Black Desire Read Free

play. Greg had
“decade's themes” and last night was the ‘80's. Tonight it was the ‘60's. Mick
Jagger began to warble, “Playing with Fire.” Was he playing with fire? His
heart had not been engaged at all with anyone, not since 1939. He glanced at
the door. She would be here and soon, he would bet money on it.
    He heard the door
swing open— she was here. His head
whipped around to look at the front entrance. She had not seen him yet. Tristan
reached for his drink, stood and sank back into the shadows. He watched as she
walked toward Greg. He was having the reaction again. His insides roiled and
lurched madly. He closed his eyes and his long lashes feathered his cheekbones.
His nostrils flared and he breathed in her essence. God's mercy, she was
luscious, exotic and glorious. This was certainly a revelation. He had not been
ruffled like this in recent memory. Oh, he indulged in meaningless sex over the
years, unfamiliar women too numerous to count. But none touched him nor
elicited a reaction out of him beyond the physical—until now.
    She laughed and talked
with Greg. How did she know him?     He wanted to inspect the woman who ensnared
his senses.   The lights above gave him a
clear contemplation. She stood 5’5”. And—his hooded eyes raked over her form—she
was not skinny or slender exactly but neither was she plump. He hated this
starved look women today seemed to go for, collarbones sticking out and spines
clearly visible. In his age, women were more voluptuous and curvy. He liked
something to grab onto and this woman had an abundant pair of tits. His mouth
watered. He imagined his hands filling themselves with her large breasts. They seemed
real enough but who could tell in this present age?   Her long and dark blonde hair had golden
highlights that shimmered under the lights. She had bluish, gray eyes with
flecks of gold, a small pert nose and under it full pink lips the color of a
carnation and he would bet just as soft.   She laughed some more.   Inhaling,
he smelled Elizabeth Arden “Sunflowers,” citrus soap, willow scented shampoo
and more.
    Tristan's eyes burned
and his pulse quickened. Was it the “need”? The Blood Lust? Didn't he take care
of that last night? No, he did not want her blood. Not yet. The feeling was as
foreign as it was frightening. His hollowed cheeks worked feverishly. His eyes
shone with interest. The blood, thick and hot, roared through his arteries.
    He listened to the
conversation. Her voice spoke of dark, sultry nights and whiskey and cigarettes
but was still very much feminine in its cadence. She also possessed a
sparkling, deep laugh.   She referred to Greg
as her cousin. Ah. Of course, the Hammonds had relatives in Upper Canada,
although no one in this century or the last referred to the Province of Ontario
as Upper Canada anymore.
    He took one step out
of the shadow. He had to get closer to the woman who affected him so and awaked
emotions and reactions long buried. Tristan turned and gazed at her and a
red-hot poker was shoved through his heart and groin simultaneously. Blood
rushed to his cock, thickening and lengthening it as it strained behind the
zipper of his black jeans. He shuddered from the reaction. No, this can't happen, not after all this time .
    He’d managed for the
past seventy years to allow no one to breach the wall he had built around
himself and his battered heart. He intended to keep the wall in place. Firmly.
    However, he could not
stop his legs from walking toward Greg and the woman.
    "Greg," Tristan's
deep gravel voice rasped. "Please introduce us."
    "Tristan Black,
this is my cousin, Katrina Hammond. She is visiting from Scarborough, Ontario.
Katrina, this is my friend, Tristan."
    Katrina smiled
pleasantly. "Mr. Black. Pleased to meet you."
    Tristan stared at her
intensely, drank in her fresh beauty and savored the open and friendly way she
looked and spoke. She gazed at him frankly and did not flinch from his heated
gaze.
    "The