by Ann Jacobs
Claude laughed. “I am a trustworthy sort, peace-loving. Not like the two men I saw you talking with outside the Strip. I don’t threaten women, and I don’t go looking for fights.”
“You found one, though. What really happened here?” Marisa traced the healing scar on his chest, shuddering at the thought of how badly someone must have hurt him.
“A few weeks ago my cousin Alexandre and I fought an evil vampire in Buenos Aires—Louis Reynard is his name. Even with our combined strength we were unable to destroy him or to prevent him from killing yet another beautiful woman.” Claude’s expression clouded.
“You—you were the ones who tried to take down that serial killer—the one who targets blonde women.”
“Yes. We’ll get him next time. Alina, our vampire queen, has commanded it. It’s because of her that Reynard has gone on his murderous rampage.”
“What’s your life like, really? I’ve read about vampires, seen them in movies and on TV, but—”
“Our life is not so much different from your own.” When Claude smiled, his expressive deep green eyes sparkled. “Except that we live for centuries, sustain ourselves on blood . . . and possess uncanny abilities as fighters and lovers.”
“You don’t sleep in coffins or melt if you get into the sunlight?” Some of the more scary scenes from vampire movies Marisa had seen replayed in her head.
“Hardly. I prefer a big soft bed to a cramped coffin any day. That rumor must have started about the time Count Dracula started raiding tombs in Transylvania. Not a single vampire from the d’Argent clan would dream of taking a snooze in some mortal’s final resting place.” This time he laughed out loud. “We’re all sensitive to light to some extent, but I’ve never heard of the sun melting even one of us. It is true, though, that a stake through the heart will destroy us . . . and that our bites can sometimes be deadly.”
Somehow those things didn’t seem as frightening as they might if someone other than Claude had said them. “You said you’re from Paris. I always wanted to see the Eiffel Tower,” Marisa commented, hoping he’d tell her more.
“I live there now, in the Marais district. But I was born in Normandy, in a castle my grandfather built more than a thousand years ago.” He smiled when she gasped at his comment. “Rolfe was mortal. He died in his bed when he was hardly older than I am now. His son, Alain, who was my father, was born a vampire. Alain would likely still be alive today if he hadn’t gotten caught up in trying to save people from Hitler’s holocaust.”
That would have made Claude what? At least sixty-five or seventy years old? Maybe centuries older than that? “Just how old are you, then?”
“Seventy-five. Practically a baby by vampire standards.” He grinned, his expression turning self-conscious when he apparently realized his fangs were showing. What she noticed most, though, was the angry scar that stood out on his chest.
Marisa couldn’t help herself. She had to touch him. When she traced the length of the scar, the cool, firm feel of his smooth pale skin began to arouse her again. Him too, she guessed when he shot her a feral smile and laid his hand over hers. “Don’t worry about me, chérie. I’m back in fighting form, and Alex is recovering quickly in Paris. If my guess is right, the Fox now lies in some hidden lair recovering from his wounds.”
“So you say you’re a peaceful sort, yet you fight and injure your beautiful body?”
“When I must. I’d much rather make love.” When Claude reached over and soothed the small bruises his fangs had left on her throat, a jolt of fiery sensation coursed through Marisa’s veins.
Against a mortal, Claude would be invincible. Sí, muy macho.
Not even the patron’s best fighters would have a chance against her vampire lover. It made her feel warm . . . safe, realizing the extent of Claude’s powers. How surprising that the aura of menace surrounding him made her hot—hotter than she’d ever been before. Suddenly she wanted him to take her, change her, transport her to his world, where she’d be safe. If only he would . . . “The men you saw with me . . .”
“I know they wanted something from you. I’m afraid my Spanish isn’t good enough that I could figure out exactly what it was they wanted, or why. Something to do with your brother, I thought.”
“Sí. It was about my little brother, Raul. He’s only seventeen. He—he’s had some trouble. Drugs. He owes the patron—the drug lord down in the barrio where we live—money for what the cops took from him when they arrested him. Now the police watch Raul, and he can’t make the money back fast enough to satisfy his boss. The bastard.”
