Sirens and Other Daemon Lovers

There was no answer but the thing that he desired, wrapping him in a sensation even he could not be separate from. It was as though the layers of clothing above him had turned into a ravening succubus, pulling the pleasure out of him like hunger itself finally fed. And yet he retained enough sense to lift his hands to his lover’s head, pressing and stroking the back of his neck, burying his fingers in his lover’s hair and one by one pulling the long pins that held it in place—so that as his body arced helplessly up in chaotic ecstasy, the long bright hair came cascading down around them both.

“Oh!” his client cried. “Oh, no!”

Hair clung to his damp face, and tangled in the buttons of his coat.

“Never mind,” said Bliss. “It’s nothing.”

The client wiped his mouth with the back of his glove. But he did not pull back when Bliss kissed the glove, and licked some of the moisture off of it. “Am I still beautiful?” Bliss asked.

“Oh, yes. Very.”

“Come, then.” The naked blond rose lazily to his feet, drawing the other with him, floating across to the red velvet bed.

He held his patron in his lap. The fine hair got in their way, but he drew it gently back, disclosing one scarlet earlobe. Bliss pulled it, stroked it, raised his sharp teeth to it. The other ear was pierced by a small gold hoop, which could be drawn through the ear around and around in a tiny point of pleasure.

“I feel dizzy,” his patron said, fingers clenched. “I feel crazy!”

“Yes.” The hands kept up their stroking. “That’s what it’s supposed to feel like.”

The gloves were torn off; one hand reached under the cloak again.

“Together,” Bliss said, reaching after it, and was not pushed away.

Their fingers met in the moist hot darkness, where there was no man’s treasure at all. For a moment they clung there together.

“Do it!” she said fiercely. “I want you to!”

She pulled at his hand and at her clothes at the same time.

“Sweet mistress.” He leaned into her, stilling her hands. “I can do better than that.” With practiced hands he unlaced the breeches. “You will go virgin to your marriage bed, and still be satisfied here.”

At last he uncovered the fair triangle, damp with sweat and heat. “A treasure for a prince,” he said earnestly.

“Don’t be impertinent,” she snapped, or tried to: to her dismay it came out langorous, flirtatious.

“I beg your pardon, madam,” he said, and slid his finger down.

She had been ready for a long time. He felt her stiffen.

“Not yet!”

He stopped. “Not yet,” she gasped, “not so soon, I don’t want it over too soon—”

“My dear mistress,” he toyed with her delicate folds, “with me, it is never over too soon.”

He ran his face along the sides of her coat, her ruched-up cloak, down to the soft skin of her naked belly. His lips were warm on her skin. His fingers stroked her arms, her legs, methodically, gently, with a soothing rhythm that said that all was well, all would be well, if she would trust her body and its needs to him, and just as she was beginning to be a little soothed, his mouth moved down to somewhere altogether new.

She cried out in awe. Nothing so living and warm had ever touched her there. His tongue darted like a fish amongst the coral shoals of her flesh, coral waving like fans in the deep sea waves of her pleasure. She could feel him straining with passion, could hardly believe anyone wanted her this way, wanted to do this with her, rocking her up and down, inside and out, somewhere beyond sight and sound.

She had always had to control and tease herself; now there was nothing to control, feeling him slipping long and luxurious there were nothing larger, nothing less slick and supple of a man’s might go…

She let the world come apart.

He was hard with excitement, but he channeled it all into her pleasure, his skill burning for her. She was bucking her hips without knowing it, riding him, being ridden by her own strong desire, as hard for him to keep control of as a yearling, he relentlessly working to keep her pleasure coming in waves until she shook with it. And still he drove her, and the pleasure drove her, until she was writhing and pummeling him and crying her way to stillness.

She lay at last at peace, sprawled across the taut-muscled, naked man. With his thumb he stroked her side.

“Thank you,” she gasped eventually, feeling something must be said under the circumstances. “I didn’t know—that is, I usually like the look of men who are a bit more, ah, more heavily-built.”

“Next time, you must ask for what you want.”

She said, still nervously needing to explain, “I am too young to marry. They tell me. I must be ‘finished’ first, whatever that means. But every man I see—the soldiers, my dancing master, even the baker’s boy…”

“I know.” He drew a mass of her hair through his hands. “You will enjoy Carlin. He knows as well as I what to do for a lady of quality.” She turned her bright eyes on him, and he laughed softly. “Did you think you were the only one, here at the House of Heart’s Desire?”