Steam Heat
Authors: Elizabeth Darvill
Tags: #Erotica, #Short Stories (Single Author), #Fiction
In a world of speed steamers, poisoned air and soulless paranormal beings, two people hold the fate of millions in their hands—and their bodies….
As a half-succubus, Angel needs energy from sex to live. The temporary fulfillment she gets from strangers is nothing compared to the erotic encounters in her linked dreams with Ian, the man whose soul she shares. Lately the dreams have become more intense and intoxicating, which can mean only one thing: she and Ian are dying, just like the magical crystal that purifies the city’s air. Only by making love in person and joining their split soul can they heal both themselves and the crystal.
Yet despite Ian’s amazing sexual prowess, Angel doesn’t want to give up her other lovers, like sassy steam engineer Jezebel. Can they resolve their differences and continue sharing a bed to save themselves—and the world?
Ian’s fingers slide a slow caress, skimming lightly over the slope of my breasts and heading south. The breath catches in my throat as the sensation tingles and sparkles through my veins, igniting my senses. My hips involuntarily lift up, beckoning to Ian, demanding release. The tethers holding my wrists to the iron bed frame don’t give an inch as I test them. There is little I can do, other than plead with Ian to ease my anguish. If he doesn’t go faster in his torment of my body, I will bridge the gap from pleasure to insanity. “Ian, for Christ’s sake, just fuck me, already.”
“Not, yet my beautiful captive. You have been a naughty girl and this is the best form of torture I know.” With a wicked glint in his smoky hazel eyes, Ian closes his lips around my nipple as his hand roams lower.
“Oh please,” I have no clue what exactly I am begging for. I just know something has got to give me the relief I am seeking, and quickly, before I spontaneously combust from pleasure. I have survived brutal torture, being stabbed, shot and just about any kind of pain you can imagine, and I have taken it with stoic silence. This kind of torment is my undoing. It feels so good to let someone else be in control, even as my body fights for dominance. My arms strain at my bonds, trying to take control of the situation. A fine sheen of sweat coats every inch of my skin and my heart feels as if it might burst from my chest.
“There is so much fire in you, my sweet Angel.” Brushing his fingers lightly over my clit, Ian teases me into frenzy. “Soon, I will bury myself deep within you. I can only be gentle for so long, with the temptations you present.” The hard edges of his teeth scrape my nipple, peaking it into a hard nub of pulsating pleasure. Making good on his word, Ian positions himself above me, ready to give me the relief I so desire.
“Jesus, Ian. Just do it already,” I pant out as words begin to fail me.
“So demanding, my Angel.” In one quick thrust, Ian buries himself to the hilt. A ripple of pleasure blossoms in my core, and radiates outward in shock waves of delicious sensation, skittering across my sweat-soaked skin.
“Holy fuck,” I whisper as my hips buck against Ian, attempting to take him in further and push my pleasure to the next level of ecstasy.
Grabbing the headboard with one hand for leverage, Ian picks up the pace, thrusting into me almost savagely. His desire reaches a fevered pitch, transforming him into a magnificent sexual being.
My orgasm is within reach. Each nerve ending is firing off bursts of ecstasy with each thrust from Ian. It is so intense, I feel myself black out….
Wait, this isn’t right. My brain slowly starts to uncloud. I am lying alone on a cold, damp, metal floor, furiously rubbing my clit through my pants. My fingers are involuntarily working off the fantastic, yet frustrating dream. Talk about leaving a girl wanting.
Irritated at the way my body is still thrumming with sexual energy, I pull my hand away from my aching center. There is business I need to attend to. I pull myself slowly off the hard floor, stretching as I work out the kinks. My eyes are crossing with a combination of sleep and desire. A light throbbing is ricocheting through my temples. I need coffee. My fingers dig into the small pocket of my cropped jacket, until they close around the hard metal of my pocket watch. As I draw it out, I hit the button to flip the face open. Shit. I am so very late.
If I don’t get to Grand Central Station within the hour, any chance I have of finding the man who can keep me from dying is lost. Relying on a man for help is beneath me. I can’t believe I have been reduced to this. The erotic dreams have been coming with increasing intensity, which can only mean he needs me about as much as I need him at this point. It is a mild consolation. I will have to dress in a far more risqué fashion if I am going to blend into the den of iniquity that Grand Central Station has become. If I am lucky, I can pick up a quick energy boost from some willing and ready dandy, who doesn’t mind a quick romp with a girl with black eyes.
