Must Love Vampires Page 8

  “Not necessarily. Unless we’re feeding. Otherwise, it’s . . . optional.”

  Tipping her head, she pondered that for a minute. All kinds of images spilled through her mind. Sexy ones, scary ones, ones that fell somewhere in between. But of course, she had no way of knowing how accurate they were.

  “Is it good?” she asked with only a slight hitch to her voice.

  “Very.”

  For him, sure. It was probably right up there with achieving an actual orgasm. But since he was the only one with fangs, she suspected he was biased.

  “For both parties, though, not just the . . . heavy biter.”

  “I can make it that way, definitely.”

  “How?” she wanted to know, eyes narrowing with curiosity . . . and no small amount of self-preservation.

  “I’ll show you,” he said, grabbing her up again and kissing her until she forgot all about being bitten, or losing too much blood, or even her own name. His fangs scraped against her lips, but she didn’t care. If anything, knowing they were there, how dangerous they had the potential to be, turned her on even more.

  Holding her around the waist, he got to his feet, lifting her as though she weighed no more than one of his empty bottles of wine. Turning, he stalked across the living room without bumping into a single piece of furniture. His lips never left hers, his tongue never stopped delving inside her mouth as he carried her down the hall.

  And she was no wilting lily in this ballgame. Her arms and legs were wrapped around him like a squid’s, and she was kissing him back. Trying to suck out his molars, to be honest—if he had any molars to suck out. She also couldn’t seem to resist running her tongue back and forth over those pointed incisors. Testing, exploring, imagining what they could and would do to her before the night was over.

  When they reached his bedroom, he tipped her backwards so that she hit his giant, feather-soft mattress with a bounce. Her breath whooshed out and he pulled away from her.

  She nearly whimpered, wanting him back. Wanting her arms and legs still banded around him, his mouth still ravishing hers.

  It amazed her that she was here with him at all when she’d gone so very long without male attention. And to think that he was a vampire. An honest-to-Transylvania vampire. She’d hoped, imagined, dreamed . . . but in the back of her head, she hadn’t really believed it was possible.

  The idea was both exhilarating and frightening at the same time, but the part that made her most anxious wasn’t that Sebastian was immortal, or had come back from the dead, or needed to consume the blood of other humans to survive. It was that she was about to sleep with him.

  She’d been celibate for nearly a decade, and she decided to break her dry spell now? With a vampire, of all things? (Things? People? Species? She wasn’t even sure what the proper term would be.)

  No way was she changing her mind now, though. Falling into bed with a near-stranger was unusual for her. She’d never done it before in her life. Had never even considered it or thought she would be the type.

  But surprise, surprise. Turned out she was the type. Her sister would be so proud that she was shaking off her mourning for Matthew, her self-imposed celibacy. Of course, Chloe might not be quite as thrilled to discover that the guy Chuck chose to help rid her of her second virginity bit people for his survival.

  But she wanted this.

  Really, really wanted it, she thought again as Sebastian began systematically stripping her of the clothes she didn’t remember putting on in the first place. Without permission or warning, he yanked the undershirt up her torso and flipped it off over her head. Her arms flopped back to the mattress and her hair flew in every direction as he tossed the bit of white cotton aside.

  Then his hands moved to the elastic waistband of the plaid flannel pajama bottoms. They came off with one long sweep down her legs to fall to the floor, leaving her completely naked, bare to his hot, direct gaze.

  A flicker of uncertainly swept through her, making her want to do the coy pinup girl thing and cover herself with one arm across her breasts and a hand over her hoo-ha. Never mind that she’d decided just a bit ago that she had nothing to be ashamed of, figure-wise. Knowing she looked okay didn’t mean that butterflies didn’t start flapping away in her belly when she was lying naked in front of a very attractive, fully dressed, dark and dangerous man.

  But Sebastian didn’t leave her feeling shy for long. Still devouring her with his eyes, he dug an index finger into the knot of his tie and slipped it loose. He shrugged out of his expensive suit jacket, then opened his collar and the front of his inky blue dress shirt.

