<span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 10pt;">►Chantal◄</span><br/>► Company:  Triste<br/><br/><div class="floatright">(http://i1177.photobucket.com/albums/x359/Briar_Rose_Thorne/Chantal_zps0a3ae8a7.jpg)</div><br/>Though Chantal knew Lord Richleau meant his words only to express his pleasure, she still tutted softly, giving a little shake of her head but smiling to soften her words.<em>"You should not speak of death so glibly in a place such as zhis, my lord.  Zhe walls of zhis place have sheltered many acts of living, but death walks here also.  Do not invite his attention, even in jest.  Zhe world would be an uglier place zhan it is already without your presence."</em><br/><br/>She had only the vaguest idea of what sort of creature he might be, but the smattering of mythology that she had learned from her mother and the serving girls she had employed suggested the touch of the loa at the least.  Her mother's interest in Voodoo had been marginal, a curiosity only, and though Chantal had been fascinated by the legends in younger years, she had quickly come to the conclusion that the rituals to appeal to such spirits were as likely to bring woe as weal.  Whatever loa or the like found their way to her at Madame Velvet's, she preferred it be at their will.<br/><br/>Even as she spoke, she continued her efforts to remove the second boot and stocking, using the fingertips and thumb to gently massage the other foot as well, then gently and slowly pressed her lips along the tender skin over the arch and to the top of his ankle.<em> "Even so, I am happy to know that I please you.  Zhis night, I would wish for nothing more."</em><br/><br/>While Chantal had once read voraciously, she no longer had the appreciation for the absolute value of words that she had once had.  Now, they were simply part of a beautifully coreographed movement, like a dance or perhaps a duel.  They enhanced, they decorated, they lifted into the air and slammed into the earth, and the degree of sincerity behind them was as fluid as the sexual pleasure derived from a caress or kiss.  His compliments were as the brush of his foot or the rovings of his hands earlier, a pleasure to be savored and perhaps even remembered, and she welcomed and accepted them as such.<br/><br/>There was certainly a great deal of pleasure to be derived from removing Trieste's clothing, both for her appreciation of the beauty of his form and for the unhurried acceptance of the simple joy of touching and being touched with desire unmotivated by any darker motive.  The shoes and socks, neatly folded, went under the bed to be retrieved later before Chantal rose and stepped lightly to the side so that she could maneuver her kneeling body behind her lover where he sat.  Slowly, she brushed away the dark curls that rested above his collar with her fingers before leaning softly in to his back and dipping her head low enough for her lips to caress the outside of his neck while her hands slipped further over his shoulders to the buttons of his shirt.  Rather than a punctuated series of kisses, her lips moved over the warmth of his skin without lifting, sometimes pressing more firmly than others as her tongue flicked outward to taste his skin, and her teeth pressed ever so gently.  Each breath against his skin just above her mouth was warm as the evening bayou sun and her fingers moved slowly but with hardly a pause as she freed each button, pulling upward to reach the last fastening as she teased the tucked portion of the fabric from beneath his waistband.<br/><br/>Her heart beat strongly, the rhythm of its drum subtly quickening with the steps of the dance they wove, and she arched her body just enough to coax the shirt off his shoulders, the backs of her fingers and nails lightly running over the smoothness of his skin.