heart to you?”
Once again she wished she were free so she could hold him tight. “I suspect because I did not force you. You needed to talk about those things.”