  Next he unbuckled his belt, the sound of metal clicking and leather sliding against fabric causing goose bumps to break out over her flesh. He unbuttoned his trousers and unzipped the fly, and this time, she shivered.

  God, was there anything sexier than watching a man undress? The rasp of clothing. The sight of bulging muscles and bronzed skin becoming visible inch by delicious inch.

  It surprised her, actually, how tan Sebastian was. Weren’t vampires supposed to be pale from lack of sunlight?

  But then, maybe he wasn’t tan-tan. Maybe that had been the natural tint of his skin when he became immortal. Or maybe—despite wide-spread beliefs to the contrary—he was able to use a tanning bed to maintain a nice, human fleshshade. She should have looked for one of those in the penthouse while she was snooping around. Because she doubted he went down on a regular basis to use the ones in the casino’s on-site spa.

  While her mind was wandering, his hands continued to work. His pants fell to the floor in a rustle of sound, and he kicked off his shoes at the same time he rolled his shoulders to dislodge his shirt. That left him in only a pair of black silk boxers with a noticeable tenting at the front.

  Chuck licked her lips, imagining the exact length and width and breadth of the cause of that tenting. But she didn’t have long to wonder at the details of his masculinity before he shed the boxers as well, showing her the full, burgeoning reality.

  She didn’t know how much time passed, but she must have been staring for the span of at least several seconds, because he suddenly stepped forward, and his low voice broke the tense silence of the room.

  “Like what you see?” he asked.

  When she dragged her gaze—reluctantly, oh, so reluctantly—up to his face, she found one black brow arched upward in amusement.

  Licking lips gone bone dry, she gave a wobbly nod. “It’s been a while, but I don’t remember them being quite so . . .”

  “Large?” he supplied with typical male arrogance. Meeting his gaze head-on, she dug deep for a modicum of arrogance of her own. “Mouthwatering.”

  Full House

  Sebastian’s penis jumped at her stark admission. A second ago, his chest had been rising and falling with his even breathing. He didn’t need to breathe, of course, but old habits died hard, and maintaining human attributes helped with the façade.

  But now his chest was stone still, only his throbbing erection beating in time with the pounding of his heart. He was picturing her on her knees, her mouth—wet, hot, watering—on his cock.

  What was it about this woman that turned him inside out? He wasn’t exactly a green, unschooled youth. Far the hell from it.

  He’d stopped counting birthdays long ago. Though if he were forced to do the math, his age would fall somewhere around the four-hundred mark. That was a lot of years to live. A lot of women he’d bedded.

  A few he’d spent a good amount of time with. Decades with wild and wicked female vamps that had gone by in the blink of an eye. A few others—demure human females—he was sure he’d fancied himself temporarily in love, or at least in lust, with.

  But they all paled in comparison to this statuesque tabloid reporter who’d discovered his secret and then been courageous and determined enough to go undercover as a showgirl at his very own club to prove it.

  He couldn’t explain it. He was rarely at a loss for feminine company these days, even
if most of the women who spent the night with him—willingly, of course—rarely remembered the details by morning. But he couldn’t recall the last time he’d been this hard, this eager, from nothing more than a little heavy petting and intense visual stimulation.

  She was sprawled naked in the center of his bed, like a sacrificial offering. He wanted to stand there forever, just looking at her. Devouring her with his eyes.

  He wanted to stroke her from head to toe. Let his fingers do the walking as he memorized the feel of her skin, every dip and curve of her beautiful body.

  He wanted to crawl on top of her, kiss her from temple to toes. Kiss her, lick her, taste every inch of her, and then go back to the beginning and start all over again.

  Stalking to the bed, he put one knee to the mattress and his hands to Chuck’s waist, lifting her with no effort whatsoever to move her back a few more inches. She gave a small gasp of surprise, but otherwise didn’t protest. Maybe because she knew that whatever he did with her, she would undoubtedly enjoy it. That was something even he’d be willing to bet the house on.

