Free Requisite Vices by Miranda Veil Page B

with nothing to hold on to and I feel like a flailing fledgling thrust from the warm nest of safety with the ground rushing up to meet me. But that fear is quickly replaced, and all I see are his eyes, his lips, his naked body on top of me, pinning me down to the pool table with everyone watching.
    His hand grips my thigh and it clears my thoughts, leaving me unsatisfied and aching.
    “Finish your drink. We’re not far, now.” He smiles as his fingers dance over my exposed skin, leaving lightning in their wake.
    Smiling sheepishly, I drown myself in the rest of my drink. How unladylike.
    We continue the trek to his home, passing several couples and a horse drawn carriage with the driver spouting, what clearly sounds like bullshit, about the various structures in an attempt to impress the tourists in his backseat. I draw my eyes upward, happy and content walking hand and hand with him as we discuss the various architectural features found on the homes of the French Quarter. They’re so intricate and beautiful, each iron wrapped balcony joined with the first floor by elegantly curled scroll brackets. Each one unique and beautiful.
    We pass by a store front with neon lights flashing in its window, advertising its chapel services right next to a window with voodoo charms, and his hand is in my hair again. His mouth finds mine, his tongue slithering across my lips seeking entrance, then running, twisting together with my tongue in a forbidden, exotic dance.
    “You’re incredibly sexy” he whispers against my lips, each word searing my skin, oozing against my ears with a carnal need. “I want you.”
    My body tenses as I press against him, my fingers finding the small of his back and gripping tightly, feeling the lean, tensed muscles beneath his shirt. I want to rip his clothes off right here and now, and beg him to have his way with me.
    “We really should get indoors…” I whisper breathlessly, trying in vain to keep my voice from shaking, and to control the runaway desires battering against my body.
    “Not so comfortable out here?” he teases. “I’m sure no one would bat an eye at us.”
    “No! I’m not comfortable…” I frantically check the windows of the surrounding buildings and scan the faces of the people on the street. Several couples are eying us, whether it’s out of curiosity or some twisted amusement, I have no idea.
    Taking my hand, we round the next corner. The humidity of the night has left a sheen of sweat on every inch of my body, and I’m oddly aware of how disgusting I feel in clothes that must be soaked through by now. I really could use a shower.
    “We’re almost there.”
    He leads me to a set of large deep red arched doors, twists the lock, and pulls me through a white stone corridor into an outdoor courtyard. It’s completely sheltered by the surrounding buildings on all sides, but open to the clear, star-littered night sky. It’s a world cut off from the French Quarter surrounding us; like a secret oasis meant only for us.
    Squeezing my hand affectionately, he leads me around a large, stone fountain in the center of the courtyard. The three tiered basins play home to thin silver threads, which dance, twist, and play in the bright moonlight.
    I’m led to a pair of large white washed French doors set against an impressively thin three story home. The second and third floors cradle balconies wrapped in the same wrought iron reminiscent of the French Quarter homes we’d passed just moments before. I had no idea a house lay just beyond those wooden doors when looking from the street, and certainly did not expect something as impressive as this.
    “After you” he smiles, stealing a kiss to my hand as I slip through the doors.
    I step inside his home and am completely overwhelmed by books; they’re absolutely everywhere. I feel as if I’ve stepped into heaven itself, led by my own personal angel.
    The dark wood floors stretch out from the foyer, bleeding into the kitchen on my