Blood Tint ~ Part 5

Blood Tint, Part 5

{Start with Part 1}

It was blessed full dark as the three of us walked down the street. Neon and sodium lights colored the wet paving and I at last took off my dark glasses. Neave’s building was a few short blocks away, on a street that wore its past lives proudly. We walked there quickly, quietly my arm around Neave’s shoulder, Daci’s around her waist. For her part Neave walked like in a dream, though unsure of what kind.

“I’ve always wondered, since I was little,” she’d said.

“But you were never sure,” Daci answered

“They always seemed wrong. Too theatrical, to… Freudian.”

At that I laughed.

“I’m sure he would have agreed.”

Neave turned to look at me, questioning. I raised an eyebrow at her as Daci snorted:

“He tasted of cocaine and cigars.”

Neave shivered between us as we rounded the corner. Then up 5 floors in a classic gated freight elevator activated by her key.

Neave’s loft was mostly studio, with a small kitchen installed in one corner, and a nestlike sleeping area in another – a futon piled with sheets and pillows. The kitchen and bed were two clean, white contrasts to the rest of the unfinished space. Canvases, large and small, lined and leand against the walls and graced at least four easels in various positions on the floor. Paints, brushes, rags, all the various accoutrements lay everywhere; haphazard, but also well cared for. Her palette of greys and reds was clearly the dominant color scheme in her work, but not the only. The moon, a fat waxing crescent, shone through the abundant skylights and showed splashes of other color on her portraits, landscapes, abstracts. But each one had that scent of her. Coloring, pervading the entire place, the tint of her blood. Daci and I both felt it. As we stepped in, Neave’s tense body relaxed just a little. It felt very much like we were being permitted into a private place. Normally, this would be her place of power, I thought. But I think we had her more off balance than she was used to.

“Can I offer you something?” Neave asked. Her host instincts obviously warred with others.

“Yes,” I said.

“Oh? Coffee? Wine? Um-“

“No, none of that.”

My arm was still around her shoulder. I turned her to face me and ran my free hand up her side. Daci stepped behind her, one hand insinuating into Neave’s hair, the other stroking down her belly to her thigh. She pulled Neave’s head back to both whisper in her ear, and expose her neck to me.

“What would you offer us?” Daci asked. Neave shook all over. She looked me in the eyes, terrified, wanting, all pretense of her as the huntress seeped away.

“Everything,” she whispered.

Something much older and haunted lived in her now. Something I certainly hadn’t expected. But oh, how it called to me. I lowered my mouth toward her neck, my own pretenses teetering as Neave closed her eyes. I kissed her, wanting nothing more than to drink until I had devoured the whole of what she was.

“I want everything, Neave, but I will not take it. Not like that.” The simple statement of self-denial made me boil. “We can’t consume something so sweet as you all at once. It would be so selfish. Short sighted.”

I was telling this to myself as well as Neave. My hand swept down her side, under the hem of her skirt, drawing back up against her skin and bunching the material above it. Daci did the same thing on her other side, and as my lips left Neave’s neck, we slipped the one-piece dress over her head. Neave unconsciously moved her arms to help us slide the garment from her.

“But we accept your offer.”

Daci and I pressed Neave between us, our hands roaming her body and each other’s. Neave moaned out loud, sensuously; a sound of surrender I’ve heard many times, but none quite so delicious as this.

We covered the distance between the entryway and the bed without noticing how, shedding clothes as we went, never a moment leaving Neave completely free of our hands or mouths. The white sheets were perfectly clean, but piled and unmade, as if Neave had just gotten up from them. We fell amongst them a tangle of limbs and hunger, for Neave had come alive. Her hands reaching for me, for Daci; her lips meeting mine, then hers. Between the wordless sounds of basic pleasure, with both Daci and I sharing a breast each, my hand stealing down to the heat wet between her legs, Neave whispered once, and again-

“Yes.”

{Continued in Part 6}

Categories: Erotica, Monocle, Multi-part Story, SupernaturalTags: , , , , ,

Monocle

I am the little devil on your shoulder, stroking your neck with my tail, whispering obscenities into your ear, and looking down your blouse. One third of The Erotic Writer blog.

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