  Wrapping his fingers around her narrow ankles, he spread her legs and pushed her knees toward her chest. She watched him carefully, uncertainty whispering across her violet eyes.

  Mouth curving in a reassuring smile, he leaned up to kiss her hard and fast. “Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you. I’m not that kind of vampire.”

  That brought a smile to her face, as well as a short, breathless laugh from her generously proportioned chest. “I’m not afraid of you, it’s just that . . . It’s been a while since I’ve been this naked in front of anyone. Since a man has touched me. Or looked at me that way. Or—”

  “Ah, so you’re more nervous about having sex again than about being at the mercy of an unholy fiend of the night.”

  She raised a brow at his corny turn of phrase. “Why don’t we just say I’m slightly anxious about being in bed with a vampire, and leave it at that?”

  He grinned. When was the last time he’d grinned during foreplay? He’d venture to say not in this century.

  But Chuck Lamoreaux—what kind of name was that, anyway? —amused the hell out of him. Her boldness. Her tenacity. Her self-deprecating sense of humor.

  “You’ve got nothing to be nervous about. I’ll be gentle and make sure you enjoy it, I promise.”

  Her hair brushed against the satin duvet as she cocked her head. “I’m not worried about the last, but . . .”

  “What?”

  “What if I don’t want you to be gentle?”

  A fist of lust twisted inside Sebastian’s gut so tight he almost doubled over. Christ, what she did to him.

  Her words, an odd mix of coyness and bravery, made part of him want to be extra gentle with her . . . and part of him want to flip her over onto her stomach, raise her hips, and drive into her hard and fast from behind.

  There was nothing gentle about that, or about the way he would take her once he got inside of her. But they weren’t there just yet.

  He covered her mouth with his own, kissing her, teasing her for a long, drawn-out moment. Trailing his lips along the line of her jaw, he murmured, “I’m going to be gentle. Then I’m going to be rough—and everything in between.”

  Her body jerked beneath him. Hiding his smile in the curve of her neck, he continued to suckle. Every once in a while, he nipped with his teeth, let the sharp tips of his fangs graze her soft, pale flesh and delighted in the shivers his attentions caused.

  He kissed her throat, the dip at the very base when she swallowed, traced the sharp line of each collar bone with his tongue. Crossing her chest, he began showering attention on her breasts. First one and then the other, first pressing light butterfly kisses all around and then firmer, tighter ones as he neared the areolas and nipples.

  “So what kind of name is Lamoreaux?” he asked against her skin, knowing his voice would vibrate through his lips, causing even greater sensation.

  Chuck’s slightly arched back fell and she blinked slowly, like an owl coming groggily awake.

  “What?” she asked, her tone making it clear she thought he was crazy for wanting to discuss such a thing now.

  “Your name,” he commented, keeping his voice as lazy as his slow licks and kisses. “It’s rather unusual. I’m wondering at its origins.”

  He ran his flattened tongue straight over one puckered nipple and her breath left her lungs in a long hiss.

  “I can’t believe you want to talk about this now,” she panted.

  “Hmmmm.” He rolled the sound up from deep in his throat, but didn’t stop licking.

  “French, I think. Don’t know.”

  “You don’t know?” Plumping her breast with one hand to bring it closer to his mouth, he let her hear his amusement.

  She groaned, wriggling under him, which only lifted her closer to his ministrations. “My sister and I made it up. Real name is Monroe, but we both”—another moan, followed by a small whimper—“wanted to work under a fake name.”

  So their real names were Charlotte and Chloe Monroe. That explained why he hadn’t been able to learn much about her sister when Aidan had first started talking about her. He wondered what he would find now if he did a search under their real names.

  Both of them.

  His initial concern had been only for Chloe—the sister he’d thought he’d brought up to his penthouse this evening. How was he to know she was a twin, and that he’d inadvertently ended up with the best of the pair?