Given the fact that every other being you run into lately is a monster or creature of some sort, I don’t stand out that much. There was a time I was an oddity; not now. Not since the paranormal creatures have come out of hiding and we coexist. The world has shifted from one of proper dignity to one containing a variety of vagabonds and scoundrels. It has only gotten worse as the crystal that purifies the air is dying and the end is near. The chaos swirling through everyone benefits my lifestyle, so I have few complaints about the way things are working out.
I shrug out of my jacket, pull off the tattered camisole and toss it casually to the side. Yesterday, I was the assassin, today I am the vixen. As I dig through the contents of my leather satchel, I locate a smooth band of rich brown leather with a variety of straps and buckles attached to it. I force the ridged leather over my head and inch it down slowly until it barely covers my breasts. Satisfied they are not going anywhere, I slide my pistol into the holster pouch hanging off the side of my chest harness. Almost dislocating my shoulders, I lace myself tightly into a black corset that rests just under my breasts and pushes them up to lovely heights. Perfect for distracting the male population. In this day and age you need to use whatever you’ve got. Being half succubus, what I’ve got is sex appeal.
The smooth, silky fabric of my vibrant green skirt glides up my legs seductively, reminding me that just moments ago I had what would have been a mind-shattering orgasm interrupted. I fasten the waistband of my skirt. It sports a full bustle in the back, but very little cloth in the front. With a flick of my wrist I wind my thick hair up and shove a hatpin through the whole mess to hold it in place. Taking another peek at the time, I hastily roll on some black stockings and shove my feet into sturdy leather boots.
I sling my satchel over my shoulder and fasten a leather belt around my hips before shoving another pistol in each side. As I begin walking to the battered metal door of my underground hideout, a pain rips through my chest. My knees buckle and I am falling towards the floor, I can’t seem to catch my breath. Shit, what if I am too late after all? Flames of agony lick through my chest, consuming the half of a soul I possess. It has never been this bad before. A coughing fit seizes me—hard enough to produce a mouthful of blood. Fuck me.
My head lolls back against the rough upholstery of my seat. I am aboard one of the speed steamers that roam the landscape of America. They shuttle all manner of criminals, missionaries, the few remaining aristocrats and fortune seekers from the wilderness to the city and back again. I paid my price and got my fix. Even with the high of energy flowing through me after my sexual encounter with the steamer’s owner, I can feel the ache as what little soul I have left rapidly deteriorates.
At least I got the information I required. I am now speeding into the Catskill Mountains and towards the other half of my soul. I hope to hell he is suffering as much as I am. I have never met him in real life, but we have shared some hot, nasty sexual encounters in linked dreams. The more we need each other, the more realistic and intoxicating the dreams become.
As I kick my boots up on the empty seat across from me, I massage my temples to try to ease the throbbing. I have no idea what I am going to say to Ian when I see him. I don’t even know if he is aware of his heritage. All I could gather is he is in an apprenticeship with Nikola Tesla, in the foothills of the Catskill Mountains. They are attempting to find a way to repower the crystal that purifies our air.
About the time the paranormal creatures began to appear, the air turned rancid and killed off a huge chunk of the population. A strange green man with the ability to speak without opening his mouth appeared with a crystal the size of a steam engine. He claimed that if it were powered by an energy source, it would keep the air pure. His only condition was that humans and the para-folk coexist in peace. President McKinley quickly agreed and appointed the man, who later said his name was simply Druson, as the vice president.
Things evened out a bit, but the culture was forever changed. Most of the other countries ended up with the same offer from beings similar to Druson, and Tesla supplied the power source. His coils kept a constant flow of energy to the crystals—until recently. Now our crystal is dying and so will we, since immigration has been cut off. None of this was too concerning to me until I felt myself dying, slowly at first, but it is reaching an accelerated pace I can’t ignore.
I was forced to return to the commune where I was born, a place I hadn’t visited in a very long time. When I demanded an answer from the elder of my clan as to why I felt as though I was dying, she calmly informed me I needed to find the boy whose soul I had been given half of at birth. She also very calmly told me that if I hadn’t run away, fleeing from my duty, I would have known this. And as a final insult she told me that with Ian’s energy, I would have the power to recharge the crystal. This is all too much responsibility for me, but seeing as how dying isn’t high on my list, I have few choices.
The sound of the steamer’s whistle blowing lets me know I have reached my destination, but where Ian is is a little sketchy. I only vaguely know where Tesla’s lab is. With a sigh, I sling my satchel over my shoulder, nod to the few other passengers dozing in their seats and make my way to the platform and, I hope, a second chance at life.