Venice Vampyr

by Tina Folsom

  “It happened almost a year ago. And I’m fortunate in many ways. But …” Her voice became thick with the threatening tears.

  “You miss him,” Raphael whispered into her hair.

  She nodded.

  “Tell me what happened.”

  “Giovanni was good to me, generous and kind. He taught me how to run his business. I think he did it merely because it amused him, not because he knew how much it meant to me. He spent lots of time with me, despite the fact that he and Massimo often went out without taking me along or telling me where they were going.”

  “Massimo?” Raphael asked.

  “Giovanni’s cousin. They were close. But then, about a month before my husband’s death, something changed. He started avoiding Massimo, made excuses when he came by. I had to lie for Giovanni when he didn’t want to see him. He avoided me too. Suddenly, he didn’t want to share my bed anymore. He stayed away all night. I think he might have had a mistress.”

  The thought still hurt, even after all this time. “He lost interest in me. He stopped loving me.”

  Isabella felt Raphael’s hand on her chin as he tilted her face up to make her look at him. “I can’t imagine how any man could ever stop loving you. I’ve never met a more lovable creature than you, my angel.” He planted a tender kiss on her lips.

  “You flatter me, but I can’t ignore the truth. He was gone almost every night, until that one cold December night. Nobody knows what really happened, but by the time two footmen managed to pull him out of the canal, his lungs had already filled with water, and his heart had stopped beating. They said they were lucky to even find his body. Had his coat not gotten tangled up in some fishing hooks that hung over a moored boat, he would have drifted away.”

  “So you thought if you saved me, you’d save your husband. Why?”

  “I was so angry with him. I wanted another chance. If I’d done something wrong that made him pull away from me, I wanted a chance at undoing it. Don’t you see? When he drowned, I never got to ask him why he didn’t love me anymore.” She’d cried so many nights, trying to understand all that had happened.

  “I’m sure there was some other explanation for him being away at night. A man married to you would not need a mistress. Believe me when I tell you that if I had you in my bed every night, there’d be no reason to ever seek pleasures elsewhere.” Raphael traced her lips with his thumb, then slipped it between them. She instantly sucked on him and saw him close his eyes. “See? That’s what I mean. With your lips on any part of my body, I would never have the strength to leave your bed.”

  When Raphael opened his eyes, his gaze collided with hers. His eyes had gone dark with passion. He pulled his thumb out of her mouth and lowered it to her breast, where he rubbed his digit over her nipple.

  Her breath hitched.

  “I want you to ride me. You’ve got me under your thrall, and I’d like to offer my body to you. Take your pleasure. I’m here to serve you.”

  His strong hands supported his words as he pulled her on top of him. Her legs automatically fell to each side of his hips, and her core aligned with his hard length. Isabella sat up and looked down to where their bodies were joined. His manhood was swollen, almost purple in color, evidence of the blood pumping it full. She reached for it with her hand and stroked against it.

  He jerked at her touch and moaned. “Tell me, Isabella, did you touch me when I was unconscious?”

  She felt her cheeks color with embarrassment.

  “Please, I want to know. There’s no need to be ashamed.”

  She avoided looking at his face when she answered him. “I washed you and dried you.”

  “Did you stroke your hand over me as you just did?” His voice was hoarse. She snapped her gaze to him and could see excitement shine in his eyes.

  Isabella nodded. “Just once.” She felt herself get wet at the memory.

  “Did you touch my balls? Did you cradle them in your palms?”

  She ran her hand along his shaft again, up and down. “I only let my fingertips slide over them.”

  “Did you like it?”

  “Yes.”

  “And now, do you like it that I’m awake?”

  Isabella wrapped her hand around his cock and squeezed, eliciting a groan from him. “I like it more now, because now you’re hard and big.” She pressed his shaft to her center, sliding against him so he touched that place where her pleasure concentrated, the place that throbbed uncontrollably now.

