15 Erotic Stories BUNDLE: Huge Collection of Individually Sold Short Sex Stories (20 page)

Suddenly they launched into a flawless dance, their bodies moving in concert as they performed all of the twirls, dips and pirouettes common to the dance of ballet.

Then, at least in Moira’s eyes, they did something quite uncommon; coming together at the center of the stage in what looked like a passionate clench.

Her mouth dropped open as the female dancer sank in the male’s embrace, pressing her full breasts against his chest as their perfect hips shook and locked in the perfect likeness of intercourse.

Staring deep into one another’s eyes, the couple writhed in a seductive clench as their feet continued to float across the floor; finally the man dipped his partner in a thrilling manner, the reams of his long golden hair falling to drape their faces as he seized her lips in a passionate kiss.

Moira gasped as, in plain view of the audience, the couple’s mouths merged and their tongues entangled to complete their dance.

The crowd erupted in applause, with an excited Moira hollering her approval as the couple bowed and left the stage.

“They must be lovers in real life,” she whispered to Bethelyn.

“No,” the troupe owner shook her head. “Actually Noel is my lover.”

Moira’s eyes flew wide; she took a deep sip of wine, struggling to recover from this first shock as the second arrived in grand fashion just a few moments later.

The second dancer of the evening was a solo male, adorned in skin-fitting royal blue tights and a matching gold-trimmed jacket.

The splendor of this dancer’s costume paled in comparison to his flawless features: his wide dark eyes, his carved cheekbones, his full lips—a succulent mouth that now curved upward in a sensual smile meant only for her.

Ensnaring her with a hypnotic gaze, the dancer performed some flawless twirls and a graceful pirouette; moves that seemed uncommon for a man of his hard and divine muscularity.

She was just as impressed by his graceful fall of long, auburn hair; locks that he threw about like a lion’s mane as his feet canvassed the floor beneath him.

“It’s Ian,” she breathed.

“Yes,” Bethelyn’s soft voice just barely penetrated her aroused psyche. “He’s your Ian.”

Moira said nothing, only watched enraptured as the dancer thrust his firm arms high above his head and shifted his hips. His grin turned wicked as he launched into a full bodied gyration; his hips thrusting forward in her direction as his eyes continued to probe her.

Moira’s own gaze seemed pinned to his as the crowd dissolved around them; his every look, his every move, was only for her; and when he slowly unbuttoned his royal blue jacket to bare his body for her, she felt a wave of sheer, sharp arousal that threatened to overwhelm her.

Her heart pounded and her pussy gushed as his sudden, suggestive move revealed a massive muscled chest and sculpted ab muscles; both of which glowed in the lights above them.

His dance took on a sexual character as he writhed across the stage like a cat in heat; his chest and arm muscles flexing to delightful effect as he continued to gyrate.

He’s the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen,
Moira bit her lip, her cheeks flushing red hot.
I want to touch him.

Seeming to sense her need, the dancer advanced to the front of the stage with a feline stroll that stole her breath; then, coming to a dead halt at her table, he held his hand out to her.

Just like in my dream
, she mused.

Yet unlike the dreams that plagued her psyche every night, this one did not fade to black; quite the contrary, Ian’s arms were hard and warm as they swept her onto the stage, encompassing her in an embrace that united their bodies in a passionate clench.

“I must warn you,” she stared into his eyes, her own voice barely audible above the pounding of her own heart, “I don’t dance nearly as well as I write.”

His answering chuckle was deep and sensual.

“Do not worry Madame,” he pressed those delicious lips firm against her cheek. “Relax and let me do everything.” He engaged her in a thrilling dip, pressing his muscled chest against hers. “I am here for your pleasure.”

Suddenly he surged upward, lifting her full-figured form with effortless ease and twirling her free in the air.

Letting loose with an uncharacteristic giggle, she threw her head back and braced her hands on his sturdy shoulders; sighing a moment later as he joined their bodies for an unforgettable tango.

Their hands clenched between them as he moved against her; his hips rocking against hers in a suggestive manner as she rested his head on his bare chest and fell with ease into his rhythm.

“I’ve never danced this way at a society ball,” she smiled, inhaling his rich citrus scent as her fingers dared to tangle in the strands of his long auburn hair.

“Really?” He teased her with a flirtatious wink. “So tell me, do they do this at society balls?”

Sweeping her up in a heated embrace, he seized her lips in a passionate kiss; swallowing her surprised gasp as he rubbed his full, moist lips against hers and thrust his tongue inward—its slow, smooth back and forth motion emulating the motions of sex.

Wrapping her arms around his muscled shoulders and leaning inward, Moira lost herself in his kiss; pressing her lips against his as his delectable hands ran like warm water down her back.

All too soon he pulled away; once again offering his hand as the crowd roared around them.

“Care to go backstage, love?” He seared her with his sultry eyes.

“You think?” She arched her eyebrows, making quick steps for that mysterious region behind the second velvet curtain.

Soon she found herself seated on a lush settee of crinkled lavender silk; staring around her with wide eyes at an elaborately adorned area that seemed to double as a dressing room.

