Bitten: Dark Erotic Stories Read Online Free PDF

friends used to dabble in murder! You played games with human lives the way others played with cards.”
    “Tell her the other part of the legend,” Charlot says. “The juicy part.” His tongue flicks across his overblown lower lip.
    “Madame de Mortoise did develop a predilection for the taste of blood, if you believe the old wives’ tales,” the countess says, in a tone so dismissive it could only veil a charade. “Soon she couldn’t get enough of it. She hired a band of bounty hunters to scour the streets of Paris, capturing revolutionaries and bringing them to her chambers. Once she’d taken her pleasure with them, she would stab them in the chest and drink directly from their hearts.”
    “There’s more,” Charlot urges. “Tell her the rest.”
    “The legend says that drinking blood gave her immortal life—”
    “And whoever is pricked by one of the rose’s thorns becomes immortal, too!” Charlot bursts out.
    Lucy smiles. “I’m afraid I don’t have anything nearly that exotic growing here. I can show you a few heirloom varieties, but nothing as old or as fascinating as this … ‘Madame de’ what?”
    “Mortoise,” says the woman who was once a countess.
    “Mortoise,” Lucy repeats, as if she’s never spoken the name before. “Well, I can’t offer you eternal life, but you’re welcome to look around. I’ll be opening the nursery in about five minutes. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to go inside and get dressed before my customers break down my gate.”
    Lucy bustles away, praying that she looks like what she’s pretending to be: a middle-aged professional gardener, a charming woman with a head for business. Could Marie have glimpsed the lithe, golden-haired maiden under the plump, freckled shell? Out of all the hours of sensual pleasure she’d enjoyed in her many years, would she remember a handful of afternoons in Versailles?
    * * *
    Winter sunlight seeped through rose-colored sheets and glided across the snowy belly of Lucille d’Arlennes. It illuminated the sparse golden tendrils below. Her lover rolled his head between her thighs, letting his glossy hair brush her skin in cool caresses before the rougher treatment to come. He followed the same paths with his tongue, lapping and teasing, melting her pussy as he nipped and suckled at her dusky nipples. He painted her with his tongue from throat to thighs, stopping to pry open her moist lower lips.
    “Have you ever felt the little death, cherie?” the man asked Lucy, glancing up from between her warm, white legs.
    “I don’t ever want to die,” Lucille moaned. She lifted her bottom toward her lover’s mouth in a silent plea for him to go on. His tongue found a spot in her folds that Lucille had only ever touched herself, the kernel of sensation that gave her such delight when she stroked it with her fingers. But this tongue was so much more skilled than Lucy; this man’s tongue was a master of pleasure, while Lucy was just an amateur.
    “We all have to surrender eventually, ma petite.”
    A woman’s voice broke through Lucille’s haze. The girl gasped. She looked up to see the sheet lifted away, and the Countess de Mortoise gazing down upon them. Her cheeks, normally painted white as ivory, were tinged with the pink of an excited voyeuse. A woman with a heart of ice.
    This man was not in love with Lucille. He belonged to the woman who hovered over them, Marie de Mortoise, whose appetite for watching her partners tutor younger women was legendary. This was the first of countless times that the countess would feed off Lucille’s pleasure, but today Lucille was still innocent enough to feel a rush of shame at being caught like this: nude, spread open like an oyster shell, hips rising to meet a climax that she couldn’t stop or control.
    “Go ahead. Give in,” whispered Marie.
    Lucille’s skin began to hum. Her back arched. Her lover began to shake his head furiously, so that his tongue and lips created a blur of