  “I like it more now too,” he offered, “because now I can feel what you’re doing. Yet, the thought of what you did when I was unconscious excites me. It makes me want to do the same to you: to touch you when you’re asleep. To slip into your tight sheath when you’re not even aware of it.”

  The thought shouldn’t excite her, but it did. To be taken by him when she had no defenses, no way of fighting it. To allow him such liberties with her body that not even her late husband had taken. “What would you do?” she heard herself ask.

  She noticed his eyes flicker with lust. “I would slide my cock into you from behind, drive myself into you to the hilt. You would still be slick from earlier in the night. Then I’d hold onto your hips and pump into you, slowly and steadily, without any haste until you found yourself waking up.”

  Isabella pressed his cock closer to her and slid up and down, the liquid heat that flooded her with every word he spoke dripping from her onto his balls.

  “My angel, I can feel you weep for me.” He pumped his cock in her hand. “Ride me.”

  When his hands came to her hips, she lifted herself and aligned his cock at her moist entrance. With one long slide she pushed down, sheathing his hard length within her body. She welcomed the fullness.

  “Yes,” he groaned and pressed his head back into the pillow. “This is heaven.”

  Isabella smiled at his comparison and lifted up before lodging him deep inside her again. She fell into an easy rhythm, and judging by the sounds of pleasure he released and the hungry look he raked over her, he was more than pleased with what she was doing.

  When his hand came and found her center of pleasure, he rubbed against it. With every downslide, his thumb grazed the little bundle of flesh, igniting the flames in her body. She felt moisture build on her face and neck and run like little rivulets between her breasts. They ached to be touched.

  “Touch me.” She was shocked to hear herself speak in such a lusty manner. But instead of being disgusted by her wanton ways, Raphael smiled back at her.

  “I can only touch one of your breasts as you can see.” He pointedly looked at where his thumb stroked her pearl. Then his other hand captured her nipple and pinched it. “Touch your other nipple.”

  Her eyes widened in shock. She couldn’t do such a shocking thing.

  “Do it,” he ordered, “and don’t stop riding me.” He thrust his cock upward, plunging deep into her. “I want to see you touch yourself,” he continued, his voice hoarser now. He pinched her nipple again, and it turned hard. “Just mimic what I’m doing. Like this.” And again he rolled her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, sending a bolt of heat through her body and straight to her pearl.

  She threw her head back and did as he asked. With her eyes closed, she touched her other breast and hesitantly rubbed over her nipple. It beaded.

  “More,” he urged her.

  Without thinking, lust guiding her actions, she pinched her own nipple and cried out at the intense sensation. “Oh, God!”

  Of its own volition, her rhythm sped up, and she rode him as if her life depended on it. The slide of flesh on flesh was like a symphony in her ears, and his hands pinching and rubbing her drove every sane thought out of her mind. She was like a rutting animal, barely recognizing herself. She suddenly was a wanton creature only intent on her own pleasure, on finding that delicious release he’d given her earlier.

  Harder and harder, Isabella impaled herself on him. With every thrust, he drove deeper into her, filling her more. And s
he gripped him, not wanting this to end, not wanting him to escape. And then, with a breathless moan, she greeted the onslaught of her climax. The waves that swept over her nearly knocked her unconscious.

  She felt the heat inside her channel and realized that Raphael had joined her in release, his hot seed pumping into her, before she collapsed onto his chest.

  His arms instantly imprisoned her. His chest heaved from the effort it seemed to cost him to breathe. She felt a warm puff of air against her temple when he spoke. “You’ve slain me.”

  Chapter Eight

  Raphael had never had such an elaborate dream as this one: of angels and heaven, of ripe woman and sexual bliss. Even his sense of smell was still drugged with the scent of her, the beautiful Isabella who’d rescued him. He couldn’t even remember how he’d gotten home after their intoxicating encounter. Had he taken her again after she’d ridden him into oblivion? And to think that it had been his hands and his mouth that had coaxed all that passion out of her.

