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Again by the window he came, a lithe spirit, a dark haired angel of the night, observing her. She was absolutely intriguing, this feminine mortal creature. So unlike the others he had seen more times than he cared to remember. Behind the dark green velvet drapes, he waited patiently for her to come into the private sanctity of her boudoir. The room in which she would share with him – unknowing –  her innermost thoughts, dreams, and fantasies.

The last arousal he had felt had been nearly a century ago. The last woman to have made him stir was Amarante’s great grandmother, and she had loved life. Much like she, his present lust, loved it. Each inhalation became pure exaltation: not one moment was missed, but rather appreciated for whatever mystery was held within.  Even her name suited his longing for her soul: Amarante, meaning unfading. In poetry, Amaranth is an imaginary flower that never fades and never dies. Amarate, he reflected, would become unfading too if she were but willing to drink… Her great grandmother had chosen not to drink of eternity and it had broken him to watch her die.

This night Amarante would be bringing her dearest friend home. He had heard the maids speak of “Yvette”, whose trunks had been brought to his love’s room. Yvette and Amarante; delicious…

Their warmth signaled their arrival and immediately the dark angel knew they were near.  Their laughter filled the stillness of the air as suddenly doors burst open. Giggling, covered in bright yellow silk, Yvette stumbled into the room first. She twirled round and round and spun until she collapsed into a silly lump of yellow on the floor. Amarante, leapt into the room after her, the palest pink silk imaginable wrapped tightly around her body. Her dress showed her every gorgeous curve, right down to the full train. The pink was so pale that her skin and dress appeared nearly the same tint, save for the deeper blush upon her cheeks. Amarante’s hair was piled high atop her head, but a few soft tendrils had escaped and were dangling over her bare shoulders.

She was a vision. Exquisite black gloves covered her hands, up to her toned upper arms. Her diamond and sapphire jewelry, glittering in the dim candlelight, caught his attention and then drew it to her lavender eyes. They were like deep-fringed pools that he wished would become a looking glass for the soul he had given up so long ago…

Grabbing Yvette’s gloved hands, Amarante pressed them to her bosom, and then peeled off each glove whilst kissing Yvette’s upturned palms. “I do love the taste of you darling,” she whispered in Yvette’s ear.

Yvette giggled and kissed Amarante’s neck. Leaning her head against Amarante’s breast she sighed, “Amara, this night was grand. I cannot thank you enough. How you could bear to give the man up is beyond me… my sweet Am, but I do thank you. We danced the evening away and I have not had such fun in a long long while.”

Amarante laughed. “’Twas all for you, m’dear. To see you laughing and having a wonderful time is grand beyond measure. Anyhow, you know what I say: deep male voices are the best sound by which to fall asleep and his voice was not to my liking. At least an octave too high. If I wanted that, I would be with you.”

Yvette grew serious for a moment. Her pretty brow furrowed. “And will you not be with me this night? I- I had … had hoped … haaaptishhhoo, ishhhh, ishhhooo! … Oh my, excuse me."

Amara held Yvette close as she sneezed, then kissed her forehead. “Dear Yvette, of course I will be with you. Bless you - are you chilled?” Amara’s black-gloved hands tipped the dark blonde’s head back as she looked deep into Yvette’s eyes. “You have been sneezing since after dinner – shall I have a fire lit for you?”

Yvette smiled. “A fire would be most excellent. I … I isschhhhooo, chushhhhhooo! Oh, excuse me. I am a little chilled at that.”

Amarante instantly moved to the hall door and pulled the bell cord. Then she took Yvette by the hand, helped her up, and paused to kiss her friend full on the mouth until Yvette moaned in pleasure. Amarante laughed a laugh that her observer felt in his groin.

Leading Yvette to a chaise before the fireplace, Amarante pulled off her friend’s kid shoes and wrapped a blanket about her shoulders. “We cannot have you catch cold, my dear. I am well used to this country; I welcome it as spring. But you have always faired better in a warmer clime, even when we were children – remember the colds you would catch, poor darling?”

“I remember your tender care every spring.  Tis true, I do catch cold each time I come to the countryside. Damnit Amara, my nose is running now. Will it ruin our evening?”

Amarante sat next to her dear friend, smiling, and stroked her frown away. “Au contraire, ma petite. I find your sneezing most arousing. I feel each sneeze deep inside my little flower. So long as you are not miserable, it will simply serve to fuel my fire for you this night.”

Yvette’s dark eyes narrowed for an instant and she sneezed, her head bobbing. “Happtishhh.”

Amara immediately kissed her, gently biting on her lower lip. Drawing Yvette into her arms, Amarante slid her hands down the girl's sides. But then the butler’s footfalls could be heard outside the door and Amarante stood, opening the door for him.