“So this drug-peddling boss expects you to pay your brother’s debt?” Claude’s muscles tensed, reminding her of his strength—and her desire. “Yes.”
But Marisa didn’t want to think about that now. What she wanted—craved—was to forget Raul, the patron and his goons. She’d put everybody and everything from her mind but Claude, and enjoy all the delicious sensations that filled her mind and body, chasing away every mortal concern.
For once in her life she was going to do exactly as she wanted. El Diablo take her brother and his problems, if only for the moment. “Never mind. I’d rather make love with you again for now.”
“Rest easily. I’ll take care of your problem. But not until daybreak. Until sunrise, you will fulfill my every fantasy.”
“And what might your fantasies be?” She shuddered with anticipation, sure that whatever he might want would bring her pleasure.
“Lie facedown on the bed. Put both pillows under your hips.” His words, spoken softly but with the authority she needed, gave her no choice but to obey—to eagerly await the ecstasy he promised with every touch, each light nip of his fangs on the sensitive skin of her buttocks.
“Good. Now close your eyes, grasp the bedposts and don’t move. Trust that everything I do will bring you pleasure.” His words reverberated against one buttock before he began to nip her there . . . and on the other cheek. “Trust me, period. Now and always.”
No other lover had ever taken her out of herself, into a world where all that mattered was the touch of his hands, his mouth, his sex.
Something wet and warm and satiny—his tongue—ringed her vulnerable rear, and the sensation made her grow wet with anticipation. “Open for me,” he murmured against her most private flesh, and she could not say no.
“So soft . . . so hot. So tempting. ” He slipped his fingers in her first, then lubed and inserted the large gel dildo he must have taken from her bag while she used the bathroom. “Do you use these often?”
Marisa’s cheeks grew hot when she realized he might reasonably assume she used them in her vocation as a prostitute. “Sometimes I like to play when I’m by myself. And once in a while I use them in my act at the club. I’ve never . . . had a man use them on me the way you’re doing.”
“Good. Someday I’d like to watch you turn yourself on with them, but now I want you to relax and enjoy the ride.”
When he turned on the vibrator mechanism, the motion started the bell on her clit to tinkling. Dios, but that felt delicious. Tiny explosions of sensation slithered along nerve endings, over her buttocks and up her spine until they collided in an erotic tango.
“Oooh.” The vibrations made her shiver, or was it his fingers, spreading her and finding her anus? She opened her eyes and lifted her head, wanting to look at the man who had every cell in her body begging for his attention.
He nipped her butt cheek with his fangs as he used well-lubricated fingers to stretch her. “Don’t worry, I put on another condom. I want you to feel me inside you, on you, taking you higher than you’ve ever been taken, driving away the memory of all the lovers who’ve gone before.”
There are fewer than you think.
She wanted to tell him she was no whore. That she’d had a handful of clumsy boyish lovers, none of whom had ever made her burn the way Claude was doing now. But Marisa realized she was lying to herself. She was a prostitute. She had sold herself to him for money, never m
ind that she’d done it to save her brother’s hide. “You have. I think of no lover but you.”
He slapped her with the flat of his palm and she jumped, her ass burning in more ways than one now. “That’s good, my beautiful little one.”
When he knelt between her legs and nudged her rear entrance with the slippery head of his sheathed penis, she gasped.
Claude responded by turning up the speed of the vibrator inside the dildo. She couldn’t help it. She let out another little whimper at the delicious sensations that coursed through her body. “I’m going to take you here.”
He was going to possess her. Own every orifice in her body. She started to murmur a weak protest, then clamped down her lips.
As though he sensed her worry, he bent over, nipped the back of her neck. “Yes, I’m going to fuck your ass. And I want you to relax and enjoy it. You enjoyed taking my fingers. You’ll like my cock even better.” He paused. “Don’t be afraid, my sweet. I know you haven’t done this before.”
