by Michelle Fox
Table of Contents
Vampire Romance: Blood Struck | Michelle Fox | Copyright 2013. All Rights Reserved. | Blurb
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Disclaimer
Vampire Romance: Blood Struck
-Fin-
Burning for Him
To the Limit
Taming Her Beast
Princess at His Pleasure
Make Her Howl
Anything He Requires
Werewolf Menage: Pack Justice
7 | To Spank a Thief
About the Author
Vampire Romance: Blood Struck
Michelle Fox
Copyright 2013. All Rights Reserved.
Blurb
In a world where vampires are real, blood is a financial asset and sex mixed with blood commands the highest price...
Myra Danson is in desperate need of cash and when she has the opportunity to join the shadow world of blood courtesans, she jumps before she looks. Soon she’s sharing a bed with the handsome Kristos Anastos, but then bullets start to fly and she finds herself running for her life.
At first, Kristos assures her the attack stems from his enemies hoping to destroy him, but it quickly becomes clear that Myra is the real target. Worse, she’s falling in love with Kristos, but is the sexy vampire friend or foe? Blood is money and Myra’s may be worth the most of all. A past she never knew existed has come to claim her and she’ll be lucky if she only ends up dead.
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Disclaimer
This is a work of fiction intended for adults age 18 and over. Minors should stop here and close the book.
All events depicted are fictional. Characters are consenting adults. Any resemblance to places and persons, living or dead, is unintentional coincidence.
Every effort has been made to provide a quality reading experience, but editors and technology are fallible. Please report typos or formatting issues to [email protected]. You’d tell a girl if she had lipstick on her teeth, right? Please do the same for typos and formatting flubs.
Vampire Romance: Blood Struck
Chapter One
“What is it that interests you in becoming a courtesan to vampires?” Madame Rouge watched me, assessing. She had the beauty most women would kill for; tall, slender and an oval face with lush, red lips and crystal blue eyes topped off with impossibly long lashes. Her caramel brown hair was pulled up in a bun with long curls spilling down to her shoulders. She was younger than I’d expected with a somewhat archaic manner of speaking. And now she wanted me to explain what it was that made selling my body to vampires my number one career choice. Why would a girl from the backwoods of New York state travel to its glittering capitol, New York City, just to sell her body?
I shifted in my chair and tugged the hem of my skirt down to make sure it covered my knees. Her oxblood lips curled in amusement at the movement and I froze, realizing it was a mistake. Job hunting tip number one: When applying for a job as a courtesan, demure modesty was not an asset.
A long silence ensued because I didn’t know how to tell her what she wanted to hear. This job was my one shot to get the expensive not-covered-by-insurance medical care that could cure my mom and keep my childhood home. I was a classic sob story who needed a large amount of cash fast, but I didn’t want pity and I was pretty sure it wasn’t a turn-on in the world I sought to join.
“Miss Danson?” she prompted. Her body language disengaged from our interview. She no longer leaned forward and she dropped my resume on her desk. A resume that said nothing much about me beyond I was a college student who’d held a string of low paying part-time gigs as I worked my way through school.
“Call me Myra,” I said uncomfortable with her formal address. “I need the money. And, I, uh, like sex.” It’s not a lie if you really do like something you’ve never done, right? The theory sounded great to me, I just had no idea how things worked in on a practical level. I hadn’t dated a lot, dividing my attention between college and tending to my mother left little time to socialize.
She put her hand back on my application. “Clara said you were experienced, which is why I even agreed to meet with you. I need girls who aren’t afraid of sex and know how to enjoy themselves. The vampires demand it.”
I bit back a laugh at the mention of my old high school ‘frenemy’. She hated me. If I hadn’t known it before, I knew it now because she was lying, purposely setting me up for a fall. I’d told her nothing about my alleged ‘experience’ only asked her how to get in touch with Madame Rouge. Anything else she made up just to screw with me.
Focusing back on Madame Rouge, I smiled brightly. “I love sex, sex loves me.” Fake it until you make it, right?
She nodded. “Good. Shrinking violets don’t taste good and vampires don’t want hysterical girls who run screaming to the police.” She looked at my application again. “You’ve never slept with a vampire?”
I shook my head.
This pleased Madame and she smiled. “That raises your price.” At my confused look, she explained, “No scarring at the neck. You’re fresh meat.”
I flushed at her phrasing and she laughed. “They find blushing sexy. You’ll be very popular with that fair skin of yours showing every emotion.” She quickly scanned through my application one last time before saying, “I think you’ll do. When can you start?”
“As soon as possible.” I was on a deadline. I’d given myself a week to do this figuring I could miss that much class and still pass. I just hoped it was enough time to raise the money I needed.
