Image courtesy of alexisdc. at FreeDigitalPhotos.net
Rating: Mature
“Not ready yet, my dear.”
Cheyanne glanced over her shoulder in annoyance at the vampire lord who bought her body and soul, but not her spirit. “I would be if your brother didn’t keep unzipping the dress.”
“Garrett.” Clayton admonished, a touch of exasperation lacing his voice.
“I can’t help it, Clay,” the ghost formed between the woman and the silver-backed mirror. “This body should never be covered up. Especially these bazongas.” He reached for the large breasts the loose dress top revealed, the dark brown tips drawing into points as his cold presence brushed against them.
“While I agree with the sentiment, our guest and I are expected at a gala within the hour.” The younger brother approached the warlock-kin’s back and grasped the zipper, sliding it up her back.
Rather than keep eye contact, Cheyanne turned back to the mirror where her master remained invisible. Garrett hadn’t fully formed, so she could focus past him. Knocking his insubstantial hands out of the way, she pulled the top into place as the fabric tightened with the closure. She worked hard to appear resolutely angry when the ninety-year-old vampire raised her hair to kiss the back of her neck, and the ghost, who had died in his teens, continued to play with her nipples through the beaded fabric.
One day she would kill her father for enslaving her, and maybe when she raised him from the dead with her rapidly developing necromantic powers, she would thank him for selling her to the brothers.
(words 253; first published 2/24/2019)