An Invitation

by Jasmine Hill

  She shivered, wondering what Dante had had planned for her.

  “How did you know what I was thinking just now? About what you did to Dante.”

  “I can sense your thoughts. Well, not your thoughts exactly. It’s more of an awareness of what you’re feeling. Forget about what you’ve read. It’s largely fabrication that stemmed from some truth.”

  “And you can’t be killed?”

  “We can, but not via the usual means. That’s why I know Dante has recovered already.” He scowled. “If I’d had the time, I would have finished him.”

  Bree wondered what one needed to do to kill a vampire, but she thought better of asking. She’d save that question for a later time. She surprised herself in that she was largely taking what he said in her stride, as if coming across supernatural beings was an everyday occurrence. But it was Vincent. She felt like she knew him intimately and he hadn’t given her any cause for concern.

  She was very curious about one thing in particular but wasn’t sure if she’d like the answer. “Do you want to drink my blood?”

  His fangs had retracted, and his eyes were once more their usual gray, but at her question, his irises flashed a vivid red. “I very much want to drink from you,” he responded, his voice husky. “I want nothing so badly as that.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Bree stared up at Vincent, searching his features for any sign that he was teasing her. His serious expression told her he wasn’t joking in the least. Her chest tightened and her blood roared in her ears.

  “Will it hurt?”

  He grasped her ass cheeks and squeezed. “It can be very pleasurable. It’s incredibly intimate.” His voice grew deeper. “I promise I won’t hurt you.”

  Bree bit her lip, fascination winning over self-preservation.

  He nuzzled her neck. “It’s so intimate and so erotic that it will be like we are one.”

  She dropped her head to the side to allow him better access. His voice had taken on a rhythmic quality that was mesmerizing.

  “I’ll feel your heartbeat.” He nipped her neck. “I’ll taste you.” He nuzzled her, his five-o’clock shadow abrading her flesh. “I’ll take the very essence of you inside me.” He pulled back and gazed at her, his eyes once more a blazing red. “And you’ll want me to.”

  “Can you stop once you start?” She was pleased she still had the sense to ask a pertinent question.

  He lazily pushed his erection against her. He was hard and hot and very obviously turned on. “Yes. I’ve been around a long time. I have total control over my thirst. This will be purely for pleasure—yours and mine.”

  She threw caution to the wind. After all, she’d been doing that since she’d accepted the invitation. Why stop now?

  “Show me,” she whispered.

  He growled, a low animalistic sound, and tugged her to her feet. He clasped her head in one large palm and gazed down at her, his eyes burning a fervent red.

  Bree tensed and held her breath. She couldn’t stop her heart from hammering, no matter how hard she tried, and she wondered vaguely if her rapidly pumping blood would incite his hunger to an unmanageable degree.

  He urged her head to the side, exposing her neck, then bit down, hard. There was a slight sting, like two pin pricks, then the sensation of his fangs sinking deeply. She gasped as he gripped her tighter and intensified the bite. She closed her eyes, white noise overwhelming her, and swayed into him, growing limp and pliable in his arms.

  He groaned and thrust his hips against her softness, his thick cock throbbing hot and insistent. He wrapped his arms around her, cupping her ass in one large palm and cradling her head in the other as he drank his fill.

  Butterflies erupted in a frenzy in her belly and starbursts exploded behind her closed lids. She felt warm and cosseted and completely relaxed. She moaned and her nipples peaked, liquid heat flooding her core.

  Vincent’s thoughts invaded her mind like snippets from a movie reel. She sensed his lust and excitement like a punch to the chest. His thrill at drinking her blood, his adoration of her taste. It was an aphrodisiac in itself. She flopped her head to the side and gripped his hair tightly, urging him to drink deeper. To take more. A low rumble from his chest and he sucked harder. She felt his drawing pulls low in her belly and her pussy fluttered, her inner muscles clenching and releasing, desperate to be filled.

