Page 86 of The Duke's Dream
William closed his eyes briefly. "Thank you. Keep me posted."
After a knock at the box's door, an usher handed William a folded note.
Helene's perfume wafted up from the paper. William's hand shook as he opened it.
'Send your friends away.'
William crumpled it. Was she in trouble?
Masking his concern, William urged the company to leave.
The moment they were gone, he paced the Persian rug like a man awaiting battle orders, anticipation thrumming through his veins. Had someone threatened her? Was she hurt?
The door creaked open. Helene stepped inside. A black mantle covered her, revealing only red lips, the color inviting, alluring.
He should admonish her. She shouldn't intrude on his social life and risk her career.
"This is reckless, Helene. Why did you send my guests away?"
"I had to. I wouldn't want them to see this."
With a flick of her wrist, she unclasped the pin of the mantle. The cloth whispered around her torso and pooled at her feet.
She was nude.
His heart stopped and thudded again. Seeing Helene dressed in nothing but red lipstick set his blood on fire. He should send her away. They were in a public space, surrounded by society.
Candlelight flickered on her breasts, as a little smile played at the corner of her lips.
Gazing at him boldly, she pointed to the stage. "The second act has just begun. We have until the end of that Scottish reel."
"Helene," William said, leaning close, smelling her skin from her collarbone to her neck. "Why did you come?"
She traced her lips with his forefinger. "Do you see this color?"
"How could I not?"
"La Sylphide cannot wear red, only white… I need to remove it."
"How do you plan to do that?"
She knelt before him, her skin a sultry contrast to the Persian rug. His chest filled to the point of explosion.
While she worked on his trousers, he felt drunk. Thoughts, limbs, memories, all became hazy, as if he had been drinking gin since the dawn of time.
The woman worshiped by London was at his knees, about to worship him.
Cold air brushed the skin of his cock as she freed him from his small. Her touch was urgent, thirsty, as if unsure of her welcome. Didn't she know that to him, kneeling at his feet, with her red lips and fathomless eyes, she wielded more power than Alexander the Great?
She paused, the cherry of her lips one inch away from the head, her moist breaths brushing against the sensitive skin. William stared, transfixed. Not even Michel Ney charging in with the entire French cavalry could make him move.
Helene kissed the tip. Just a lick. The jolt caught him unaware. William's head fell back, and a groan escaped his chest. Who was this being, and what power had she over him? Her mouth closed around his cock, the red lips.
William sucked in a breath, his heart stampeding, and his shout was muffled by the bagpipes and drums.
She lavished loving attention on him, sucking and kissing, each caress of her red lips threatening his sanity. Her hands climbed from his calves to his hips, and then her fingers dug into his flanks, pulling him closer.
Her movements became frantic, her breathing rasping against his groin, and then she choked.
