Dark Enchantment - story 2: Pique Dame

Dark Enchantment is officially released today (and is back in stock at Amazon UK after being sold out on pre-order yesterday)! Yipee!

The second story, Pique Dame, is a contemporary paranormal about an opera company staging a production of the Tchaikovsky opera of the same name - which is itself all about gambling, sex and ghosts. As the lead soprano Tanya and the lead tenor Elliot find a dangerous attraction growing between them, the ghost that haunts the theatre starts to take a personal interest...

I was just putting my earrings on when Elliot lifted the curtain and looked in on me.

‘Hey.’

‘Hi there.’

We stood smiling at each other, not entirely sure of ourselves. Elliot’s silence before he next spoke was just that little bit too extended. All of a sudden the room felt too warm.

‘I was wondering if you would like to go out for a drink, Tanya.’ His invitation was measured and polite, but it could not be construed as casual. His eyes said everything.

‘A drink?’

‘There’s the bar at the Hilton.’

‘I’d love to.’ I ran my hand over the back of a chair. ‘But I can’t.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Hm?’

‘I’m…’ I bit my lip. ‘I’m married.’

‘Ah. Fair enough.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘So am I,’ he admitted.

‘I’d have liked to though,’ I blurted out as he turned away. ‘You know.’

He held me with his gaze one beat longer. ‘Yes. I know.’ A moment of aching frustration passed between us, unspoken. Then he stepped in toward me and I thought that he wasn’t taking no for an answer. He took my hands in his and I thought how big and warm his were compared to mine. And I thought I was sure I was capable of denying myself - but not if he pushed it, not if he took control, not if he touched me. Please, I thought: just kiss me and it won’t be my fault.

Stooping, Elliot brushed his lips to my cheek. ‘I think it’s probably a good job we’re not on tour together, don’t you?’

‘Yes,’ I whispered.

‘Goodnight, Tanya.’ He left me breathless and shaking - and alone.

I sat down heavily, feeling the air go out of me like from a punctured tyre. I should phone home, I told myself, my fingers fluttering over my face. I should speak to Tim and his voice would remind me who it was that I loved, who it was I could come home to every night and find always pleased to see me, pleased to slide into bed beside me, pleased for my success and my passion and my pleasure in an art he understood not at all. Tim would have bought a bunch of flowers to congratulate me on my opening night, and would have a bottle of my favourite wine open. We would make love because I’d be too wired and hyper to sleep, and it would be quite wonderful and satisfying.

None of which made one whit of difference to how I was feeling now. My panties were soaking. My insides churned, craving Elliot’s touch, the smell of his skin and his cologne, the sound of his voice. His beautiful, perfect voice. For a few moments I relived in my head our lovers’ scene on stage, hearing again our two voices intertwining passionately, seeing his body moving down on mine. It was too much to bear. With a quick glance out through the curtain I ascertained that there was nobody else in the changing room. Well, I told myself wryly; this wouldn’t take long. I stood with one hand on the glass of the mirror, hitched my skirt with the other hand, and delved into my panties. If I need to come quickly, that’s the way to do it: on tiptoes, my legs straining, my thighs braced. A peek of white cotton and a flash of mouse-brown hair under the folds of my skirt was the only visible naughtiness, but my fingers confirmed that I was slippery, that my clit was engorged and stiff. I fingered myself with quick vibrating movements. In the mirror I could see the tension in my jaw, the deep hunger in my eyes, the strain of my breasts against my tight blouse.

What if he comes back? I asked myself. What if he comes back through that curtain to ask me again? Would I be able to stop in time or would he catch me working off my frantic desire for him? Would he stand and watch, delighted, or would he pull up the back of my skirt and wrench down my knickers and stuff me hard from behind with his eager cock, just as I deserved?

Reflected behind me, in the shadow behind the costume rack, two eyes glinted. A dark figure stirred.

Buy at Amazon UK : Pre-order at Amazon US

Next excerpt on Saturday