How did he know? Was she that transparent? “I’m not afraid.”
“Yes, you are, but I want you to relax. Let me in.” He ringed her once more with his fingers, then replaced them with his cock and found the tiny opening at the center. “It will hurt a bit at first, but then you’ll feel incredible pleasure.”
She wanted to let him invade her here, claim her in a way no man ever had. Marisa let out the breath she’d been holding, concentrated on the buzz of the vibrator, the steady pressure of him pressing against her rear passage.
It hurt when he pressed past her anal sphincter, but she breathed deeply and made her muscles relax. Sensing that a whine would displease him, she bit her tongue to hold it back. If this gave him pleasure, she didn’t mind. Madre de Dios! The initial pain was nothing compared to the delicious feeling of fullness when he slid ever deeper within her rear passage. Through the thin wall of tissue that separated the two holes, incredible sensations converged. The rocking motion of his cock, the vibrating dildo, the incredible feel of his cool, dry skin against her back, his large hands cupping her breasts, flicking the sensitive tips of her nipples with his fingers . . . Dios. Nothing could be more erotic than this. She wanted it to last forever.
“You’re mine. Mine.” His choked words dissolved into deep groans that reverberated against the back of her neck, made the hair at the nape of her neck shift against her skin.
She knew then that was what she wanted. Total enslavement to her vampire lover. She wanted him to bite her, drink her blood, make her his forever.
“Oh, yes. God, yes.” His balls nudged the dildo, set the vibrator to buzzing faster, harder.
“You like this. I knew you would . . . Oh, yeah, my precious one, use those muscles. Let me feel them. I want you to come for me. Now.”
Great waves of ecstasy washed over her, one after the other, so fast and hard that they merged into one huge tsunami and crashed her into oblivion. When he shouted out his own release and rolled to his side, taking her with him, the aftershocks of her climax were still transporting her, keeping the incredible sensations coming, slowly now, like smooth, sweet honey. For a long time she lay in the secure safe haven of his arms, basking in the unfamiliar tenderness she sensed as he stroked her hair, her cheeks, the spot he’d nipped earlier in the curve of her throat.
She should have felt invaded, for the dildo still whirred inside her and his half-hard cock was still inside her. But she didn’t. A sense of fullness and contentment warmed her from the inside . . . contentment that came from the oneness she felt with her vampire lover.
Marisa shifted, wanting more of the sensation of her heat against his coolness, the bite of his strong fingers on her nipples, her clit. As though he knew she needed more, he pressed two fingers between her lips.
“Suck my finger. Pretend it’s my cock. Pretend that with my vampire powers I can fulfill all your erotic fantasies at the same time.” His deep, mellow voice washed over her, a soothing balm to her troubled thoughts. Her thought that this was a one-night stand for money and he was not her vampire lover but her hooker’s john.
I can’t take his money. Not now, when he has given me far more pleasure than I could possibly have given him. That wasn’t it, at least not entirely. Marisa couldn’t bear the thought of being a whore. Not in this man’s mind or heart.
For he was a man—a decent, caring man—even though he also was a creature of the night.
Chapter Five
“I have to get up for a moment. There’s something I have to do.”
She raised her head but made no effort to move, looked at him with a question in her eyes. “You don’t need to ask. I may be a vampire, but I’m no ogre who’d keep you from taking care of mortal necessities.”
“Not that. This.” She went straight for her purse, removed the twenty crisp American hundred-dollar bills he’d given her and laid them on the table beside the bed. “I can’t take money from the man who has become my love.”
Claude had sensed from the moment he’d looked into Marisa’s guileless brown eyes that they reflected desperation, not greed. Now she confirmed it. He made no move to pick up the cash, for it didn’t concern him. She did.
Her eyes downcast, she spoke through trembling lips. “I’m not a prostitute, in spite of what I must seem. I made love with you because I wanted to. And I received more pleasure than I’ve given you.”
