Blood Red. Sharon Page

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 her spine. Althea 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.

      Althea 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 derrière.

      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 ridge along the back that led to a dangling sack that must be his ballocks. The maids called them jewels, as though they were incredibly precious.

      Althea 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 as a silken robe. They didn’t touch her between her thighs but coasted flat palms over her dark red pubic curls.

      Althea shuddered, caught on 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. Althea 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 in her mind. 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, she 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?”

      No. She tried to fight. To force her arms to hit and her legs to kick. Desperate, panicked, she thrashed against their strong grasp—

      Tangled in her sheets, Althea Yates opened her eyes and bit back a scream. Heart racing, she fought the threadbare blankets, kicked at the sheets that held her, and bolted upright.

      Cold air washed over her, prickling against her damp skin even through her heavy nightdress. Moonlight splashed in her room. She rubbed her eyes. There was no ornate bed and certainly no men in her room at the Maidensby Arms. Just a small room overfilled by her narrow bed, a battered dresser, a wobbly desk, and a sagging armchair.

      Only a dream. Exhausting, terribly scandalous, and all a figment of her imagination.

      Althea blinked, almost more surprised to find it was not real than she would have been if it were.

      Dear heaven.

      Erotic dreams had haunted her for weeks, since she’d arrived back in England, but she’d never dreamed of two men before. What did it say about her character that she would visit such a shocking scene in her sleep? СКАЧАТЬ