“May I please you Bethelyn?” He entreated her, flexing his muscles for her pleasure.
“You may Noel.” Relaxing in her seat, Bethelyn closed her eyes as he surged upward to claim her lips in a sweet kiss.
Standing tall and proud before her, Noel slipped out of his tight black pants; revealing in full a glorious study in sculpted muscularity.
Again dropping to his knees, the dancer crawled between her parted thighs and kissed her feet; groveling as he rose to plant additional warm kisses on her soft skin and thighs.
“She wears no petticoats,” Moira murmured, stopping just short of believing the scene before her.
“That is what you find most shocking about this situation?” Ian continued to rub her shoulders and back, all the while chuckling his mirth at her vague observation. “You delight me Miss.”
Returning her gaze to her besotted companion, Moira wrapped her arms around his shoulders and leaned her head on his chest.
“I like you as well Ian. I feel like I’ve known you forever.” She gave him an affirming squeeze. “Only you do seem to keep some very strange company, I must say.”
She shook her head as she saw Noel surge between Bethelyn’s parted legs, fixing his full lips around her throbbing clit as the other dancers watched with smiling, placid expressions.
All, that is, save one. Lips pulled in a jealous pout, the naked raven-haired dancer also approached the mistress of the troupe; coming from behind to massage her sturdy shoulders and kiss her neck.
His hands dropping to her breasts, he rubbed her nipples to aroused peaks as the blond dancer saw to her other pleasure point; licking and laving her hot, hard nub as she purred her approval.
“They live for her pleasure,” Moira whispered, shifting in Ian’s arms as a line of sweat formed on her brow.
“And I, my darling, live for yours.” She didn’t resist as Ian pulled her to him, laying a luscious lick down the length of her cheek as she marveled at the show before her. “Don’t you see, Moira? All this time you have been writing and dreaming the intimate dance of the phantoms.” He cupped her flushed cheek in a tender hand, turning her head until their gazes locked. “Now you can do the dance, with me as your partner.”
“Yes,” Moira sighed, her hungry hands roaming the breadth of his massive chest as she leaned into his lap. “I want to feel the pleasure, Ian.”
“Your wish,” he whispered, “is my command.”
Running his hand down the silken folds of her evening gown, Ian’s fingers were reverent but daring as they rubbed her breasts and nurtured her rounded abdomen, then descending to tend to her weary legs before stealing up her skirt.
“Consider me your servant,” he whispered, staring into her eyes, “Let me bring your fantasy to life.”
Seizing her lips in an impassioned kiss, he put his tongue and his fingers to work; indeed, while his tongue laved and seduced her mouth his fingers rubbed and tickled their way up her legs; stealing beneath her petticoats to stroke the skin of her feminine mound.
Opening herself to him with a contented sigh, Moira threw her head back and pressed her full breasts against his chest.
Although a quick glance downward revealed the pressing of a long, hard shaft against the threads of his tights, his focus remained solely on her pleasure as he cupped her femininity; tickling and teasing her throbbing nub as he continued to kiss and caress her.
“Just think of this as a dance,” he whispered, “a dance of the phantoms.”
Vaulting into his lap, Moira let out at a cry of joy as his fingers quickened their motions; pressing against her clit to create a divine friction that drove her insane.
Finally her body exploded in the throes of an incredible climax; the first she’d ever experienced. Her heart pounded and her pussy gushed as she collapsed in Ian’s arms; giving him a drunken smile as he kissed her face and neck.
“That was amazing, Darling,” she stole a stray glance across the room, where a contented Bethelyn also writhed in the heat of apparent ecstasy; her golden haired lover rising to his feet to switch places with the dark- haired dancer-a bold fellow who immediately sank into her lap and rocked his hips against hers.
“What manner of dance is that?”Moira rested in Ian’s arms, watching with raised eyebrows as the dancer gyrated in Bethelyn’s lap, then grew still as his mistress surged forward and sank her teeth in his neck.
“What on earth?” Moira surged to her feet, prepared to run to the dancer’s aide.
She froze as the young man peered over his shoulder, his eyes glowing a curious gold as he pinned her with a serene smile.
Bethelyn, meanwhile, continued to nip and suck her dancer’s neck, her own eyes gleaming scarlet red as she moaned her pleasure.
“It’s all right, darling.” Even Ian’s soothing voice failed to succor her senses. “It’s simply a part of what they do. He enjoys it.”
“Even so,” Moira clenched her fists at her sides, “it is simply not natural.”
Turning away from the unsettling scene, she grasped her skirts and walked with a flourish toward a convenient backstage exit.
“It is, however, quite clarifying,” she said over her shoulder, “You people are indeed the phantoms of my novel. You planted your sinful story in my mind….with the intent to corrupt a gentlewoman!”
****
The next morning, the rare appearance of a London sun roused Moira from a restless sleep; prompting her to turn over on her stomach and bury her head in her pillow.
Her sleep had been plagued with an unsavory mixture of dreams and nightmares; one minute she savored a dreamed remembrance of Ian’s tender touch. The next she saw Bethelyn’s evil eyes, and almost felt the prick of her pointed fangs.
Surging upward in her bed, she wrapped her arms around her knees and opened her eyes.
“Who are they?” She said aloud. “What do they want of me?”
Her troubled meditation was disrupted by a sharp knock at her door; expecting the maid with her morning’s breakfast, she called for her visitor to enter.
She gaped seconds later as her door opened to reveal a tall, auburn haired man dressed in a smart white day suit-and carrying what she had to admit was a sumptuous breakfast tray; one topped with a generous serving of crepes doused in strawberry syrup.
“How did you know that I love….” She trailed off, waving away her own question with a dismissive hand. “I know, I know-you see my every fantasy and know my every desire.”
Easing her with a robust laugh, Ian perched himself on the edge of her bed and greeted her with a gentle smile.
“You look absolutely lovely with your hair down,” he ran a tender hand through the soft brown lengths of her curly tresses.
Ignoring his compliment, Moira jerked away from her lover and sat away from him on the bed.
“What have you done with my maid?” She demanded, planting her hands on her hips.
“I bribed her with chocolate and gold coins,” Ian chuckled, “both of which she is enjoying downstairs in your kitchen.”
His grin dissolved as he took Moira’s hands in his, kissing them warmly.
“Moira, I need you to listen to me.” He leaned forward on the bed. “You were right to refer to the dancers of Ballet Noir as phantoms. We are indeed creatures of the night.” He cringed at his own words. “The only way I could visit you this morning was under the cover of a dark cloak. And even as I wore it, the sun still plagued me.”
Immediately softening, Moira squeezed Ian’s fingers as she pursed her lips in empathy.
“You do look a bit weary, though still annoyingly perfect.” She cocked her head. “Why did you risk your life to come to me, Ian?”
“How could I not?” Ian shook his head, tone emphatic. “For months I dreamed of you, Moira. For ages I dreamed of the woman who was light in the darkness, who would care for me as a person, not just as some