The blond couple that she’d seen earlier on stage lounged easily on scarlet cushions at opposite sides of the room; feasting on an assortment of cheeses and fruits as they regarded their guest with curious stares. Meanwhile, the next act scheduled to dance—an ebony-haired duo with similar striking features—scurried to slip in to their skin tight costumes as their intro music surged around them.

Moira, by contrast, lounged easy on her seat, smiling as her handsome host fed her an assortment of sumptuous petit fours; tasty delicacies served up on a shiny silver platter.

“You are officially too wonderful,” she praised him, smacking her lips. “Do tell me your name.”

The dancer shrugged.

“As you well know, Ms. Bentley.” He charmed her with a white-toothed grin. “I am your Ian.” His beam dissolved as he set aside the platter, taking her hand in his. “For so long, Moira, I have felt lost in life—I walked the streets of London as an orphan, and for a while I worked in the service of older ladies in need of male companionship.”

“Really?” Moira straightened in her seat, startled by his frankness.

“So sorry, didn’t mean to shock you miss.” The dancer clasped her hands in his, leaning forward to grace her with a gaze of tender sincerity.

“Oh it’s all right.” She squeezed his fingers. “Do go on.”

“Well, I fear there’s not much to tell.” Her companion gestured toward the other troupe members, who offered shy smiles in return. “You are looking at my brothers and sisters of the street. Bethelyn found us when we were in our early 20s, and she taught us to dress and dance.” He smiled slightly at the thought of his mentor. “She is a very generous woman, Miss—and while she gave us all that we needed in life, she didn’t give me a true identity.” He threw his hands up in a helpless gesture. “I did not know who I was,” with this his brilliant smile returned, and he surged forward to sear her lips with a quick but meaningful kiss. “Then I read your book, Miss. And in your hero Ian I found a reflection of myself, only he was so much better. So great and noble.” His darkened gaze came alight with wonder as he considered his character. “I started to think and speak as he did, to read the same books and practice the same beliefs. Suddenly I had a persona, a world view.” He gathered a beaming Moira in his arms, clutching her close. “Bethelyn made me a dancer, Moira—but you made me a person.”

Drawing back with a soft sob, Moira cupped Ian’s carved cheeks and rained kisses on his smiling lips.

“I am honored that my novel inspired you so,” she smiled, “And I understand your feelings, as Ian has given me life as well, at least in a manner of speaking.” She squinted thoughtfully. “For so long, I was known primarily as the sheltered matron who still resided in her parents’ home and cared for them as they aged.” Her gaze grew misty as she pictured the kind faces of Lord and Lady Bentley. “It was an honor to care for my parents—but when they passed I found myself alone, and quite without purpose.”

“I’m sorry.” Ian held her closer to him. “Surely, though, many a man has asked for your hand in marriage.”

He jumped as Moira met his words with a burst of raucous laughter.

“Not a single one dear,” she rolled her eyes heavenward. “I was never what you would call a belle of the ton.” She shrugged. “The gentlemen of my class seem to be in search of a woman who lacks both brains and hips.” She lifted her chin in a proud stance. “I have both in abundance, and am quite happy by myself—especially now that I’ve written my book, and I have a career and a purpose.”

“That’s wonderful Miss. You are an amazing woman, like none I’ve ever met.” Ian applauded, adding in a softened voice, “Only I must observe, my lady, that when I read your work I feel such warmth and passion rising from your pages.” His voice lowered to a sultry whisper as his arms tightened around her waist. “I sense a desire that needs to be satisfied.” Ian arched his eyebrows, nestling her neck as his tickling fingertips massaged her lower back. “Perhaps I could help.”

She took in her breath as he planted sweet baby kisses across the surface of his tender nape; all the while running his hands down her sides and across her rounded hips.

Closing her eyes, Moira tipped her head back and moaned softly as he lowered his head to her breasts; licking their exposed tops before kissing her nipples through the soft sheen of her silken gown.

For a moment the woman lost herself in passion, running loving hands through his long, soft hair as he worshipped her with his mouth.

Suddenly her eyes flew open, and she flushed beneath the scrutinizing gaze of the blonde Noir dancers.

“Ian, they’re watching us,” she hissed.

“It’s quite all right love.”

She jumped at the sight of a smirking Bethelyn, who swept into the backstage area with the soft swish of her satin skirts.

“We are all very open around here.” She watched as her final dancers of the evening, the sculpted ivory skinned brunette couple, took leave of the stage; joining them in the backstage area. “Indeed, it is after a performance of Ballet Noir that the real show begins.”

Claiming a seat in a cushioned wicker fan chair at the center of their dressing room, Bethelyn watched with a casual gaze as the dark-haired male stripped out of his fitted silver-hued tights; revealing a lean, sleek body that shone pure white in the lights above him.

Not to be outdone the golden-haired dancer abandoned his plush scarlet cushion and crawled to Bethelyn’s side; searing her with a sedulous glance as he rose up on his knees before her.

“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.