“Mademoiselle, you requested a fire and tis well into spring - are you well this eve?” he asked bowing deeply. The butler was filled with concern as he lit the fire, and afterwards he stood to gaze intently at Amarante.

Giggling, Amarante laid her hand warmly on the butler’s arm as she answered: “Oh, do not fret, Hugh. I am well; ‘tis Yvette! She has again caught cold in the country.”

“’Tis good to hear you are well,” the butler replied. “I am sorry our clime does not agree with you, Miss Yvette."

“I- I am … am … ashhhooo, hptishhhh!” Yvette sneezed, then sniffed. “I will be fine. Thag you.”

Hugh fanned the fire and the flames licked round the logs greedily, seeking to burn one for the other. When it was warm and lively, he turned to leave. But at the door, he paused and said:

“Miss Amarante, perhaps closing the balcony door would be wise, for Miss Yvette would not fair the damp dew of morn well if she is to stay in here this eve.”

Amarante smiled and nodded. “You are correct, Hugh. I’ll take care of it. I have tended a fire or two in my day. Have a nice night; it is never a good idea to keep your lovely wife waiting. I assure you – I am more than happy to tend to Yvette.”

Hugh smiled warmly at her, understanding, and left the room.

Amarante stroked Yvette’s hair until the girl’s eyes closed, then she moved to close the balcony doors where the dark angel sat. First, she had to have a gaze at the night and thank God for the day she had experienced.  Walking onto the balcony, she felt him, before she saw him, but she was not afraid. Without turning, she spoke:

“You watch me often enough, but make no proper introduction. What is it you are seeking?”

The dark angel, completely taken aback, was pleased beyond measure. Her fearlessness aroused him more than he had expected and he cleared his throat as he moved to her side.

“I am of the night, milady,” he answered. “I seek to know you and, as sure as I stand here now, I am in awe of you.”

His cold hands rested on the balcony rail, his presence filled her with wanting, but still she would not look at him.  His voice was a song that she had never heard, the deep rich tones striking chords within her abdomen that uncurled her arousal.

Placing her hand upon his, Amarante smiled. “You seek to know me, milord - surely there is more, for you are not mere mortal coil. No, you are far more than that. I feel a certain warmth in your touch. Tell me, are you pleasant to gaze upon?”

The dark angel laughed, and his deep rich tones reverberated through her soul. “I dare say I am most pleasant to gaze upon, yet you will look not at me? Perhaps I can help you find that desire…”

Allowing her hand to remain upon his, the dark angel raised his other hand and trailed it against Amarante’s skin. He stroked down her shoulder, across her collarbone before dipping into her cleavage for a second and then back up her neck to her jaw line. He had progressed all the way to her cheek before she finally followed his finger to gaze upon the most handsome man she had ever seen.

His ice blue stare seemed to grip her own, but more curious was the manner in which he beckoned with his index finger for her to draw near. Amara was spellbound, never removing the hand that he still held lightly in his grasp. He bent his index finger and began to stroke the bridge of his nose up then down whilst looking directly at her. Twice his breath hitched, and Amara could not believe she what she was bearing witness to. 

This beautiful man knew what it was that she wanted. The dark angel knew her lust-filled, deepest desire.  His deep voice had touched her down below and she was dripping wet, with desire partly stemming from Yvette and partly from yearning to feel him inside her.

His breath hitched again and his eyes squinted slightly, “Hettchhhhh!”

He sneezed and then rubbed his nose again, in the same manner, breathing in and out slowly, purposefully. Amara’s heart thrummed in her chest with excitement, with anticipation of the next sneeze, and he did not disappoint her.

“Heuptchaaa, Hasshhhhhah, iissshhhh!” He sneezed deeply, a perfect mixture of his voice and sneeze sound ringing through the night air.

Amarante trembled slightly. How did one react when a sneeze was sneezed on purpose? “Thank you.” She spoke sincerely, continuing to gaze up at him. “But what of Yvette?"

The dark angel released Amarante with delight and threw his head back. He laughed genuinely, a rich melody of sound, and then said:

“The dear girl has caught cold and look, she sleeps now. I promise you she will not awaken until you return. I shall provide her with most pleasant dreams of your tender ministrations. You can play with her in the wee hours of the morning, should you still seek female arousal.

“Come with me into the remaining night Amarante, let me show you my world – a world that could be yours…” That said, the dark angel reached out his hand and bowed deeply. In a moment, her black-gloved hand was placed in his and Amarante’s warm kiss fell upon his cheek.

“Take me Milord – this night, I belong to you…”