Inherited Malice: A Dark Secret Society Romance

When yet another song finished and Beau finally pulled us to the side of the ballroom, I was breathless from more than just the dancing. My heart was about pounding out of my chest.

But there was no moment to catch my breath before another Elder had approached us. “An excellent living display of your family jewels,” said the Elder with a smirk to Beau. “But now it’s time to add a selection of pearls.”

I looked to Beau questioningly—I was already decked out at my neck, wrists, earrings, and even my tits. Where exactly were these pearls going to go?

But as the second cabinet was opened, I realized that I simply suffered from lack of imagination.

Because for once, I realized that the night would be about slowly covering ourselves instead of becoming more naked.

But each item we covered ourselves in—all Radcliffe specialty items, I’d bet—were nothing so innocent as simple jewelry.

What awaited us in this case, for example. They were tiny pairs of lace underwear with no crotch except for a string of pearls strung in the middle.

My eyes went wide but again Beau didn’t pause or flinch. He just reached for a silky black pair with gleaming pearls and, like a gentleman in a storybook, he bent down before me. But unlike Cinderella’s prince putting a glass slipper on her foot, he lifted my foot only so that he could slip the pearled panties up my legs.

His fingers caressed my legs, thumbs smoothing along my inner thighs as he worked them all the way up and settled them in place at my hips.

“Champagne?” asked a passing woman, also naked and bedecked in jewels. She carried a tray of glittering champagne flutes.

Beau took two and I gulped at the sight of the delicate flutes in his masculine hands. When he held one out to me, I decided, fuck it, there was nothing like being bold. We both knew where this night was leading.

Indeed, around us, some had coupled off and begun the night’s real festivities.

So I brought the flute of champagne to my mouth, swirled it against my lips, and then let it spill down my body, past my navel, and onto the pearls at my pussy.

Beau watched the trail of champagne as it flowed down my body and then his eyes flashed back up to mine.

“Look what you’ve done now,” he said, his voice low and dark. “You’ve made a mess.”

My heart hiccupped at the dark promise in his tone. “What are you going to do about it?” I whispered back. “Are you going to punish me for it?”

His pupils went dark as his nostrils flared. “You shouldn’t play with dangerous things you don’t understand, little girl.”

I just arched an eyebrow at him, went to take another sip of champagne, and again let it dribble over my full bottom lip and down my body.

Without taking his eyes off me, he wrapped an arm around my waist and moved his body into mine, forcing me to scramble backwards. Like on the dance floor, it was either adjust to his movements or stumble and fall.

He was reasserting who was boss in this little drama. And like before, I was smart enough to recognize that, in some situations, the only way not to sink was not to swim, but simply to hold on for dear life to the only life vest you had nearby—which in this case happened to be him.

So I clung to him and walked backwards until he had me against a wall. And then he took my own champagne glass and lifted it to my lips. But before it could touch, he poured it all down the front of me, making waterfalls over the nipple clamps and then dramatically splashing the last bits at the bottom against my pussy so that I was a dripping, soggy, sparkling mess.

And then he dropped to his knees in front of me and wrenched my legs open wider than was a comfortable stance.

With one hand I grasped the wall and with the other, I held on to his shoulder. Even though he was the one on his knees, he’d made sure I was off-kilter and that I knew he was still the one in control.

But when his mouth latched onto my clitoris, tonguing the silky pearls against my bud and lapping up me and the splashed champagne and back and forth and back and forth—

“Oh God!” I cried, not caring where we were, who heard me, not caring about anything but the fucking magic silk of his tongue against my most private place and the nirvana he’d just launched me into.

My legs shook but I managed to stay standing as he wrapped an arm around my upper thigh and drew me even further and harder against his face and his mightily seeking tongue.

I continued to spasm. The orgasm didn’t stop. I was liquid, melting lava between my legs, the pleasure that lit me up had turned me into a being of light, so exquisite, all the sparkles of the gemstones in the room were lit up inside me.