  He shifted in bed and encountered lush curves and warmth so familiar, he instinctively pulled her into the arc of his body, delighted to realize that his dream wasn’t over yet. Yes, he could indulge once more, take the sleeping woman in his arms and make sweet love to her again while she slept. He could drive his aching cock into her and impale her with it until his orgasm claimed him. And then he would do what he couldn’t do to her in reality: drink from the plump vein on her graceful neck, gorge himself on her rich blood.

  Yes, even in his dream he could feel the draw her body had. And even now, with the ghost of her form pressed into him, he was getting hard. Hard for her body and thirsty for her blood.

  Raphael took a deep breath. Her scent was still around him, and it felt so real it nearly undid him. Not wanting to wake up from this, he kept his eyes closed. His hand traveled to the soft globes of the imaginary woman in his arms and squeezed. Her nipple rubbed against the palm of his hand and tightened.

  His cock pressed against her warm buttocks, and he pulled back to readjust himself. Yes, he could slide into her, his dream woman. Because in his dream, she’d be all wet and ready for him, open to any kind of debauchery he had in mind. He could ravish her even without her knowledge, because she was merely a figment of his imagination. A very beautiful figment.

  With his hard length poised at the entrance to her cave, he noticed the warmth and wetness of her honey and pushed forward. Like a tight glove, she engulfed him in her dark depths.

  “Oh, yeah,” he grunted to himself. “Let me fuck you.”

  The woman in his arms stirred. Her ass moved back to take him deeper.

  “Yes, take my big cock into your cunt.” To his dream woman he could talk dirty, and it excited him. He didn’t have to pretend he was refined. “And after that, your ass is next.”

  A startled cry came from her as she pulled away. He gripped her hips harder and pushed her back onto his cock.

  “Raphael!” Isabella’s voice was so real, it made him stop in his tracks.

  Then he felt her hand on his—too real to be a dream. His eyes flew open. Despite the dim light, he could clearly make out where he was: in Isabella’s bedchamber. He’d never left.

  Raphael cursed and pulled himself out of her, for once not listening to his throbbing dick. A quick glance at the windows confirmed the worst: it was daytime, and while the shutters and the drapes kept out the rays of the sun, he could see light seep through the sides.

  He’d slept in her arms—and slept better than he’d ever had—and missed sunrise. He was in a quagmire.

  “You promised you’d leave before sunrise,” Isabella said. He couldn’t even fault her for the accusatory tone in her voice.

  When he looked at her, he saw fear in her eyes. He knew what she was thinking: if anybody saw him leave her house now, her reputation would be ruined. And if he stayed, sooner or later her servants would discover him.

  But what she didn’t know was that he didn’t have a choice in what to do. His only choice was to stay. The rays of the sun would burn him, and within minutes he’d turn into a pile of ash. He knew, because there had been moments when he’d taken short dashes from one hiding place to another—mere seconds—but nevertheless, his skin had burned painfully. He wasn’t keen on repeating any of it.

  He couldn’t leave, no matter what. And somehow he had to make this clear to her without exposing what he was.

  “I’m so sorry, my angel. I fell asleep in your arms. I don’t know how it happened.”

  “You can’t stay here. My servants. They’ll find out. You have to leave. Please. But nobody can see you.” Her voice shook, and her eyes darted around the room as if to try and find a way out for him. Then she gasped.

  He followed where her eyes had traveled. The clock over the mantle showed it to be past ten o’clock.

  “Oh, no!”

  “Please, Isabella, calm down. We’ll find a solution to this. But I can’t leave the house. Not now. The streets will be teeming with people. There’s no way I can leave unseen.” And remain alive. As much as he hated his next suggestion, it was the only possible solution. “You’ll have to hide me here. Maybe in a dark storage room nobody uses?”

  ***

  Isabella’s mind clicked frantically. How could this have happened? Hadn’t they agreed this would be only one night and nobody would ever find out? And now she was facing a disaster. How could she hide him from her servants? The only one she trusted was Adolfo; all others were liable to gossip.

