by PG Forte
When they started up the stairs leading to the mansion’s upper floors she roused herself enough to ask, “Where are we going?”
“I’m taking you to my room.” A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he watched her, as though awaiting her reaction.
She blinked in surprise. “Your room? Do you live here?”
“I do,” he replied, his smile even more evident. “I own this house. This happening scene into which you’ve stumbled belongs to me. And, you, my sweet, little uninvited one, are about to pay the penalty for trespassing.”
“Things too terrible to mention,” she murmured, trying to think back to what they’d said earlier, causing Conrad to almost miss a step.
His eyebrows rose as he stopped in his tracks and looked at her. “I sincerely hope not. Is that how it seems to you?”
Yawning, she closed her eyes and nestled closer. “No. You said that. I said it was like a dream.”
Chapter Four
“Stand there,” Conrad instructed as he set the girl down in the middle of his bedroom. She swayed on her feet, blinking sleepily at him, but he wasn’t worried. He knew she wouldn’t fall—not unless, or until, he wanted her to. Still unwilling to rush, he took his time as he removed his clothes, enjoying the tension, the hunger, the view. Enjoying the knowledge he would soon be satisfying not one but two of his appetites.
Then it was her turn. “Undress,” he murmured. It was a single word, not quite a suggestion, not yet an order, uttered solely so that he might see her response. He held his breath and waited. Would she try again to resist his will as she had in the garden? He half hoped she would, just for the sheer novelty of it.
It had been a very long time since someone had openly defied his wishes and, with most of his outrage over that particular betrayal gone now, he almost missed it. Almost. The pain was still a little too fresh, even now, after more than a century. And the sense of loss that accompanied the memory…no, he wouldn’t even think about that. He was relieved when she complied, shucking out of her clothes seemingly without any self-consciousness at all.
“Much better,” he sighed approvingly, crossing back to where she stood quietly, wearing nothing but the feathers in her hair. She was lovely. Breathtaking. But when he took her in his arms, he was dismayed to find that she was also trembling—and not in a way that suggested she was cold. “Are you afraid of something, mignonne?”
“Should I be?” she asked, hesitantly twining her arms around his neck.
He frowned sternly. “That is not an answer.” He could subdue her, if he had to, temporarily erasing her fears with another, drugging kiss as he’d done in the garden. But useful though the technique was for feeding, when it came to sex he preferred his partners to be more actively involved. Or at the very least, mostly conscious. Besides, he was curious. If she was nervous, he wanted to know the cause.
He slid one hand down her spine, hoping to soothe her. Instead, the trembling increased. Was it possible he’d misread the situation? She was very young, after all, and this was not a century in which women matured as early as they had in times past. He pulled back far enough to look into her eyes as he asked, “Chérie, you’re not still a virgin, are you?”
“What?” His question clearly caught her off guard. She blushed and looked away. “No, I-I mean, why? Why are you asking me that?”
“I’m trying to understand what it is you’re afraid of.” He placed a finger under her chin and forced her to look at him. “Now, you will tell me,” he ordered, giving her no choice to be anything but truthful. She shrugged and tried to look away again. He didn’t let her. “Tell me.”
“There’s nothing to tell! It’s just…well, it’s not always so nice, you know? I try, but I don’t always like it. Sometimes…sometimes it hurts.”
Conrad nodded and bit back a sigh. It was an old story. Very old. And very boring. He thought back on all the women he’d bedded over the centuries. Far too many of them had been so abused, neglected or injured by previous lovers that they’d become disenchanted with the act of love. Far too many of them had come to his bed in moods that spanned the range from skittish to reluctant to angry to resigned…when, really, all he’d been hoping for, from any of them, was eager.
It was little wonder he’d come to prefer men as lovers. At least most of them had been clear about what they wanted from him—and not too shy to ask for it. There were never any post coitem tears to contend with and they hardly ever left him with the feeling he’d taken something they had not wished to give, or that he’d done anything wrong by loving them. Which, given society’s narrow views on the subject, was almost laughable. Best of all was the fact that their desires, in general, were usually a near match for his own.
