Page 88 of Nocturne

I watch without blinking, the scene before me unfolding like some kind of fevered hallucination that only nudie parlors can dream up.

Tatiana slides off my lap and onto the floor, pulling my hips toward the edge of the bed with surprising strength. Her dress falls away; she’s naked beneath it, all alabaster skin and long limbs. I should be trying to stop this—but instead I feel myself harden. It’s not because of her, though. As perfect as her body seems, there’s still a hint of something sour underneath, the taste of her bitter.

No, I’m hard as a rock because of Lena. She’s the one I can’t look away from.

Even as Tatiana lowers her mouth to me with calculated slowness, a triumphant smile playing at the corners of lipsthat are warm now against impossibly hot flesh. My entire world narrows to that single point of contact—the unbearable pleasure and the building pressure as she plays my body like an instrument she’s mastered over centuries. All while I pretend it’s Lena.

Across from me, Katya’s head moves in a rhythm that matches Tatiana’s perfectly. Lena’s hands flutter helplessly at her sides as groans become wilder now, faster—her eyes locked on mine while we’re both undone by these vampire women who seem to know every secret place inside us.

“Tell me,” Tatiana purrs, staring up at me with a wet mouth. “If I dropped the compulsion now, if I let you have free will, would you stop this? Or would you have me continue? Go on. Ask yourself.”

I try to think, try to push back the haze. The truth is, I want to watch Lena as she comes. I want to come while she does it.

But more than that, I just want her.

I just want her.

The room blurs again; sound and light merge into one dizzying crescendo until time collapses entirely…

Until there is nothing but Lena and me, eyes locked, mouths open as we plunge into a shared release so intense it leaves me gasping for air—gasping for reason—grasping at anything solid enough to hold onto once it finally passes through us.

Tatiana pulls away first, wiping her mouth with languid satisfaction before standing and drawing me up with her. “See?” she whispers again as if nothing else needs saying—like this was always inevitable.

But I shake my head, that fierce protectiveness surging back for an instant of clarity before she claims my lips once more.

On the chaise lounge Lena lies motionless except for her heaving chest. Her eyes stay on mine even as Katya stands and adjusts her gown so it clings perfectly to every curve.

“Now,” Katya says, pointing at me with her sharp fingernail. “Time for you to fuck her.”

22

LENA

Katya’s words echo, my brain fuzzy like cotton balls.

Callahan is going to fuck me.

“Yes,” Katya coos. “That’s what you both want, isn’t it?” Her hand is between my legs now, teasing, and I hear myself moan as Victor rises from the bed, moving toward me like a man in a trance. The man I want more than anything. I know that much is true.

He’s naked. Erect. His cock thick, stiff and wet, bobbing between his legs as he walks. His skin glistens with sweat or candlelight or both, and I feel a thrill of pleasure that is mine and not mine as he kneels between my thighs.

Tatiana perches on the edge of the bed, watching with eager eyes, her mouth curving into a satisfied smile. “Go to her,” she urges him softly. “Make her yours.”

Katya pulls away just as Victor spreads my legs wide, positioning himself above me with trembling hands. His eyes are wild with need, his breath ragged.

And then he’s inside me—slowly at first but then deeper, harder—a strangled sound escaping his lips as I arch up to meethim, as I feel every inch of him fill some dark hollow I never knew existed.

He thrusts again and again, each movement building on Katya’s earlier work until my mind spins out of control and my body follows it into freefall.

I hear laughter—Tatiana’s? Katya’s?—a high tinkling sound like breaking glass. But I can’t focus on anything except this man who once seemed so far away but is now closer than breath or blood or bone.

“Yes,” Katya purrs again. “That’s it.”

She stands over us, her gown falling from one shoulder as she runs her fingers through Victor’s hair with gentle possession. I should hate her for that touch—he’smine, after all—but all I can do is cling tighter to him before everything else dissolves completely.

The candles waver in their holders; shadows flicker across the walls in long fevered arcs while Victor drives deeper still—while both of us hurtle toward another shared oblivion even more reckless than before.

“Now you understand,” Tatiana murmurs from somewhere beyond sight or sense. “This is where you belong.”

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