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The Red Silk Diaries

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There’s damask crushed in the palm of your hand, growing damp with sweat, and cold glass heating slowly against the bare skin of your back as a masked man is bent over, rolling your nipple on his tongue and telling you to be quiet.

Masked, but you know exactly who it is - only one man has eyes that blue and focused, like the nadir of a whirlpool, sucking you in inexorably. Pulling you behind this curtain, into the narrowed alcove of this window, the dull murmur of the party and the tinkling waltz now muffled in the background as you’re wrapped in your own tiny sweltering cocoon. The threads pricked through the heavy crimson cloth around you echoing the shimmering filigree of pleasure that weaves, trembling, through your limbs. Spins gold out of the straw of your soft cries.

“I said to be quiet.” He bites down on the mound of your breast, spilled over the top of your bodice, just shy of breaking the skin. A promise. A warning. “Or do you want me to help you with that?”

You can barely manage a nod before he spins you around and the chill of the glass steals the lingering warmth of his mouth from your skin, chest pressed almost painfully up against it. Your breath fogs over the view of the gardens below, turning them into something hazy and ethereal. A fae landscape that makes this all seem even more like a dream.

Then there’s the whisper of silk unraveling, and something ties tightly over your mouth in a makeshift gag. Only when your tongue touches the cloth and comes away glazed with oak and vanilla do you realize it’s his cravat, still warm and scented with cologne. Riding triumphant on every breath you draw, as if to conquer even the very space inside your lungs for his own. 

Not just your lungs. There’s a hand under the froth of your ballgown, and the low rumble of pleased laughter in your ear when fingertips find the slick apex of your thighs, sinking deep inside of you mercilessly. Curling just right as he shoves you harder against the windowpane, crowding you with the weight of his body, stilling the faint buck of your hips as you rock into the grind of his palm.

“That’s a good girl,” he murmurs approvingly into the nape of your neck, as you let the wet silk between your teeth soak up your moans. Wicked points scraping over your skin as he nuzzles the jumping pulse alongside your throat, teasing you both. “You deserve a reward.”

A third finger joins the first two on the next wet plunge and another shudder tears through you.

You look up and meet the eyes peering out through the wolf’s half-face in the night-black reflection of the window, and even that mirrored glance belies the mask. Lays them bare before you.

One night, this night, they seem to say.

You know he won’t acknowledge this tomorrow. 

You hold those eyes as you watch his fangs sink into your flesh with a sort of morbid fascination, and the first velveteen ropes of ecstasy draw your back into a taut arch, finally tugging your gaze from his regretfully. Man or vampire or beast or dream - it matters not. 

All that matters in this moment is that the beautiful lie endures.