HeartsAflameCollectionV (5 page)

Bold, beautiful and brazen,
Delylah
Fayre
has the world at
her feet. One of the most successful female performers of her time, her rise
from a singer in a church choir to a legendary diva has fulfilled her wildest
dreams, but fame has also claimed part of her soul. What was once an
exploration of herself through her music and her sexuality has transformed her
into someone she no longer recognizes.

When
Delylah
meets infamous celebrity photographer, James
Branagh
,
for an intimate photo shoot, she has no idea of the new direction her life is
about to take. After the harrowing death of a young woman at one of her
concerts,
Delylah
reaches a personal nadir, but in
the process, also discovers a side of herself she thought she had lost, and
returns home to reconnect with herself and her future.

Standing on a floodlit stage
catwalk,
Delylah
Fayre
rose
like a mystical sorceress above her crazed, hand-waving audience. The firefly
flashes of a thousand cameras dazzled her, her ears ringing from the echoing
din of chanting, cheers and shouts that had transformed the massive domed
stadium into a contemporary Roman bacchanalia. Despite a formidable wall of
bodyguards flanking the catwalk, a human tsunami of fans surged closer, their
ecstatic, upturned faces longing for a closer glimpse of their idol.

Bowing and throwing kisses,
Delylah
felt the hot glare of lights on her burnished
caramel skin, the musky scent of her sweat laced with the ripe floral notes of
her signature perfume. Her waist-length mane of coppery brown hair bore testament
to her exotic mix of black and Creole blood, its wavy length swishing like a
horse’s tail.

More than a little high on the
raw, sexually charged energy radiating from the crowd, she flashed a dazzling
white smile and strutted through a blaze of colored lights pulsing
kaleidoscopic
ally from the catwalk. Her
voluptuous, beautifully sculpted body was provocatively emphasized in a skimpy
leather and chain mail bustier that barely concealed her full, luscious breasts
and the taut, protuberant mounds of her ass.

She swayed along on spurred patent
leather dominatrix boots with a sense of confident sensuality that had both men
and women lusting for her. Her ball-bearing hips rolled invitingly, and to amp
up the tension even higher, she paused frequently to glance over her shoulder
with smoldering green, Cleopatra-lined eyes to wiggle or smack her delectable
cheeks.

Giant flat screens flanking the
stadium relayed the pumping sound and dazzling visuals, but they could not
recapture the immersive, almost orgiastic experience of standing amidst the
audience.

More than once,
Delylah
had glimpsed provocative behavior from the
audience. Male or female, the naked hunger she incited from those at her feet
fed her more potently than any drug.

For
Delylah
was the drug, the high she offered more enduring than any hit on the market.
The adoring crowd was more than her devoted slaves, they were willing
supplicants worshiping a flesh and blood goddess who fueled their darkest
fantasies and dissolved their inhibitions with the flick of a wrist or a
tantalizing grab of her ankles.

A sultry soul diva with a honeyed-bark
voice and a gaze that could melt steel,
Delylah
was a
dark angel from a wet dream, a living fantasy who enjoyed her body on stage
almost as much as she did offstage or in bed ... and how she used this power …
from the graceful, tapered fingers that openly caressed her satiny flesh, to
her full, glossy lips that fired the imaginations of those who yearned to feel
her hot wet mouth on their body.

At twenty-four, she was a
phenomenon, the darkly alluring dungeon stage an erotic playground where she
translated her steamy sexuality into a controversial tour of sold-out
performances and sensational tabloid headlines. Amidst the swirling mist and
black satin-draped walls displaying chains, manacles and whips, her musicians,
themselves specimens of male perfection, played relentlessly, their oiled,
finely cut bodies writhing with a primal rhythm that perfectly characterized
her music.

The last refrain of the closing
song was almost over, and the hip-thrusting melody that
Delylah
had literally masturbated to wound down to its final pulsing notes.
Now her body was drenched in sweat, her pussy chafing from the
bustier’s
G-string crotch that rubbed against her clit so
tenaciously she had come twice on stage.
There was no need to simulate.
Everything and anything
Delylah
felt was genuine.
That some though it an act while others thought it real made no difference to
her. She had neither the time nor the patience to deal with the moralistic
whiners who labeled her performances controversial.

