Blood Red. Sharon Page

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? And that she had enjoyed it?

      It wasn’t that she’d never felt desire before. When Mick O’Leary worked without his shirt, she secretly watched him. Half-naked and slick with perspiration, Mick looked elemental. Primal. Sensual. His back flexed in the most hypnotic way as he worked. Hidden by the wide brims of her prim bonnets and her spectacles, she would ogle him, and flutter inside, as though a thousand butterflies frolicked low in her tummy. She would yearn and want and fantasize until she became bad-tempered and cross and made everyone’s life a misery.

      That was bad enough.

      But two men!

      Only the most depraved woman should want such things.

      What was happening to her?

      Crack!

      A strong gust rattled her window and Althea’s heart leapt to her throat. The curtains billowed softly, even though the sash was closed. Before her startled eyes, a black shape flew at the glass, retreated, swooped again.

      She launched up on her knees, ready for battle. The dark shadow slapped the glass again with an angry thwack. Leaves splayed over the small panes. Nervous laughter bubbled up in Althea’s throat. Only a tree branch. She sank back down onto her bottom.

      Silly goose. Jumping at shadows.

      With a sigh, she relaxed and let the sated, languorous feeling steal over her again. She yawned and stretched, reaching toward the low, timbered ceiling with her hands. Her neck gave a little crick and she moved her head from side to side. Physically she was exhausted, but she knew her mind would just not let her rest now.

      She was almost afraid to sleep. Each dream became more indecent, more…more lewd. And now she was dreaming of being bitten. If she dreamed again and she didn’t wake up in time, what might happen to her?

      She could hardly wake up a vampire, could she? But she was not certain. She didn’t truly know. Perhaps she could.

      Better to think about tomorrow. They would open the crypt tomorrow.

      Instinct led her right hand to the cross dangling around her neck. Althea stroked it, cupped it in her palm. For