NICHOLAS: THE LORDS OF SATYR
ELIZABETH AMBER
APHRODISIA
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Epilogue
Author’s note
PROLOGUE
Satyr Estate, Tuscany, Italy
1823
It was Moonful and a Calling night.
The Lords of Satyr met silently in the sacred gathering place at the heart of the family’s ancient vineyard. Instinct had driven them here. Need fueled them.
They paused beneath a large statue—the most imposing of those that ringed the isolated glen. Above them on a pedestal, Bacchus stood frozen in stone. Grapevines wreathed his hair, and a wine goblet was extended in one hand as though he were offering a toast in celebration of what they were about to do.
The first shaft of moonlight dispelled the murk, drenching the lords in its silver, revealing their nakedness. Almost in unison, they were seized by cramps that rippled cruelly over their taut bellies. They bent low, their features contorting into grimaces. Raw groans that were a blend of pain and pleasure erupted from their throats as the last physical change of the Calling night occurred.
Nicholas, the eldest, recovered first.
His eyes made a quick survey of the glen. It was protected, he knew. Strangers never came here. When Humans wandered too close, they were repelled by a force they didn’t understand.
He willed himself to uncoil and stand, relieved that the turmoil had passed. He hated the feeling of helplessness that always accompanied the Change. He couldn’t afford to be vulnerable, even for so short a time. There was too much at stake.
It would be dangerous for anyone to see him or his brothers like this. He was a freakish creature now, fit only for a harem or brothel that catered to those with a taste for the bizarre. Just the sort of place he might frequent, were he in a particular sort of mood.
He touched himself, slid a thumb and two fingers along newly awakened flesh from root to crown. His thumb found the drop of moisture in the crease at his tip and idly smeared it.
The last Change of Moonful had gifted him with this new shaft of bone and sinew—this second cock ripped from his own flesh. It extended high and hard from his pelvis, and twitched with hunger. Only slightly smaller than the enormous cock already rooted just below in his thatch, it craved relief as much as its twin. He soothed it, stroking. Mimicking the welcome it would soon find between female thighs, as he waited for his brothers to undergo a similar change.
At his command, ribbons of swirling mist spun in the glen and then stilled, shape-shifting. Iridescent forms rose from the vapor and solidified into Shimmerskins—insentient females who had serviced the Satyr since ancient times. Their soft hands caressed his newly furred haunches, offering comfort.
Moments later, the three lords moved apart to pursue their individual pleasures. Their instincts were more animal than man now, their minds riveted on one goal.
The Shimmerskins moved before them like lush automatons, each dutifully preparing to fulfill the role for which she’d been designed. Eagerly, they padded to the small tablelike altars dotting the glen. Their smiles were vacant, their movements gliding.
Breasts and abdomens met cold granite as they bent forward over the stone slabs, with their legs widespread and their bare feet planted in the moss. Orifices automatically moistened and readied as they prostrated themselves, awaiting the pleasure of the lords, just as countless legions of their kind had offered themselves here over the centuries.
Each brother chose a Shimmerskin and nestled close behind her.
Moonlight caught the cobalt glitter of his eyes as Nicholas stood over a golden Shimmerskin. With his thumbs, he pressed the ruddy, straining tips of his cocks to the anal and vaginal openings on display. Like his brothers, he needed two female openings at once for his first mating of this night. His second cock required only a single ejaculation and would afterward retreat inside him until next month’s Moonful.
His palms flattened upon the stone on either side of her hips. He didn’t prepare her as he would a Human woman. Shimmerskins didn’t feel pain. Or pleasure, though they faked it well.
A low rumble welled in his chest as he stared down at her smooth, glimmering back. With a harsh growl, he plunged deep.
She moaned as her kind always did when he breached one. Nearby, her sisters echoed the lonely feminine sound. It meant nothing, he knew. Everything they did was programmed to incite male passion. He had but to imagine an action and she would perform it, no matter how obscene or debauched.
He drew back and plunged again, and again. Dual stabs sacrificed her to his rhythmic grind. Her tissues worshiped his cocks like wet fists, tugging him toward release with methodical precision.
Distantly, he felt his brothers’ exultation in their rut, and it fueled his own. Satyr blood linked them, causing them to share emotions at times of heightened stress.
For long moments, the stark slap of heated flesh was loud in the hush of the glen. Nick bucked with mindless, merciless strength, scarcely registering the attentions of the other Shimmerskins whose hands entwined and caressed him, as they awaited a turn.
Fauns, nymphs, faeries, and maenads sculpted from rock and forever locked in carnal embraces gazed down on the scene with lusty approval. Bacchus smiled indulgently, pleased.
Rapture spiraled, each brother’s passion building on that which another experienced. For a time, Nick lost himself to the animalistic mating.
Eventually, his sacs drew up, tightening. Raw need twisted in his gut.
Three triumphant shouts of release sounded almost at once. Hot, wet seed blasted forth. The Shimmerskins’ inner passages convulsed in acceptance.
Nick’s breath sawed in his lungs in the aftermath of the anguished, empty gratification.
He