  Keeping his mouth locked on her throat, he lifted her and wrapped her legs around his waist. She fumbled with his zipper and reached into his boxers to clasp his rigid cock. He ripped her panties in two and impaled her in one swift stroke. She inhaled sharply as he pushed through swollen tissue and bottomed out in her with a long groan.

  He was so deep, filling her so completely, that it was almost painful. She tensed then his elation at the snug fit flashed through her mind. She experienced his sensations as if they were her own. The tight, wet heat of her pussy and his euphoria at claiming her. His absolute pleasure as her swollen channel constricted his cock.

  Lust coiled and swelled. She was close already. Her inner muscles clenched and pulsated, and her body tightened.

  He gripped her ass and pumped her on his cock, forcing her up then back down in long, rhythmic strokes. His pace matched that of his sucking mouth, her clit rubbing against his pelvis on each downward drive. It was too much. His forceful thrusts, his pleasure at her taste and the heady sensation of her blood being taken and enjoyed. She shattered around him, her core constricting and thrumming as her climax swept her away. She cried out and clung to him desperately, euphoric pleasure swelling and ebbing in seemingly endless waves that left her boneless and exhausted.

  He followed her over the edge, bellowing his triumph and gratification. He gripped her tightly, his fangs still embedded in her neck as he bathed her channel in his copious seed.

  Vincent stood immobile for a moment, regaining his senses. He gazed down at Bree, limp in his arms, and studied the marks his fangs had left. Two distinct punctures. They were deep. He’d been a little overzealous in his excitement. He bent his head and licked her neck, the healing properties in his saliva closing the wounds instantly. As much as he enjoyed seeing his marks on her, he wasn’t sure what she’d think.

  He paced to the bed and sat with her on his lap. Her head lolled to the side as he dragged her dress up and off her body. He pulled the covers down and tucked her under. He never used the covers, just rested on top of them, but he was glad of them now. The room was cold, her erect nipples and pimpled skin telling him that, and he needed to warm her up.

  He sat next to her dozing form. Her golden hair fanned across the black silk pillowcase like an angelic halo. He smirked at the irony and caressed a finger down her cheek, marveling at the length of her eyelashes and her plump rosebud mouth. She was everything pure and light to his demonic darkness. He should care about ruining her. He should worry about dragging her into his shadowy world, but that side of him had died long ago. The compassionate, empathetic traits that most humans possessed had left him the moment he’d been made a vampire. The only thing keeping him from becoming a barbaric monster was his insistence on maintaining his principles and the values he’d started with all those centuries ago. He wanted Bree, and after her consenting to his bite, there was no going back.

  He’d taken her very essence into him and he knew that she’d felt something similar. It was the way with the bite. And her taste. Her taste was indescribable, like a deep-bodied claret with a hint of spice. She had the most delicious blood he’d ever had the pleasure of sampling and there was no way in hell that he’d ever allow another to get near her. His brother’s face flashed through his mind, so like his own—but that was where the similarity stopped. He’d have to think about what to do about Dante. He and his twin had never seen eye to eye, and they never would. The only difference now was that Vincent finally had something to lose, and in true Dante fashion, his brother had sniffed his weakness out immediately.

  Bree yawned, catching his attention. She stretc
hed her arms above her head, the movement shifting the sheet to her waist, and he watched, mesmerized as her plump breasts were exposed, her rosy nipples pebbling in the cool air. He groaned and adjusted himself in his suit pants. Just looking at her had him hard and throbbing and his spine tingling. But he’d give her a break. She was so tight, and he was big, and while it made for a fucking extraordinary orgasm, it left her a little tender.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked gruffly. “I hope I didn’t hurt you.”

  She smiled sleepily. “I feel great actually. Satiated and a little lightheaded.” She rubbed a finger over her neck. “Are there marks? Surely a bite like that would leave me looking like a snake-bite victim?”

  He chuckled. “I closed the wound. Our saliva has healing properties.” He shrugged. “It’s one of the pros, I guess. We heal quickly.”

  She shot upright. “I’m not a vampire now, am I?”

