by Renee Rose
“Listen, Sanai. Let me explain—”
She is on me before I can get another word out. She claims my mouth with her own, pressing the words into my lips. “Explain later. Love me now.”
This meeting has finally taken the turn I was hoping for. “I move that we take this to the bedroom.”
“I second that motion.”
I tug Sanai to the bedroom I slept in the night before. Before I’ve even closed the door, she’s kicked off her shoes and is moving the straps of her dress down her body.
“No,” I say. “Let me.”
I didn’t get to see her completely naked last night. We’d simply moved enough of our clothing out of the way to get at each other. Now, and for the rest of our lives, I plan to savor every second, every inch of flesh.
I slip the gown down Sanai’s shoulders. The mounds of her breasts appear like summits I’ve worked hard to reach. I bend down and take the cocoa-dusted nipples into my mouth.
Sanai lets out a hungry moan at my tongue’s first brush. I want to let her know that I’m going to feed her lust. I’m going to feed all of her appetites. But first, I need her to hold still.
With the gown at her midsection, I use the ropes to twine the fabric about her forearms. Sanai gasps, but she holds still for me. When I look up into her face, I see that her gaze is wide with want.
When I’m done, I take a step back from her. She stands where I left her. Her perky breasts sit high on her chest. Her elegant arms are bound to her stomach by the cords that had held up her dress. The bottom half of the dress is pooled at her feet, giving me access to the shadowed V between her thighs.
She presses her thighs together. I can hear the slickness gathered there. I can scent her readiness.
I peel off my clothing, not taking my eyes off her as I do so. “On the bed.”
Sanai grins at my command, and does as she’s told and climbs onto the mattress.
“Spread your thighs.”
Again, she follows my orders. With her knees splayed wide, I slide beneath her torso to reward her obedience. When my tongue touches her sex, she throws her head back.
I latch my mouth around her sex, taking in the sweetness that’s more vibrant than any grape I’ve harvested. Reaching my hands up, I steady her hips, locking her into place over me as I drink her down. Without the use of her arms to balance herself, Sanai is near to keeling over with the long laps I’m taking to her folds.
She rocks her hips against my tongue, faster and faster, getting wetter and wetter with each gyration. Back and forth her hips go, round and round and from side to side. She is dancing on my mouth. I spin my tongue around her clit, dipping in and out of her core until we are both dizzy.
When she comes down from her orgasm, I lift her hips and place her in my lap. Her slick core is greeted by my hard cock. As I slide inside her, I feel the aftershocks of her orgasm grabbing onto me for purchase.
Sanai opens pleasure-drunk eyes to gaze up at me. Her hands are between our chests, her fingernails scraping against my heart. I catch her gaze as it slips to the side of my neck where the veins there pulse with eagerness. As though it is hungry for her bite.
“Do it,” I say.
Her breath quickens. Her fingers curl. Her eyes flare wider. Then they narrow as she searches my gaze.
“I’m inside of you,” I say. “I want you inside of me.”
Her soft sigh makes my chest puff up with what I know is love. Her fingers brush the side of my mouth in a gentle caress that nearly breaks me. Her eyes soften, and reflect back the love that has blossomed in my heart.
Sanai turns from the bite she gave me last night. Instead, she moves to the other side of my neck, where the first bite is. She kisses down my chin until she reaches the spot that has given me nightmares.
When her teeth strike that spot, my balls tighten. When her lips fasten to my flesh, I pull her hips flush against me. When she pulls my life’s essence from me, I release my seed into her.
Somewhere in the house, a clock chimes the new hour. Sanai and I have reached the end of this meeting’s agenda. With both our bodies spent, there is no more business to conduct this night. With our hearts beating as one, our breaths in sync, and our limbs entwined, we close our eyes and declare the business between us adjourned… until our next regularly scheduled meeting. Which will take place tomorrow night, and then again the next night. For the rest of our lives.
The End
Read how Gaius and Hadrian got their happily ever afters! Click here for Her Vampire Lord (Gaius and Marechal’s story).
