Friday, June 19, 2009

Nights in Pink Satin by Sharon Marie Bidwell

Nights in Pink Satin
by Sharon Maria Bidwell

Cover art by ReneƩ George
ISBN: 978-1-60521-237-1
Genre(s): Paranormal
Theme(s): Vampires, Gay and Lesbian
Length: Novella

Vincent is a vampire of world renown, even if most people believe his story is a fable, but with age comes boredom. Seeking out new silk to line his coffin for his annual Halloween ball, he comes across a bolt of pink fabric. Curiosity leads him to a mistake that is about to change his existence.
Martin is a newly turned vampire and a lonely gay man. When he finds an extremely good looking and famous vampire in his humble abode, he's glad of the company even though he's afraid.
When a simple mistake leads to explosive passion, what's a vampire to do but look forward to a future of gay nights between sheets of pink satin?

This e-book file contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language which some may find offensive and which is not appropriate for a young audience. Changeling Press E-Books are for sale to adults, only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

One push broke the lock. Vincent walked into the ground floor flat, shaking his head. So easy to get in, so much cover, a closed-in garden with no back exit. He grinned. He always enjoyed rescuing a maiden in distress, even modern day ones. He could sense no one inside, vampire or otherwise, so he'd taken the liberty of gaining entrance.
Vincent set the bolt of pink fabric to one side although he had plans for it later. He wanted to familiarise himself with the layout, see if the bed was... sturdy enough. Visions of spreading that pink satin out over the bed and rolling around on it filled his mind. The satin wasn't the only pink thing he wanted to spread. He never understood some women's penchant for pink but it didn't take much to get a grip on this woman's moods. He anticipated someone delicate and very feminine. Someone who wore sandals and carried a very small handbag. Maybe soft curls surrounded her face. Yes, as he turned in a tight circle and took in the details of the flat, he could well imagine the woman who lived here.
For the first time in a long while, his body responded to the images that assaulted his mind. His cock twitched though failed to harden. To attain that level of arousal he needed blood, to drink. He fully expected to hunt with the female vampire who lived here. They could share prey, their mutual act of fulfilment bringing them closer. Flushed with blood, they could fulfill... other needs. Maybe she would know somewhere suitable, and they could search close by, or maybe she had a donor. He had no intention of harming this young vampire's neighbours, or harming anyone. He didn't see the point in bestowing pain or instilling fear unless it was necessary. If he went about this right, humans didn't even have to know vamps drank from them, not if one got the seduction right. One thing you could say for older vampires was that most of them could teach the younger ones a thing or two about temptation, whether it was the luring of humans or each other. Vincent was looking forward to this seduction as much as the outcome.
Impatience welled up in him, and although initially he'd been pleased to find the flat empty so he could assess the situation, now he wished for the female to return home. Such eagerness surprised him.
His gaze wandered across to the bolt of pink cloth, leaning so innocently against the wall. Pink for innocence; red for sex. Ha! That pink was so vibrant it positively glowed. It certainly screamed sex.
Vincent paced, not taking in details of the room at all. His mind was awash with images. Even so, right now his... desires mingled. His sudden ache for sex spurred his craving to drink.
His mind jolted back to that bright, vibrant colour as it flashed in the corner of his vision. At once, thoughts consumed his mind. Pink cloth, pink skin, pink folds, pink lips parted on a breath, a sigh... Vincent closed his eyes. In his mind, his fingers slid up the inner heated curve of bare thighs. His head descended; his teeth penetrated. Moans resounded, his and his victim's; they both trembled. His prey pleaded, though for what type of release it was difficult to tell. In the vision, his cock rose. It always did when his captive whimpered. A small smile teased his lips. It wasn't cruelty on his mind but an exchange of desires. Hell, this was his fantasy. He let the scene take his mind and body both. In the fantasy, he couldn't see the face of the person beneath him. He could only touch, taste, smell, and hear.
In his mind, they drank from a willing human. He would drink from either sex tonight to have that longing satisfied. One desire fulfilled gave Vincent room to consider another. He could put his teeth to other uses. He nipped, drew skin and flesh into his mouth and sucked. This time when his cock nudged willing flesh, it wasn't a hard brick surface he thrust against. He and his imaginary partner rolled in satin... pink satin, the colour of flushed skin, the glow of a sunset at dusk when he opened his eyes, the beginnings of a blush. The satin stroked, caressed him, like skin brushing against skin but more than that, more intimate than that somehow. As he touched his unseen lover, the satin stroked him, embraced him, moulded to his form, as if it were a third lover in bed with them. The cloth dipped into hollows, creases of his skin, folds of his body, tickled him like the stroke of a tongue. He rolled, entangled in pink satin, in soft caresses, in longing, desire, and ultimately frustration.
As good as it felt, these images weren't real. Frowning, Vincent struggled to remain with the fantasy. He hoped to make them real, but he didn't want the vision to end. Just a little... longer... Ah. There. Just there...
On his back, he let the pink satin play over his body. It waved and shimmered, undulated as though stirred by a giant breath. Everywhere it touched, it coaxed. His body shifted, floundered, wounded by desire, want, need, greed... Unable to hold back, he grasped the pink fabric, wrapping up his cock and balls, forming a tunnel with his hands to plough and furrow into, somewhere tight. This penetration had no form. Sexuality had nothing to do with his need for release, to scatter, shatter, to attain that heady peak that only blood and sex could help him reach. Climax...
Vincent opened his eyes. If vampires could sweat, he'd be sweating. He didn't know if he should be grateful or annoyed that it wasn't possible. His body felt overheated and there was nothing he could do to cool down. Nothing he could do... alone.

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