She smiled at me again, pleased. “Excellent. How does tonight sound?”
“Tonight?” I repeated, my voice squeaking. “I don’t have any clothes.” Or time to find someone to deflower me quick so I didn’t lose my virginity and get the blood sucked out of me on the same night.
“We have an extensive closet here for just such an occasion.” She pushed a button on her phone. “Jacques, please bring three outfits with Kristos in mind to my office.”
A moment later, a guy I assumed was Jacques stalked into the office in a shock of pink hair and tight neon green jeans. His mesh tank top displayed a lean, defined frame and left nothing to the imagination. “Make way for fashion, ladies,” he said in a high trill. In his arms, he carried a jumble of clothes which he arranged into outfits on the back of the couch that sat along the far wall of Madame Rouge’s spacious office.
The clothes he’d brought looked small and way too revealing. I found myself tugging on the hem of my skirt again, anxious at the thought of exposing so much skin.
Madame Rouge waved her hand, the motion languid and elegant. “Jacques meet Myra. She’ll be going out for an audition tonight.”
Jacques sighed and looked down his nose at me. He didn’t speak, just sniffed and then resumed fussing over the clothes he’d brought in.
“Nice to meet you,” I said, trying to be polite.
“Yeah, sure.” He flicked his wrist in my general direction. Then, holding up a yellow dress, he asked, “What about this one?”
“I prefer the blue for her. She’s perfect for jewel tones with her alabaster skin and auburn hair.” Madame picked up a blue corset and a skinny band of leather that was supposed to be a skirt. “But the pink might be good too.” The pink in question was a go-go hooker look consisting of a latex mini dress with matching thigh-high boots. She turned to me, focusing those impossibly clear blue eyes on me, lashes all aflutter. “What do you think, Miss Danson?”
“I think none of that is anything fresh meat would wear,” I said, blurting out my gut reaction. It all looked cheap and tawdry
to me and yeah, I was selling my body, but I had some standards thank-you-very-much. I was not vampire bait Barbie. Assuming I had any say in the matter. While I would do anything for my mom, I wouldn’t go along to get along either.
Madame Rouge didn’t seem too upset by my blunt response, but Jacques stiffened and glared at me with narrowed eyes.
She fingered the pink latex and then let it go with a small sigh. “It’s all very fashionable, but she has a point, I think. Do we have anything more romantic, more flow-y?”
Jacques huffed and gathered up the clothes. “I’ll be right back.” He left the room, his cowboy boots making a thudding sound despite the plush carpet.
“Sorry,” I called after him with an apologetic look to Madame Rouge. Note to self: Try not to piss everyone off on your first day on the job.
Madam Rouge just laughed, a sweet musical sound that probably made birds burn with envy. She was a mesmerizing concoction of feminine perfection and I felt like Bertha the fat, hippy and hairy next to her. “No worries, my dear. I like a girl who has a vision of her brand.”
“Brand?”
She went to her desk. “Yes, you are a product and how you package yourself determines how well you’ll sell.” She typed something on her computer and turned the screen so I could see. “We set up web pages for each of our girls. We do a pictorial and a bio targeting certain tastes and experiences. We like to offer clients a variety of pleasures.”
I leaned in and looked at the page. The girl featured was a blonde named Victoria. She wore a bra that exposed her pink nipples and a barely there thong. Her bio stated she “tasted great with champagne.”
What does that even mean?
Jacques bustled into the room with a blasé, “I’m back. What do you think of this?”
I turned and my jaw dropped at the sight of the dress in his hands. It was a sapphire blue floor length gown in a shiny fabric that looked to be silk. The hatler-top had a plunging neckline so deep, I wondered if it would reveal my belly button. He turned it around to show it was backless and then flipped back to the front to display the slit that went straight up the middle of the skirt.
“Stunning. You have the best taste,” Madame Rouge said, her voice warm with appreciation. “Miss Danson?”
“It’s beautiful,” I breathed, reaching out to touch it.
Jacques smiled, pleased with himself and pulled the dress back until it was just out of reach. “I brought some lace thigh-highs to go with it. The slit allows you to play peek-a-boo if you wish.”
Peek-a-boo?
“That is an excellent detail,” Madame Rouge said. Noting my confusion, she smiled. “Our clients appreciate a little tease. You might think of signing up for a burlesque seminar at some point to hone those skills. Great sex is all about anticipation.”
Jacques sniffed and looked over my navy interview suit. “Take off those rags you’re abusing the public eye with and let’s see how this looks.”
I flushed at the thought of disrobing in front of them, but noting Madame Rouge’s expectant look, I realized this must be some unspoken test. If you’re going to have sex and engage in bloodletting for a living, I guess you can’t be shy about getting naked. If your boss wants to see the goods, you show the goods.