Click here to read Her Vampire Prince (Hadrian & Carignan’s story).
About the Author
Lover of fairytales, folklore, and mythology, Ines Johnson spends her days reimagining the stories of old in a modern world. She writes books where damsels cause the distress, princesses wield swords, and moms save the world.
If you liked Ines’ Vampires, then you’ll love her Dragons; alpha male shifters, fated mates, and steamy romance with a touch of 80’s nostalgia! To grab a free book from the world of the Last Dragons just visit http:// bit.ly/LastDragons
Also by Ines Johnson
The Lady and the Vamp
Zara Zenia
Chapter 1
Looking at my BMW X5, I study it critically. Is that a smudge? I buff the hood again, polishing it up and making it shine. I want it to look good when I pick up Mr. Blake. He is the only client I continue to drive for, mainly because I have a huge ass crush on the man.
Aaron Blake is a local businessman in Tucson. He owns AB Distilleries and is a local celebrity, starring in his own commercials on YouTube for Dark Brews, a dark lager beer, as well as for Sweet Nectar, a high-end, Scottish-style whisky. I know this because I have watched every single one of his videos repeatedly for months, ever since I discovered them. He is handsome, with his dark, windswept locks, and bright blue eyes, and tall—Lord, is the man tall—at least six-foot-five, and oh so elegant. He is always very well-dressed, in designer suits which show off his physique to perfection.
I was the lucky recipient of his call to Elite Limousine Service two years ago, when his car broke down and he needed a ride for himself and his secretary immediately. For the first year, he’d called more and more often, always requesting me as his driver. I’d finally given him my private number so he could call me directly.
Now I own my own luxury SUV, a BMW X5 xDrive35i, the vehicle Mr. Blake prefers when I drive him. I bought it after my grandmother passed away. She left me a rather large fortune, which included the luxurious house I now reside in as well.
Because of the inheritance, I don’t have to drive for anyone anymore, but I really like being around Mr. Blake and it’s the only time I get to see him, so I’ve kept quiet about my fortunate circumstances, and answer whenever he is in need of a driver. Since he has my private number, he has no idea that I no longer work for Elite. Well, technically, that isn’t true, I suppose. I do work for Elite, but it is only so I can drive for him. I am pretty sure he isn’t aware of that.
I stare at the car again, checking every inch of it in the evening sunlight. This time, it looks perfect. Not a smudge in sight. I am due to collect Mr. Blake in an hour, so I hurry back into the house and fix myself dinner. While it spins around in the microwave, I pour myself a glass of iced tea.
After eating my leftover pizza and gulping my tea, I rush up the stairs for a quick shower. I blow-dry my hair and then change into my uniform, which consists of a tight black skirt that comes down to my knees, a white blouse with a black bowtie, a black fitted jacket, black heels, and a black chauffeur’s hat. Before putting on the hat, I brush out my long, strawberry-blonde hair and then wind it up into a French twist.
I take one last look in the mirror, apply some red lipstick—which matches my manicure nicely—and lash-lengthening mascara because I hate my pale lashes, and decide I am ready to go. Grabbing my purse and keys from the table in the front hall on the way out the door, I dash out to the BMW and climb behin
d the wheel. I drive the familiar route from my place to Mr. Blake’s which is, thankfully, only a ten-minute drive away.
I pull into his driveway, send him a text to let him know I am here, and then get out and open the back door for him. I don’t have to wait long for the handsome man to come outside and stride toward me. I smile. “Good evening, Mr. Blake.”
“Good evening, Clarabelle, how are you this evening?” His slight British accent sends a tiny shiver of pleasure through me.
“I’m doing well. Where will I be driving you this evening?” I ask as I remove my cap and set it on the passenger seat.
“Club Toxic, first. I shan’t be long, about an hour, I think. Is that acceptable?”
“Of course, sir.” I pull out of the driveway. “I’ll be happy to wait for you.”