“I can’t promise you’ll like it,” he told the girl now. “Though I will do everything in my power to make it enjoyable for you. What I can promise, however, is that I’ll cause you no pain. Or, at most, only a very little bit.”
His fangs were sharp enough that, most of the time, his “victims” didn’t even feel the small punctures. Even when they did, the neurotoxins in his venom created such intensely pleasurable sensations, they rarely minded the minor pain that went along with it.
Unless he was angry. Unless he was acting out of jealousy or wounded pride or some other dark emotion. Unless he was using his fangs to rend, to tear, to punish, to scar. That produced an entirely different form of venom, one capable of burning the flesh it touched, capable of hurting even those he loved.
Old memories surfaced, bringing up traces of guilt and remorse. Conrad sighed with regret. “Ah, mignonne.” With a tender hand he tucked the braids in her hair back behind her ears, smiling at their whimsical little feathered tips. “My sweet little Indian Princess. I was wrong in what I said to you earlier. One should always have a choice. Do you really not wish to do this?”
She swallowed hard. “I-I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t say you wanted it, either. So, what is it to be? Yes, or no?”
Her gaze turned thoughtful. “It’s my decision?”
He nodded. “As I said.”
“And if I say no?”
“Then it’s no.” He spread his hands wide and took a step back, releasing her from his hold. “I’ll be disappointed, to be sure, but…”
“You’ll be angry.”
“No, I won’t.” Once he might have been, he supposed. His heart twisted in grief as he thought about that. No. Once he would have been. Definitely. And he would have done horrible, vengeful things in retaliation. Cruel things. Things he would regret…possibly forever.
“What if I said yes?”
Conrad shrugged. “As I already told you, I will try very hard to make the experience as pleasurable and as memorable for you as possible.”
Her eyes narrowed suddenly. “And what about you—will it be like that for you too?”
“Will it be pleasurable?” He smiled. “Most assuredly.” He looked her over, taking in her lithe figure, her long legs, her small but perfect breasts…as well as her hair and her eyes and everything else that had originally caught his attention. “Never doubt it.”
“What about memorable? I’d like to be memorable too, you know, but I’ll bet anything you want that you’re gonna forget all about me five minutes after I’m gone.”
“Be very glad I don’t take that bet,” he told her, calmly certain. “Because you would lose and, when you did, I’d want a lot. I have had assignations with many women, mignonne, and some of them, it is true, I do not remember very well. But, you…” He chuckled softly. “You, I already know I shall not find easy to forget.”
She stared at him suspiciously, clearly wanting to believe him, but not yet sure she did. “How could you know something like that? We haven’t even done it yet.”
Conrad shrugged. “Even so.” He could have told her that not “doing it” would likely make their encounter all the more memorable for him, rather than less so, but he held his tongue. He wasn’t activ
ely trying to dissuade her.
She studied him for a moment longer in silence. Finally, she nodded. Raising her chin, she gazed at him proudly. “Then I choose yes.”
Just as though she really were a princess, Conrad mused, mentally shaking his head at the odd mood into which he seemed to have fallen tonight. All this misguided chivalry could not be a good thing. Had he really just offered her the chance to walk away without giving him any of what he wanted? It was inconceivable that he should have done so. Unprecedented. Like a lion giving a gazelle the choice of skipping dinner. What could he have been thinking? When had he gotten so…soft?
Whatever the cause, he really shouldn’t allow it to continue, not just for his own sake, but for the sake of the others, as well. They depended on him to protect them, to provide for them, to hold the nest together. They needed him strong. Anything less could prove deadly.
I choose yes. With those three words, Suzanne had the uncomfortable feeling she’d somehow sealed her fate—but that was ridiculous. Destiny, fate, whatever you wanted to call it, she didn’t believe in any of that shit. How many times, as a kid, had she been told to accept what life had given her, that she was fated to go nowhere, that she’d best learn to “bloom where you’re planted”? Bullshit. Life was what you made it. And she was going to make hers as interesting and exciting and memorable as possible.