  “Maybe Adolfo can hide you in the small workshop he keeps for the gondola. But how will I get you down there without you being seen?” She pushed back tears of desperation.

  A moment later, she felt his hand cup her cheek. “We’ll figure it out. Now, let me help you get dressed.”

  Raphael jumped out of bed. Her eyes followed his nude form as if drawn by a magnet. His firm buttocks flexed as he walked to her dressing table. He pulled a fresh chemise and silky drawers from one of the compartments.

  When he turned, he grinned unashamedly. How he could find humor in the situation, she couldn’t fathom. “How can you—?”

  “Because this allows me to spend another few hours with you that I wouldn’t have had otherwise.” He stepped toward the bed and turned back the covers, exposing her to his hungry eyes. Yes, she could clearly see the hunger in them and was instantly reminded of how she had awakened: with his hard length inside her, thrusting deep, and the most indecent words whispered in her ear. Words that had excited her nevertheless. More than she wanted to admit to him. If she did, she’d be no better than a common whore.

  Raphael’s hands were gentle as he helped her into her undergarments. Her corset followed. As he laced her up in the back, she felt his loins press into her buttocks. His cock was as hard as before.

  “You’re gorgeous,” he whispered into her ear, then started nibbling on it. For a moment, she lost all senses.

  A commotion on the stairs brought her back to reality. She jolted, and so did Raphael. He’d heard the voices outside in the corridor too.

  “Quickly.” He snatched her dressing gown and helped her into it.

  “No, Signore, you can’t see her now!” Elisabetta’s indignant voice penetrated.

  But a moment later, the door swung open without a knock, and Massimo burst into the room, his valet on his heels.

  Elisabetta tried to push into the room too, but was prevented by the two men. “I’m so sorry, Signora, I tried to stop them.”

  But Isabella didn’t listen to her maid, because Massimo’s booming voice took all her attention.

  “Look at you, you whore. How you drag my cousin’s name through the mud!”

  “Massimo,” she echoed in shock.

  Raphael grabbed her and pushed her behind his naked body as if to shield her from Massimo. But he couldn’t shield her from the accusations that rolled off his tongue.

  “Caught with her lover, still aroused and ready.” Massimo sneered and pointed his finger at her while
Raphael held her behind his broad back, seemingly unconcerned about his nude state. “By tonight, all of Venice will know what a whore you are! I can’t wait to attend the ball.”

  Then he turned on his heels and left, slamming the door shut behind him. She was ruined. Not only was it her word against his, he’d brought a witness. Everybody would believe him. Her whole life was lost because of one night. Nobody could help her now. Not even Raphael.

  “Leave,” she choked out and turned away from him.

  Chapter Nine

  Raphael stood frozen, still staring at the door. Massimo, she’d called him. Her dead husband’s cousin. But none of that mattered, not after Raphael had seen the ring the man wore. He’d recognized the symbol on it. The black onyx was graced with a cross intersected by three waves—the sign of the Guardians of the Holy Waters. Holy Waters, because they had made it their mission to eradicate vampires and drown every single one of them.

  He and his brethren had not been able to find out who the members of their secret society were, as least not so far. They were far too careful. This was the first time he’d actually seen someone wear the elusive sign. He could only imagine that it had been an oversight by Massimo to wear the ring in public and give himself away. Unless, of course, he didn’t consider Isabella’s house to be a public place, but rather a place where his secret was safe. Or had he simply been absentminded?

  Had fate just handed him the key to dealing with the threat the Guardians represented? Was this why he’d been given a second chance and been thrust into this house and this woman’s arms? So he could discover who they were?

  A sob behind him made him turn. Isabella sat at her dressing table, trying to comb her hair, a look of anguish on her face. The woman who’d given him such pleasure only hours ago was a bundle of nerves.

  When he met her eyes in the mirror, she looked away. “You should leave. There’s nothing more to do for you. By tonight, all of Venice will know what a whore I am.”