  He narrowed his eyes, not liking the fear in her voice. Of course, he hadn’t yet given any thought to the future and if she’d want to change. But the fact that she’d brought the subject up with such anxiety made him nervous. “Of course not,” he responded, unable to keep the harsh note out of his voice. “That requires a lot more than a mere bite.”

  “Oookay,” she muttered. “I was just asking. It’s a reasonable question.”

  He exhaled. “It is a reasonable question. I forget that you know nothing about what we are and what we can do. But understand this.” He leaned forward, so she was at eye level. “I would never do that to you unless it was your express wish. Me drinking from you is pleasurable for both of us. If at any stage it’s not for you, you need to tell me.”

  She nodded. “Sure.”

  Remembering her comment about feeling lightheaded, he stood and strode to his fridge to collect an orange juice. “Drink this.” He handed her the juice. “It will help restore your energy levels.”

  She accepted the bottle and drank the contents in one go. She arched an eyebrow. “You drank champagne earlier. I thought you only drank blood.” She threw him a sheepish look. “At least that’s what I’ve read or seen in the movies.”

  “It’s true. We have no need or desire for anything else. I can take”—he paused—“other sustenance but it does nothing for me and I can’t overdo the human-food thing.”

  She gasped and gave him an alarmed look. “What about pregnancy or disease? We didn’t use protection!”

  “We don’t contract, or pass on, disease or typical illnesses and you’re on the pill. I saw them in your bathroom.”

  She looked thoughtful. “There’s so much to learn. I’m still trying to process it. I feel like any moment I’m going to wake up and find this whole thing was just a strange dream.”

  “I’m afraid not, baby. It’s very real.”

  She pulled the covers around her and shivered. He couldn’t tell if it was from the cold or from her general unease. He chose to believe the latter. “You’re cold,” he stated and moved to his wardrobe to collect a shirt. From his dresser he selected a navy-blue silk tie then returned to the bed. “Up you get.”

  She threw the covers aside and slipped off the mattress. He avoided looking at her naked form for fear of dragging her back into bed. He draped the white shirt over her shoulders and manipulated her arms into the sleeves then buttoned it up. It swam on her small frame, the cuffs hanging past her hands and the hem hanging to her knees. He grinned. “While I love you in my shirt, you look like you’ve been playing in Daddy’s wardrobe.”

  She giggled and peered down at her body. “It is rather large.”

  Grasping her hips, he tugged her closer and rolled each of the sleeves up to her wrists then wrapped the tie around her waist to act like a belt. He stepped back and surveyed his work. The shirt gaped at the neck and hung off one shoulder, and the tie had raised the hem, so the shirt now sat at mid-thigh. Her hair that she’d styled so perfectly now hung in messy waves past her shoulders.

  He licked his lips and stepped into her, gripping her ass and squeezing. He gazed down into her upturned face. “You look hot in my shirt.” He nuzzled her neck. “Like my own personal wet dream.”

  “The party’s probably still going,” she murmured.

  “It will be.” He stopped his nuzzling and met her eyes. “Do you want to go back down? If we stay here, I’ll want to take you again and I think you need a break.” He waggled his eyebrows. “For a little while at least.”

  She laughed and playfully punched him on the arm. “I’m not sure I’ll be presentable dressed like this.” She looked towards her dress that lay in a wrinkled heap on the floor. “But I guess it’s better than my previous attire.” Her eyes widened. “Has it got Dante’s blood on it?”

  Vincent growled at the mention of his brother. “Perhaps. At any rate, most of the guests will be well lubricated by alcohol now. And probably in various states of disarray themselves. And you look like sex personified in my shirt. Trust me, you’ll get no complaints.” He wrapped a lock of her hair around his finger. “Just don’t leave my side. Remember that Dante will be recovered by now and if I know my brother, he’ll be wanting retaliation. You’ll be safer next to me and with other people around.”