Undulating slowly toward the
stage, she breathed a brief sigh of relief. Tomorrow’s show would be the last
for two weeks, and she was looking forward to a badly needed break. Seventeen
shows packed into one month
was
grueling, even
traveling in the luxury she was accustomed to. She thought of Therese and
smiled. More than her closest friend, confidante and manager, Therese was her
soul mate, the piece of a flesh and blood puzzle that fit her perfectly.

With a confident clicking of her
heels,
Delylah
strode around the stage and shook her
booty enough times to stir the audience into an even higher fever pitch. She
waved and blew kisses as the musicians finally wound down to the last notes of
the song. Her eyes scanning the bobbing crowd, she had long ago relegated
individual faces to
a mental
shorthand of races and
ethnicities. Three world tours had left little mystery, and despite cultural
and physical differences, flesh and blood was flesh and blood, and the endless
cavalcade of faces had become a blur.

So when her eyes were snared by a
face staring up from near the stage,
Delylah
was at
first confused, then intrigued. Rising a head taller than the sea of bodies
around him, he watched with the cool detachment of a panther waiting in the
brush to pounce on unsuspecting prey.
Eyes as blue as the
Caribbean stared not only at her, but through her, and she felt the distinct
sensation of hands caressing her body.
In his mid to late thirties, his
tanned, chiseled face matched the sculpted planes of his body, his thick, sun-kissed
hair sexily tousled.

Dressed in jeans and a denim shirt
rolled up at the sleeves, he exuded such magnetism that the younger, prettier
men around him faded into the background. The intensity of his stare snared
Delylah
with a heat she had not felt in some time. Sensing
her reaction, he raised an expensive camera that belied the feeble flashes of
phones around him, peered through a telephoto lens and snapped several photos
in succession. He paused only to look up and briefly smile, the connection
blazing through her body like an electrical jolt.

Instinctively,
Delylah
responded, her body moving to the seductive gaze of the lens. She was no
stranger to photo shoots, but something about this man struck a chord with her,
and she realized that there was something vaguely familiar about him. Feeling
like a child lured away by the Pied Piper, she moved toward him, but the last
song ended and the audience erupted in a volcanic explosion of screams,
applause and swaying bodies that forced him to put away the camera.

“
Lylah
…
Lylah
…” the frenzied audience chanted.

Returning to the center stage,
Delylah
smiled, bowed and blew more kisses. “Thank you!”
she cried, gazing at her adoring fans. “Thank you! I love you all!”

Slowly, she moved toward where the
man had stood, but he had vanished into the surging crowd. Feeling almost a
sense of disappointment, she scanned the faces, but the frenzied fans had
prompted the bodyguards into action and organized chaos ensued. The dimming
stage lights cast the audience into flickering shadows, and
Delylah
reluctantly retreated.

From the corner of her eye, she
noticed Therese standing by the stage exit, her gleaming mahogany skin almost
seamlessly blending into the black drapes, dressed casually in figure-hugging
jeans and a sexy but simple black halter top that more than emphasized her
gorgeous, full breasts.
Delylah
blew her a kiss.

A dazzling smile illuminating her
face, Therese blew a discreet kiss back. Poised and regal beneath a simple
topknot and gold hoop earrings, she was a spray of cool water against
Delylah’s
sizzling heat, her warm amber eyes like liquid
honey. Extending her arms toward
Delylah
, Therese
gathered her in an embrace.

“You were amazing,” she said,
brushing her lips against
Delylah’s
. “Honestly, no
matter how many times I watch the show, it's a different experience each time.”

Stepping behind the curtains,
Delylah
pulled Therese into a deep kiss. Full, succulent
lips hungrily sought each other, their tongues fencing.

“
Mmm
…”
Therese said, reluctantly breaking the kiss. “Someone's worked up an appetite.”

A flash of the blue-eyed man
popped into
Delylah’s
mind. Feeling an intensely
sexual thrill, she took Therese’s hand and hurried to the dressing room before
her entourage swarmed her. The din of the stadium receded, but not the urgency
she felt coursing through her body, and she wanted no talking, no distractions.
Pulling Therese inside the luxuriously appointed suite,
Delylah
locked the door, pushed Therese against the wall and molded her body tightly
against Therese.