“Thank you, Clarabelle.” Mr. Blake smiles at me when I look back at him over my shoulder.
I drive through the city toward Club Toxic. I have never been inside, though I know it is a popular club. Before I got my inheritance, I was too busy working to make ends meet to spend a night out dancing at an expensive club, and now that I have the time to go, I don’t really have anyone to go with. I pull into the club’s parking lot and stop just in front of the doors. There is already a line of people waiting to go in.
I put the BMW in park, grab my hat from the passenger seat, and climb out. I stride around the front of the car to open the back door for him. “I’ll just park, and if you’ll send me a text before you come out, I’ll meet you here in front,” I tell Mr. Blake.
“That would be excellent, Clarabelle. I will text.” He straightens his jacket, runs a hand through his hair, and then steps over to the bouncer.
I close the door and return to the driver’s seat. With a sigh, I watch him bypass the line of partiers and go inside. I pull the car forward and find a spot deeper in the parking lot to park and wait. I turn the car off, pull out my phone, and play a few games of Word Stacks before switching over to Candy Crush. The whole time I play, I daydream about what it would be like to actually go into the club with Aaron. I don’t dare call him by his name to his face—I am basically his employee, after all—but in my daydreams, we are much more intimate.
Aaron has this worldly air about him, an elegance that I’m not sure I could ever match, but damn, I’d like to try. I really want to be more to him than just his driver. Granted, over the last two years we’ve had some lovely conversations, but up until recently, he’d been otherwise engaged. Namely to a short, curvy, redhead who—according to him—had a terrible temper that he was tired of dealing with. He’d never used her name, but he’d often complained about her. He’d said they’d had an on again off again relationship for several years, but he’d finally had enough and broken things off with the woman. In my daydreams, he’d told me all of that because he’d fallen madly in love with me.
I know it is silly to be crushing on the man and not do anything about it, but what else can I do? We move in different circles. He is the type of man to use a limousine service, to go to expensive restaurants and clubs, to take exotic vacations to luxurious resorts. And I, on the other hand, am the type of woman who eats two-day-old leftover pizza, works her ass off to make ends meet—at least, up until about six months ago—cringes at the expense of a mani-pedi, and stays home instead of going out to party.
It really isn’t me; I am much too shy to go to a dance club on my own. And the last time I went on a date was during my freshman year of college, and that was a good long while ago! I can’t even remember the guy’s name, not that he’d been memorable. Not like Aaron Blake.
However, it seems we are doomed to only have a romantic relationship in my dreams. I sigh and turn off my game. I’d been losing, anyway.
Finally, fifteen minutes later, my phone chimes.
I’ll be out in five minutes. ~ Aaron
Not that he knows it, but in my phone I’ve assigned him a special ringtone and call him Aaron. I smile and turn the car on, then back out of the parking space. I pull up in front of the club’s entrance again. I put the car in park and climb out to stand by the door, ready to let him in as soon as he walks out.
He’s frowning as he strolls out of the door, a card in his hand. He doesn’t say anything as I open the door and he gets in. Silently, he buckles himself in as I close the back door and open my own to get behind the steering wheel.
“Sir, do you have a destination in mind?” I ask softly.
He doesn’t answer, just sits, staring at the card in his hand.
I clear my throat. “Mr. Blake?”
He looks up at me, a blank expression on his face, and then, as if recalling where he is, he nods. “Yes, sorry, afraid I was ruminating over this.” He lifts the card. “Um, to the distillery I think, please.”
“Yes, sir.” I nod, put the car in drive and exit the club parking lot.
“Have you ever been to a costume party, Clarabelle?” he asks.
I smile. “Dressing up like witches, goblins and vampires, sir? Not since I was a child.”
He chuckles. “No, I suppose I should clarify: what I mean is a masquerade ball, with fancy dress from the Venetian period, to be precise.”
I shake my head. “No, I can’t say I have, sir. Why do you ask?”