  That was speculation, of course, but considering the other sister was the one sprawled naked beneath him right now . . . the one he was most attracted to, most intrigued by . . . he was almost certain he’d gotten the better end of the deal.

  “Lamoreaux has a nice ring to it. Very romantic. Excellent for both a dancer and a writer like yourself.”

  He was at the underside of her breast now, laving the soft cushion with his tongue while at the same time using his thumb and forefinger to toy with the nipple of the opposite breast.

  Without warning, his ears were pinched and his head was yanked up. Chuck held him by the hair, her own head tipped down so that she could meet his gaze straight on.

  “Why are we talking about this now?” she demanded, giving him a little shake of frustration.

  He liked it, this forceful side of her, but didn’t think he should tell her as much. He also didn’t think he should admit that he suddenly found himself wanting to know everything about her.

  Big or small, important or trivial, he vowed to discover it all. And if that took the next four hundred years of his life . . . well, that was a prospect he thought he might just be more than looking forward to.

  “Sorry,” he said, though they both knew he didn’t really mean it. “I guess I should find something better to do with my mouth.”

  Without giving her time to respond, he slid down the rest of her body and hiked her legs up over his shoulders. She gave a short gasp of surprise that turned into a long moan of pleasure as he parted her folds and ran two fingers along her damp slit, just grazing her over-sensitized clitoris.

  She was amazingly responsive; his every touch had her twisting, wriggling, purring low in her throat and biting her bottom lip with her perfect white teeth. And he hadn’t even gotten started yet.

  His fingers played through the crisp, dark curls covering her mound—a bit of a novelty for him; so many of Vegas’s modern lovelies were into waxing these days that he was usually met with “airstrips,” cutesy decorative designs, or nothing but smooth, hairless skin of the so-called Brazilian variety. And that was nice, but the natural look was good, too.

  He took his time, blowing gently on the swollen tissue, teasing her opening with the tip of one finger, using his tongue to taste everywhere but where he knew she needed it most. Her hands clutched the sheets on either side of her hips, her heels digging into his back.

  “Se-bas-tian,” she panted, dragging his name out to three distinctive syllables.

  She was
close . . . and so was he. The scent of her arousal, the feel of her pressing against him, shivering beneath him, made him want to bury himself inside her and come as much as she did. But he wanted to do something for her first.

  Focusing his efforts, he filled her with two wide fingers, encouraged when her soft inner muscles stretched and then rippled around them. With his tongue, he stroked her silken labia and circled the tiny nub of her clit.

  Her hips shot off the bed and then began a steady rocking motion as he drove her higher and higher with his lips, his tongue, and occasionally his teeth. All of them. She made tiny mewling sounds and murmured a litany of incoherent speech that he took to be, Oh, God . . . yes, yes . . . no more . . . I can’t . . . please . . . oh, yes, yes, yes!

  She came with a scream that nearly peeled the paint from the walls. Her head shot back, her spine bowed, and she bucked against his face as the orgasm shuddered through her. It seemed to last forever while he gripped her hips with strong hands and continued to lap at her juices, gentling his touch until she settled.

  When she was completely wrung out, lying limp and boneless in his arms, he crawled up the length of her body to cradle her close. Her lashes fluttered as she struggled to open her eyes, and he smiled at how well he’d managed to wear her out in just a matter of minutes. Wait until she discovered how much more pleasure he had planned for her. For both of them.

  “Wow,” she breathed when she finally managed to open her eyes all the way. They were languid and unfocused, but glimmering with the after effects of sexual fulfillment.

  “I take it you enjoyed yourself,” he said with no small amount of smug satisfaction.

  She gave an unladylike snort. And then, “Why did you do that?”

  He quirked a brow. “You didn’t like?” he asked, waffling between umbrage and disbelief.

  She snorted again, this time adding a light slap to his bare shoulder. “Don’t be obtuse. ‘Like’ isn’t a big enough word for how good that was. But why would you bother when you could have just as easily gone straight to the main event and enjoyed yourself just as much?”