He doubted that could be true, but he let it pass for the moment and took her hand. “Why did you offer to fuck me for money?” Claude paused, but when she didn’t answer right away, he went on. “Did it have something to do with the two men I saw threatening you in the alley?”
She nodded, her eyes still focused on the floor. “As I told you, my brother owes a lot of money to the patron. The men you saw with me—his enforcers—said they would kill Raul if I didn’t pay up by tomorrow night. I have less than two days left now to come up with another four thousand dollars,” she said, looking out the window at the rising sun.
Bastards. Mortal bloodsuckers who preyed on those weaker and smaller than themselves. Claude had read them right. “Your brother. Does he owe this money rightfully?”
She shrugged. “You might say so. Raul ran cocaine for the patron. As I think I mentioned already, the police took nearly five thousand dollars’ worth of cocaine Raul was carrying when they arrested him. Now he has nothing to sell on the street, no way to pay what he owes for the drugs. The drug bosses don’t want explanations about what happened. They just want their money, and they don’t care what people have to do to get it.”
“It seems to me this patron has it good. No matter what happens to his runners, he gets paid.” Claude managed to hold back the string of curses that flooded his brain. This drug lord who apparently held Marisa’s brother in a stranglehold sounded as evil in his own way as Reynard. Claude gentled his voice when he spoke again. “What does your brother say about all this, my pet?”
“I haven’t spoken to him about it, but I’m sure Raul would beg me to save his life, as he has done many times before. And . . . I promised our mama before she died that I would take care of him.” Marisa sat on a chair by the window and stared out at the beach.
It infuriated Claude that such responsibility had been dumped on her frail shoulders. “If you will allow me the pleasure, I’ll take care of your brother and this patron.”
Marisa’s beautiful eyes widened, as though she had just realized that was exactly what Claude had implied. “Sí. I would like nothing better than to rid the barrio of . . . Surely, you don’t mean to kill them?”
“Only if I must. As I said, I’m really a peaceful sort.”
Marisa nodded, her eyes downcast. Claude got the sense that she didn’t like the idea of causing her tormentors’ demise, but that circumstances were such that she felt she had no choice.
“Show me where I can find these bastards. I swear I’ll make them pay.” For the first time in his memory, Claude wanted to protect a woman more than he wanted to fuck her
. At last he was beginning to understand the emotion that had compelled Stefan to try to turn the mortal he had wanted for all time. The desire to have his lover for all eternity. To risk everything to make her his vampire mate.
He wanted to take her . . . turn her . . . become her lover and protector for all time. See to her safety and her pleasure and keep her from mortal danger and pain.
• • •
A half hour later, while the morning sun still lay low over the Atlantic, Marisa walked through the hotel lobby with Claude. Dios, but he was one gorgeous vampire, one she’d like to spend the rest of her life pleasing. Her flesh still ached, reminding her how completely he had filled her senses and how much she wanted him to fill them again. Perhaps . . .
She imagined him taking her to dungeons like the ones she’d heard existed on South Beach, restraining her on a St. Andrew’s cross, forcing her to reach for the outer limits of sexual pleasure. Tying her to his bed and invading every one of her bodily orifices over and over, until she screamed with her release. He’d use his fangs to nibble at her nipples and clit, then chase away the pleasure-pain he’d inflicted with the velvet touch of his tongue.
She’d kneel at his feet and suck his cock at his command, cup his heavy scrotum in both hands and weigh his testicles while he pushed her head lower, making her swallow the full length of his sex and his seed. Her body clenched at the prospect of him claiming her. Claiming her over and over through the years. The centuries.
What would it be like to be his vampire mate? To feel the prick of his fangs at her throat, know he was ending her life as she knew it? To look forward to a future, roaming the world with her lover for centuries—perhaps an eternity? Marisa looked over at Claude, wished they could have stayed in the shelter of his room, exploring how their very different worlds might come together.
She wanted him to take her away with him, away from the barrio and the drugs and all the troubles they represented. I want you to sink your fangs into my throat until you’ve made me one with you, forever.