So, even though she was certain she’d never forget Conrad either, she wasn’t stupid enough to think that this could ever be anything permanent. She wasn’t looking for permanent yet, anyway. She was looking for adventure. Still, the feeling she was perched on the edge of a precipice—getting ready to either fly or fall—persisted.
Maybe it was him. How could she not be nervous, faced with the most beautiful body she’d ever seen? He was nothing like the other guys she’d been with—just boys, scrawny and uninteresting. For the life of her, she could not recall what she’d seen in any of them. Tonight, the very idea of them seemed mildly repulsive.
Whereas Conrad was like one of those old marble statues come to life. She had always assumed those artists had just been making stuff up. People didn’t really look like that, did they? All those chiseled muscles couldn’t be real? Apparently, they could.
Maybe it was the look on his face that was making her nervous. One minute he’d been hot for her, the next…it was like his mind had gone somewhere a million miles away. She didn’t know how or why she’d lost his attention, but she had a pretty good idea of how to get it back.
Closing the small distance between them, she went up on her toes, twined her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his. Maybe that was all he’d been waiting for. His arms caged her, banding her so tightly to him she almost couldn’t breathe. His mouth claimed hers with an urgency she’d never dreamed possible.
There it was again, that indescribable flavor that could all too easily become a habit. Better than any drug she’d ever tried. And here was the rest of it, too—all the mind-spinning, heart-pounding pleasure he’d promised. Closing her eyes, she fell into his kiss, surrendering to the experience, willing to go anywhere he felt like taking her.
His hand was in her hair again, urging her head back, so she gave him what she thought he wanted. She clutched his arms and arched her back, offering her breasts to his touch. It was what she wanted, too, so much so that she was on fire with the need for it. When he seemed to hesitate, she whispered, “Please, Conrad. Please,” until finally she felt his mouth close around one tender tip. Yes. Perfect.
The sensual tug of his lips—first at one breast, then the other—was sheer bliss. She hoped he’d never stop. Her legs were trembling so hard she dug her nails harder into his arms to keep from falling. Finally, when the throbbing tightness between her legs became an unbearable torment, when even rocking her hips into his, grinding softly against his erection no longer eased the ache, she began to plead again. “Please. Oh, please, please, please, please, please…”
Conrad’s mouth left her breast then and took a leisurely trail up her chest and throat, all the way to her ear. “Did you want something, my sweet?”
“Something,” she groaned in agreement. “Yes.”
His mouth grazed along her neck, his teeth just scraping her skin, sending shivering sensations coursing through her. “Might I know what?” His voice was husky, sweet, amused. She groaned again.
“I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know what I want.” Whatever it was, if she didn’t get it soon, she would surely die.
A soft, triumphant laugh feathered her hair and then he was picking her up, falling with her onto the bed. “Perhaps I can help you find out,” he said as he began to kiss his way slowly down her body.
“No, wait.” Reaching down, she tried tugging at his shoulders. She needed him back here—now. But, he eluded her. “Where are you going?”
“I’m searching for hidden treasure,” he answered, slipping between her legs and running his hands up the insides of her thighs. “Let me see.” Her eyes were so heavy she couldn’t keep them open. Her legs, on the other hand, fell apart with almost no urging at all. “Ah, yes.” Conrad’s tongue flicked across her aching flesh and she gasped in surprise, in pleasure, in sheer amazement. Finally, she understood: this was why people liked sex so much.
“More,” she moaned, terrified he might stop, that he might take all these new sensations away. What if she could never get them back again? She’d die. She’d absolutely, positively die.