  He didn’t tell her that it wasn’t only Dante who concerned him. There were monsters aplenty lurking the hallways and the various chambers of the cavernous mansion. He hoped, however naively, that he’d be saved from ever having to have that conversation.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Bree slipped her Jimmy Choo sandals on and surveyed herself in Vincent’s floor-length mirror. She didn’t look too bad at all. His crisp white dress shirt looked like an oversized shirt dress and the bare shoulder gave her a sexy edge. She located her hair clip, gathered her waves into a messy top knot then secured it. She’d left her clutch and wrap back at the table—such a hurry had Dante been in to get her out of the room that she’d completely forgotten about them. Her room key was the only thing in it that she really needed. Hopefully her clutch was still where she’d left it, or Chantelle and Madison had picked it up.

  She thought that she might be suffering from some form of shock, to blithely go about her business after what she’d just learned. The events of the evening had been surreal to say the least and she still couldn’t quite believe what had occurred. Her rational mind was doing battle with the irrational state of affairs.

  She locked eyes with Vincent’s reflection in the mirror. He was standing behind her, his image very visible in the glass. “Obviously, it’s a misconceptiom that vampires don’t have reflections. I’m sure I read that somewhere.”

  He chuckled and dropped his chin to her shoulder. “Some cultures believe that we don’t. And that we don’t cast a shadow either. Something to do with the fact that we don’t have a soul. Although everything that humans think they know about us is largely based around old wives’ tales and myths, of course. As you know, we’re believed to be an imaginary monster, a demonic creature in horror movies and novels. And more recently, which I quite approve of, romantic fiction.”

  She smiled. “Yes, it must be a nice change to be thought of as a misunderstood hero rather than a scary bloodsucker.”

  She wondered about the invitation and the reason behind it. She assumed that Vincent knew the people who had organized the weekend’s events, but thus far he’d been fairly vague about his involvement. But perhaps they were just eccentric people wanting a lusty, slightly esoteric Valentine celebration. Vincent certainly hadn’t given her any cause for concern for her safety. Sure, his brother was a dick, but she assumed he’d just been doing what brothers do, even if it had been a little more disturbing than the usual sibling pranks. And she hadn’t seen anything else to worry about. She bit her lip, thinking about broaching the subject, but quickly decided against it. Vincent might take her questioning as some form of demon typecasting. As crazy as her reasoning sounded, it made perfect sense in her bizarre situation. She’d rely on Vincent to tell her anything she needed to know. She was
still in an incredulous state of mind, still half waiting for him to tell her that it’d all been an elaborate joke. Perhaps it was best to be drip-fed information so she could take her time to process it.

  “Shall we go back downstairs?” She looked at his clock, surprised at how early it still was. “It’s not midnight yet and I wouldn’t mind another glass of champagne.”

  He grasped her hand. “Of course. Remember to keep by my side.” He tugged her towards the door.

  “Do you really think Dante would try something else? What do you and he have against each other anyway?”

  He shot her a look over his shoulder. “It’s a long story. Centuries long, to be exact.”

  She gaped at his back. She’d forgotten about the supposed immortality of vampires. At every turn, he’d say something to stop her in her tracks. She determined that learning information gradually was the best idea. It was too much to comprehend in one fell swoop. She shook her head and followed behind Vincent as he made his way to the ancient elevator.

  She arched an eyebrow. “No running around at the speed of light?”

  He grinned. “Don’t want to draw unwanted attention.”

  Downstairs, music still played loudly although the genre had changed to something moodier. The string quartet was gone, and a DJ had set up in the ballroom.

  Bree looked around the room. The lights had dimmed and groups of people gyrated on the dancefloor to the sensual beat of the music. She couldn’t see Chantelle or Madison and the number of people in general seemed to have decreased. Perhaps some had moved downstairs to the foyer and the bar areas. Or there could have been some people who had retired early. A lot of the guests had been hitting the alcohol pretty heavily the previous evening and Bree wouldn’t be surprised that quite a few had faded quickly. Their table was empty, and her clutch was missing. She hoped one of the girls had picked it up and, with it, her room key. The keys weren’t one of those types that could be swiped through a computer to reset the lock, so without her clutch, she was locked out of her room.