Sunday Snog #86: Fourth World

Today's snog is from my vampire ménage short story "Fourth World", available in my collection Body Electric. Just to warn you - it's not a nice story and definitely not a romance. It's hot, though!

When you get through here, head over to Victoria's Sunday Snog page for links to lots more kisses, some romantic, some naughty, some (most likely) downright filthy!

She keeps her body pressed against ours in the lift. To my surprise she hits the button for the car park. I’d assumed that we would take a cab. The trip down takes forever. I find it difficult to breathe. Surreptitiously, I check the mirror. Is my boner visible?

Her eyes meet mine in the glass. Her full lips curl into a knowing smile. There’s something odd about her reflection. It wavers, flickering in and out of focus. I shake my head and the effect disappears. I must be more drunk than I thought.

As we exit from the lift lobby, still arm in arm in arm, a monstrous black Mercedes glides up to the curb. The door swings open. “Get in, please,” she purrs. I slide across the tooled leather, impressed despite myself. Mai, in the middle, cuddles up to me. She pulls Jeremy closer. The automobile floats up the helical ramp and out of the garage, nearly silent. There’s a tinted glass barrier. I can’t see the driver. Mai flicks her tongue over my earlobe, sending a bolt of lightning to my groin, then makes a wet trail down the side of my neck.

I smell her perfume, jasmine edged with something sharper, less sweet. My heart slams against my ribs. “Who are you?” She must be someone’s daughter or wife, a general or a politician. Or maybe the latest pop sensation, though her classic style argues that she’s older than her body would suggest.

“I’m nobody. Just a woman looking for a good time. Sanuk sabai. You understand?”

“Yes, but...”

“Hush, Harry. You talk too much. You should be more like your friend. A man of action.”

I turn to see Jeremy’s hand wandering up her silk-clad thigh. I’m surprised by his daring. Back at school he was always the shy one in our crowd. I was the one who took the initiative.

His eyes are closed, his lips parted. His trousers rise up from his groin in an imposing peak. Mai cups his bulk and squeezes. Jeremy groans. His hand slips under her skirt.

Jealousy sizzles through me. A red mist clouds my vision. “Never mind,” says Mai, her hand on my thigh, her lips fastening on mine.

Her kiss claims me. I try to take control, to thrust my tongue between her ripe lips, but she playfully forces me back, then plunders my mouth with her own. She tastes sweet but strange, the fruity remnants of her wine not quite hiding a metallic element. My cock surges, painful and eager, trapped in my tight briefs.

Blinded by the fall of her hair around my face, I grope for her breast. Her flesh is firm and elastic under my fingers. Her nipple juts through flimsy barrier of her dress. I circle it with my thumb and she moans into my mouth. I pinch the delightful nub and she bites my lip, hard enough to draw blood. I want to protest, to push her away, but she’s far stronger than I expect. Her kiss becomes more heated, more desperate. My pierced lip throbs. Something’s not right, I think, but then her hand settles on my cock and all thought vanishes.