He licked faster, harder; then used his whole mouth to suck at the center of her heat. Her legs strained as she forced them wider, wanting him to have everything, take anything, never stop. She hadn’t even known it was possible to feel like this. And then, she was on the precipice again, still not knowing: fly or fall? Fly or fall? Fly or—
“Nooo. I can’t, I can’t, I’ll—ahh!” She shrieked as it all came apart, as she fell into a thousand glittery pieces of ecstasy, only vaguely aware of patient hands and soothing words shaping the fall, easing her into a slow, shuddering stop.
Her eyes were dazzled. Blinking rapidly, she tried to bring Conrad’s face into focus as he pulled himself up to lie on top of her. She welcomed the weight of him, running her hands up his arms and over his shoulders, delighting in the feel of his muscles.
The smile in his eyes disappeared as he looked at her. “Tears? Tell me you’re not crying, mignonne?”
Was she? “No, I don’t think so.” She wiped her fingers across her lashes, surprised when they came away wet. “Well, maybe, I guess.” She looked up at him, lips quivering as she tried to smile. “But who cares? That was…that was amazing.”
That brought his smile back, with perhaps an added smugness. “So…it was pleasurable then?”
She nodded. “Definitely. Yes.”
“Ah,” he murmured, his voice softly mocking. “But was it memorable?”
She fell silent for an instant, searching for just the right words. Finally she shrugged and answered simply, “It was everything.”
“Everything?” The mocking tone was stronger now. Conrad’s eyebrows rose. “Oh, no, ma petite.” Without warning, his face changed. His eyes blazed gold, just as they had in the garden, and when he smiled this time, it seemed like his mouth held far too many long, sharp teeth. “It was not quite everything yet.”
She gasped in surprise, not certain what she was seeing. He dropped his head to her neck and, just like before, the tingling began. Neither warm nor cold, both numbing and sharp, it spread through her body like an electric shock and all the throbbing pressure he’d so recently satisfied came roaring back to life. She twisted beneath him, dragging her nails along his back. She didn’t understand what he was doing to her, she only knew she never wanted him to stop. “More.”
An odd snarling sound left his lips as he lifted his mouth from her neck for an instant. “Mine,” she thought she heard him say just before his teeth latched onto her throat again. But maybe she’d misheard. Maybe he’d only been repeating her own garble
d command.
She answered anyway. “Yes.” This time, she was only partially surprised when the tingles intensified into a pulsing rush of heat, as though he’d tapped into a fire raging just below her skin. The bumping of her hips increased in tempo. “Conrad, yes,” she moaned again and was rewarded by the feel of him sliding, hot and heavy, into her. Yes.
The thrust of his hips settled into a steady rhythm and everything else followed suit. Everything—the roar of her blood, the pace of her thoughts, the sough of her breathing, even the turning of the Earth—seemed suddenly dependent on his very next stroke. And the next. And the next. The precipice loomed. Conrad pulled his mouth from her neck and slanted his lips over hers, swallowing her cries as the tension broke within her once again, stealing her breath, pumping his seed inside her.
As quickly as the storm had begun, it was over and she collapsed like a puppet whose strings had been cut. Her hands lost their purchase on his shoulders. Her body went slack. Her mind grew dim. A dull ache blossomed to life in her neck and the world around her settled into darkness.
The very next sensation she was aware of was the slow, gentle slide of Conrad’s tongue running back and forth over her neck. At some point he’d pulled out of her and, from the angle of her head and the awkward arrangement of her limbs, it seemed she’d moved as well. She couldn’t recall any of it.
Trying to sit up, she found herself pinned down, unable to lift so much as a finger. “What are you…?” Her voice faded. Her brain seemed to stall mid-sentence. Did it really matter anyway?
“Shh,” he whispered soothingly. “Don’t move. I’m almost done.”
Move? Yes, that was clearly impossible. But, done with what? She tried to nod but nothing happened. She was tired, more tired than she’d ever been in her life, too tired to even wonder why she was so tired.
Conrad sighed. “You were very good, mignonne. My sweet Desert Rose. But I fear I may have enjoyed you a little too thoroughly tonight.”
“Tired,” she whispered, as her mind started to slip into darkness again.