Before Therese could protest,
Delylah
began kissing her with such intensity Therese
gasped for breath.
Delylah
felt Therese’s instant
response, which fueled her desire even more. Their hands sought each other,
Delylah’s
hot, moist flesh sizzling against Therese’s cool
fragrant skin. Impatiently they stripped each other naked,
Delylah’s
chain mail costume clinking to the floor as the entwined women sank to the lush
carpet. Lips locked against lips, nipples brushed against nipples, engorged,
moist pussy lips unfurled like petals to mingle juice with juice.

Their hands urgently explored each
other … caressing, teasing, probing and finally penetrating. Outside,
Delylah
could hear voices and footsteps, but her only focus
was the aching heat coursing through her body. While she usually made love to
Therese after a performance, this evening she felt compelled to fuck like an
animal.

Her heart pounding as though she
had run a marathon,
Delylah
pushed Therese onto her
back, straddled her, and worked her mouth from the rigid chocolate buds of
Therese’s nipples down the satiny planes of her stomach, smooth hips and
finally to the dusky valley of her shaven pussy. Whimpering, her flesh erupting
in beads of sweat, Therese writhed and arched beneath
Delylah’s
frantic ministrations. Her hands rose in supplication, seeking
Delylah’s
body, but
Delylah
pinned Therese’s wrists over her head and continued her exploration.

The inevitable knocks at the door
came, but
Delylah
ignored them, along with the
persistent ringing of both the suite phone and her personal phone. She had
given the audience what they wanted, had fed their primal needs for two sweaty,
sexually charged hours. No doubt many would be releasing their own pent-up
energies. It often happened, especially during the performance. Surrounded by
the crush of bodies and the ripe, pheromone-charged air,
Delylah
frequently glimpsed an exposed breast, a bobbing head or straying hand.

Incited by her provocative
movements on stage, many succumbed to their own desires and followed suit, and
it was beyond the abilities of either security or the bodyguards to chaperone
thousands of fans. Sometimes the giant screens captured the activity, but it
was mere glimpses among a surging crowd moving like a storm-tossed ocean.

The more conservative lambasted
Delylah’s
concerts as legitimized orgies, but an age limit
of over twenty-one was strictly enforced for each performance. Male or female,
many fans captured her eye, but as her success attained meteoric heights,
practicality eventually surpassed spontaneity, and those invited backstage were
now carefully vetted. Despite
Delylah’s
free spirited
and open bisexuality, and despite the privileges of fame and fortune, inevitably
there were also pitfalls. Freedom to live her life the way she chose was
important to
Delylah
, but being wise about her
choices was also a critical factor of her lifestyle.

A familiar voice called out from
the door. By now, Darien Stone’s routine had become as familiar as breathing.
Though her relationship with her manager, mentor and first lover had evolved
since the heady days of discovery and her relentless rise to fame, Darien was
still a key figure in her life and remained her proverbial lion at the gate.

While she heard his words,
Delylah
chose to ignore them and knelt between Therese’s
inviting, toned thighs. Spreading them wide and raising them until Therese’s
gleaming folds of flesh were completely exposed,
Delylah
trailed her tongue and gently lapped pearls of salty sweet nectar. Therese
gasped and jerked, her breasts heaving with her panted breath. Her hands clawed
at the carpet, her nails digging at the fiber.
Delylah
glanced up and watched a palette of expressions cross Therese’s face, the fluid
movement of her body a sensual symphony.

Suddenly she could no longer
contain herself. Mounting Therese in the sixty-nine position,
Delylah
ground her own dripping, aching pussy onto
Therese’s mouth while devouring Therese’s tender meat with her own. Gripping
Therese’s raised, quivering thighs,
Delylah’s
tongue
probed, licked and penetrated Therese in time with Therese’s frantic tongue
fucking. Feeling Therese’s hands clutch and spread her ass cheeks until her
holes were stretched and opened to Therese’s tongue and fingers,
Delylah
could barely focus on filling Therese’s equally
hungry holes.