“Just a thought. Club Toxic is having one for All Hallow’s Eve—I believe you call it Halloween here in the States?”
“Oh, yes? That sounds like fun. I’m sure you’ll have a good time.” I smile.
“Perhaps. It is open to the public, you know, for the night.”
My mind spins with ideas… a masked ball, open to the public? Is he telling me this for a reason? Does he want me to go? I peek at him as we are stopped at a red light. He is still studying the card. I look back at the road as the light changes, and continue through the intersection. Could I do it? Go to the ball like Cinderella and, for one night, be part of his world?
I pull up to the distillery’s entrance. “We’re here, sir, give me a moment and I’ll get the door.” I park and hop down, put my cap on my head, and then walk around to open his door. “There you are, sir. Do you need me to wait?”
He steps out of the vehicle, a thoughtful look on his face. “You are very sweet, Clarabelle. If you wouldn’t mind? I might be an hour or two, though. Why don’t I text you about half an hour before I’m ready to leave? Would that be all right? I don’t want to keep you from other clients, should they need your services.”
“Oh, at the moment, my evening is free of other clients. If you text me, I’ll be here.” I close the door and smile up at him.
“Excellent. I shall see you after a while then.” He gives me a wink and then goes into his building.
I nearly skip around the car to get back into the driver’s seat. He called me sweet. Maybe he does want me to go to that party. A quick glance in the rearview mirror shows me that he left the card he’d been looking at in the seat. My fingers itch to retrieve it, but I don’t want to do it in plain sight of the distillery, so I put on my seatbelt and drive to the gas station. I’ll look at it when I get there.
Once I reach the BP, I pull up to the pump and fill up the tank. After paying for the gas and a soda, I reach into the backseat and pick up the card. It is an embossed invitation to Club Toxic’s Annual All Hallow’s Eve Venetian Ball, just as he’d said.
The invitation states right there at the bottom that anyone dressed appropriately will be allowed to attend. An idea begins to build in my head. I figure I have just enough time to create the perfect Venetian costume that will catch Aaron’s eye so I can spend just one magical night with him. I can’t wait to get started.
Chapter 2
My mind is still on Clarabelle as I sit down in my office. The girl is so innocent and sweet, and smells divine. She is just my type, too. I’ve dreamed of making her my submissive for over a year now, but Siannon has kept me from making her mine.
My phone rings and I sigh. Should have known just the thought of her would entice th
e she-devil to call me. I debate not answering, knowing she’ll just continue until I do, but I really don’t want to speak to her right now. Shaking my head, I turn the phone off. I have work to do, and I really don’t want to get into another pointless argument with her.
At the knock on my office door, I look up. “Grant, I was just going over the international accounts. We have enough lager and Sweet Nectar stock to fill Club Von Stein’s order? It looks as though they’ve ordered double their usual.”
“Yes, I’ve hired some additional daytime staff to make sure we get that order filled. I was just coming to see if you wanted to do your inspection. I’m free right now if you’re ready.”
I glance at the paperwork and then back at my distillery manager. “Give me five minutes to sign off on all this, and I’ll be with you.”
Grant nods and leaves me to it.
I go through the orders, signing off on the paperwork and putting it in my outbox for my secretary, Myra, to file or fax. I clear my desk, returning it to its normal state, and then meet up with Grant to go through the weekly inspection. I am a stickler for the rules, and my distillery manager knows it. Grant, and Mike, his assistant, keep everything working in perfect harmony.
I was lucky to steal Grant away from a flour milling plant. I offered him a great deal of money, a bump in title, and better insurance than what he was getting from his previous employer, whom he’d been with for twelve years. The man doesn’t have a college degree, but he knows how to run a company, and I liked him from the moment I interviewed him four years ago. He’d been open and honest about his lack of education—he’d had to quit school to support his mother, who’d been diagnosed with cancer.
“How’s your mother?” I ask as we walk through the bottling section of the distillery.
“She’s doing well; hanging in there, anyway. Doc thinks they got it all this time.”
