Visions in Velvet
506 Words
Ellen spent the day lost in the library's embrace. Her fingers danced across the keyboard. The gala scene unfolded vividly in her manuscript. Lorian Blackthorn stood at the ballroom's heart. Crystal chandeliers glittered above. Guests swirled in tuxedos and gowns. Captain Elias Crowe lurked by the punch bowl. His eyes burned with envy over lost contracts. Miss Amelia Thorne clung to Lorian's arm. Her smile hid diary-fueled scorn. Builder Harlan Voss polished his chalice. Overcharge ledgers burned in his pocket. Romance threaded the intrigue. Lorian stole glances at Amelia's sister, Eliza—a forbidden flame hinted in letters. Tension built to the toast. Chalice raised. Vanish.
She paused only for coffee refills. Research deepened the web. Cornerstone rune matched Lorian's watch glyph exactly. "Eternal pact" lore surfaced in occult forums: Botched ritual for undying legacy, binding soul to stone. Descendants pinged faintly—Crowe's line in Boston shipping, Thorne heirs in NYC society, Voss builders still local. Plot gold. Words poured out. Ten thousand added by dusk. Her breakthrough roared like the ocean below. Jake's shadow faded entirely.
Exhaustion tugged as fog thickened outside. She climbed to the master suite. The four-poster beckoned with crisp sheets. Bourbon warmed her veins. She slipped under covers. Waves lulled her. Sleep claimed her swiftly.
The dream bloomed in gaslight splendor. Blackthorn Manor's ballroom pulsed alive. Velvet gowns rustled. Laughter mingled with champagne fizz. Ellen wore silk, emerald hugging her curves. She wove through elites. Gray eyes locked hers—Luke, yet not. Tuxedo-clad Lorian Blackthorn approached. Chestnut waves gleamed under chandeliers. His pocket watch swung hypnotic. "Dance with me," he murmured. His voice rolled like thunder-tide.
They spun across parquet. His hand spanned her waist—cool silk through fabric, igniting fire. Suspects blurred: Crowe scowled from shadows, Thorne whispered poison, Voss etched runes unseen. Lorian pulled her to alcove drapes. Lips claimed hers. Cool, demanding velvet. Tongue teased entry, tasting sea salt and absinthe ghost. She melted against him. Fingers tangled his waves. He backed her to wall paneling. Cool palms slid under her bodice. Thumbs circled peaks, hardening them to ache. Silk pooled at her waist. His mouth trailed fire-chill down throat, collarbone. Nipped swell of breast. She arched, gasping. Levi's unbuttoned—wait, modern jeans amid gala? Luke's form flickered. Lorian's rune watch pressed her thigh. Hard length strained against her core through layers. Heat pooled wet. His fingers dipped skirt hem, tracing inner thigh upward. Teased lace edge. "Ellen," he growled—Lorian's timbre, Luke's storm eyes. Thrust promise hovered. Waves crashed audible. Chalice clinked nearby...
She jolted awake. Heart hammered. Sheets twisted damp between thighs. Skin flushed, n*****s peaked under nightgown. His sandalwood-sea scent clung phantom. Cool phantom touches ghosted her body—thigh slick, lips bruised-tender. How real. Too vivid for dream. Manor creaked soft. Clock downstairs whirred faint—1905 echo? She touched rune-traced thigh. Luke as Lorian? Madness. Arousal throbbed insistent. Fingers trailed lower instinctively. Waves roared approval outside. Sleep evaded. Muse burned hotter than ever.
Unseen, the cornerstone pulsed brighter.
- Writer
