When Harvey stumbled over one of his passages, Al could identify. Poor guy was probably having the devil’s time focusing on the music, with Deidre’s lush body and spicy scent so close by.
Al was aroused himself, but now that he was confident that he’d get relief, the erotic tension seemed to elevate his playing to a new level. The phrases flowed effortlessly from his violin, immaculate, sublime. In her presence, he felt possessed by genius.
Whenever his eyes met hers, electric sparks arced through the short distance that separated them. Everything about her demeanour was full of future promises.
Harvey went upstairs to get a glass of water. Deidre put aside her cello. “Come over here, Albert.” There was a clear invitation in her voice. Al ached to obey her, but he resisted.
“We’ve got to be careful, Deidre. We don’t want Harv to get suspicious.”
Deidre parted her legs more widely. A whiff of her scent rose in the basement practice room. Al grinned, realizing that she had probably omitted to put on panties this morning. In his honour, he assumed.
“Don’t worry about Harvey. He’ll be fine. I guarantee it.” The cellist stood and came to him, pulling him into a voluptuous kiss. Capturing his thigh between her own strong limbs, she began rubbing her crotch against his corduroy pants.
“Deidre, please! I can hear him on the stairs.”
They broke apart seconds before Harvey entered. He looked miserable, his round face pink and damp with sweat. “Do you mind if I open a window?” he asked. “It seems terribly hot in here.”
“Sure, Harvey, go ahead.” Al was feeling indulgent. “It is a bit close.”
Al figured that Harvey would get over his infatuation eventually. After all, his brother had never been that interested in sex. In the meantime, he didn’t want to cause Harvey any more pain than necessary. He and Deidre should try to be discreet.
Harvey found himself in the midst of a strange, vivid dream. He was dead, it seemed, lying on a satin-draped bier in a candlelit room. The air was heavy with the scent of roses.
No, thought Harvey, in confusion, it’s Richard who died, not me. He tried to sit up, but though he could breathe in the floral atmosphere and enjoy the smoothness of the satin against his skin, his limbs were cold and unresponsive. A seductive languor held him still. The room itself was pleasantly cool. He wondered vaguely if it was a crypt.
The only part of him that was warm and alive was his cock. It pointed straight up from his motionless body, straining towards the shadowy ceiling. Harvey didn’t wonder at this, or at the fact that he was naked. His cock had been a hot spear of swollen flesh for as long as he could remember.
He heard a rustling, of silk, or wings, or nameless creatures moving in the dark corners. Then he saw Deidre standing beside his couch. How he saw, through closed eyelids, was not clear. It didn’t matter. He sensed her presence, a concentration of heat vibrating near him.
She was naked as well. The candles painted gold motes on her alabaster skin. She held a scarlet rose in the hollow between her breasts. She brought it to her lips, which were painted the identical colour, then bent over him as though to place it in Harvey’s clasped hands.
Suddenly she drew a sharp breath. From some omniscient perspective that he couldn’t explain, he saw several drops of her blood, scattered over his mostly hairless chest.
“Oh, Harvey, I’m sorry,” she whispered. She sank to her knees, leaned over and gathered the ruby droplets with her tongue. The sensation was exquisite, her muscular warmth a shock to his passive coolness. His cock pulsed in time as she lapped at his skin, energetic as a mother cat cleaning her kitten.
The blood was gone, but she did not stop. She flicked at his nipples until the cold nubs woke into bright points of flame. She trailed her mouth wetly over his belly, leaving a path of fire in her wake. She took a mouthful of his grizzled pubic hair and gently pulled. His cock danced wildly, threatening to spray fire all over the immaculate bier.
“Harvey,” she murmured, her voice kindling him further. “Forgive me.” With the same economy of movement she used in handling her cello, she straddled him and sucked his rigid cock into her pussy.
Pleasure overwhelmed him, pleasure too acute to be endured. The dream world shattered into liquid fragments along with his cock, red as blood and roses, white as satin.
No, thought Harvey, panicked, fighting to wake. Please, I don’t want to have a wet dream. All the awkwardness and embarrassment of his youth came flooding back, pushing him up out of the well of sleep.
The chilly, rose-scented vault was gone. The candle glow was replaced by the wan light of dawn filtering through his old curtains. Yet the dream had not fled.
Deidre still rode him, clutching his plump hips between her long white thighs. She moved deliberately, giving him time to savour every inch of her slick heat sliding over the stretched skin of his cock. Blood surged into his swollen organ with every stroke, sending shudders of pleasure through his body.
Despite his fears, he hadn’t come. He was still hard, granite, steel, monumental, irresistible. He began to move with her, arching his back to drive his cock as deep into her as he could. He groaned as she tightened her cunt muscles around him.
Deidre smiled. “Good morning, Harvey,” she murmured, squeezing him again. He grunted and rammed his cock into her. She gave a little cry and stopped talking.
They rocked together, faster now, Deidre allowing him to set the pace. He grabbed her lush buttocks in both hands, seeking leverage to plunge still deeper. She moaned at the bite of his fingernails and ground her pelvis against him, lewd, abandoned, forgetting everything but her own pleasure.
Leaning forwards, she used her arms to brace herself against the bed. She slammed herself down on his cock, again and again. Her ripe breasts dangled inches from his face. Without his glasses, the world was fuzzy, but he could see that her mouth was a grimace of lust. Her eyes were squeezed closed. Her nipples were crinkled purple pebbles.
Straining his neck to reach, he took one of the tempting nuggets in his teeth. At the same time, he stabbed upwards, burying himself completely in the luxurious wetness of her flesh.
Deidre wailed like a cat. Fierce spasms shook her body. Her cunt contracted with terrific force. He yelped at the unexpected pressure, then yelled in triumph as her crisis infected him. Waves of come surged up his stalk, one after another, each one breaking into a froth of pleasure in the shallows of her still-shuddering cunt.
The explosion of his climax triggered a fresh round of spasms inside her. Harvey lay in helpless ecstasy as she twitched and trembled around his exhausted penis.
Gradually, the aftershocks died away. The delicious weight of Deidre’s body rested on his chest. His bedroom smelled of sex, mixed with essence of rose. Harvey buried his face in her neck, breathing in the remnants of perfume from her damp skin.
“Harvey,” said Deidre, turning her head to look him in the eye, “I hope you don’t mind. I don’t normally force myself on men.”
“Mind?” Harvey felt like giggling. “Do you know how much I’ve been wanting you?”
She grinned mischievously and gave his cock an affectionate squeeze. “Well, I had some idea. But you were so shy, I really didn’t think I could seduce you while you were conscious. So I decided to take advantage of you when your guard was down.”
She paused to kiss him, her tongue dancing playfully in his mouth. He returned her kiss with an ardour that transformed play into passion. He could feel the heat beginning to build again where his crotch was close to hers.
“So am I forgiven?” she asked after a time, blue flame flickering in her eyes.
Filled with new confidence, Harvey rolled her over on to her back. He let his hands wander for a while over her lovely, cello-shaped body. Leaning over, he brought the tip of his tongue to the rose tattooed in the hollow of her throat. “Well, that depends. .”