Resigned, I shrugged out of my jacket and slipped off the lace camisole I wore underneath. Leaving my bra on for the moment, I unzipped and wiggled out of my skirt.
“Oh my God, you’re wearing mass market underwear,” Jacques said, disgust filling his voice.
My blush deepened and spread to my chest. Madam Rouge clasped her hands together, almost applauding. “Oh very, nice Miss Danson. I don’t think we have anyone who blushes quite like you on staff.” To Jacques she said, “Be nice. We can’t all have your exquisite taste.”
Jacques gave a petulant ‘humph’ and stared at my underwear as if willing it off my body. When I reached for the dress, he jumped back. “Oh no, not with that made-in-China sweatshop underwear on your body. It comes off or the dress does not go on, honey.”
“Do you have something I can wear?”I asked.
He held up a finger and wagged it at me. “First, there is no bra with this dress. Second, underwear never comes back so we don’t supply it.”
Go commando? I looked at Madame Rouge who raised a perfectly contoured eyebrow. With a sigh I unhooked my bra and tossed it into the pile with the rest of my clothes. Then I slipped off my underwear. There, I was naked. Ta-dah.
Madame Rouge took the opportunity to walk around me. “Very nice.” She ran a hand down my back, raising goose bumps as she went. “Soft skin, no marks or blemishes. Oh, they’ll love you.” She stepped in front of me, gaze assessing my chest. “Large, firm breasts. A surprise since your frame is so slight.” She paused to heft a breast in her hand, fingers grazing the tip. When it puckered at her touch, she gave a nod of approval. “Let’s see how the dress looks.”
Jacques dropped the dress over my head and arranged it on my body with confident expertise. The neckline plunged almost to my belly button and the key to keeping my breasts covered was tying the halter tight behind my neck. The slit stopped about six inches before my pubic mound. I would have to be careful when I walked or my vagina would play peek-a-boo with everyone I met.
Yikes.
“Here, put these on and we’ll see how it comes together.” Jacques handed me the thigh highs.
They were a sheer black with lace on the top. Very feminine. I pulled them on while Jacques rummaged in a closet next to Madame Rouge’s desk. When he emerged, he handed me a pair of blue mules with kitten heels. I slipped my feet into the shoes and then stood up.
Spinning in a slow circle, my arms open, I asked, “What do you think?”
“You need a different hair-do,” Madame Rouge said. “But otherwise, I think the dress suits you.” She went back to her phone and dialed. “Savon, we need your skills.”
Jacques scooped up my suit and underwear. “I’m going to burn these.”
“What? Those are my clothes!” I reached for them, wanting to take them back.
He stepped back, tightening his grip on my clothes. “Honey, when you get your first paycheck, these won’t even be good enough to use as cleaning rags. Trust me, you’re not the first girl I’ve dressed.”
I slowly lowered my hand, giving up on getting my clothes back. “What will I wear home?”
“You can keep the dress. We’ll deduct it from your paycheck,” Madame Rouge said.
Jacques shot an arch look at Madame Rouge. “Besides, are you really saying that you are so attached to a navy suit, which is the height of generic? Because, if so, I suggest Madame reconsider your suitability for this work. There is nothing generic about what we do here.”
What could I say to that? Nothing. So I let him go and take my clothes with him.
“Jacques knows how to make girls look their best. If you can stand it, take him shopping to set up a work wardrobe,” Madame Rouge said with a kind smile. “He has a heart of gold, if you can get past his sarcasm. He’ll never steer you wrong when it comes to clothes. I wouldn’t put up with him otherwise.”
“But of course, I am your favorite,” said an amused masculine voice with a French accent.
I turned to see a tall, blond man step into the office. In contrast to Jacques’ flamboyance, he wore all black, which looked severe against his pale complexion.
He entered the room with an airy, “I’m Savon. I do the hair and make-up.” He set a large make-up case on the floor and opened it to pull out a hair brush and dryer. “Sit down, s’il vous plait.”
I sat in one of the office chairs, carefully arranging the dress so I didn’t flash anyone. Savon fluffed my hair around my shoulders. “Not too fine, not too thick. Your hair is just right. Is this your natural color?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Lovely.” He ran the brush through my hair, tugging through some snarls.
“Thanks.”
Ten minutes later I’d been brushed,
moussed and blow dried into a ‘down do’ full of swirling body. Savon handed me a mirror so I could see the result and I gasped. “I look like I should be in a Pantene commercial.”
He laughed. “Oui, of course you do. I did your hair, didn’t I?” At my nod of agreement, he said, “Now let’s do some make-up.”
“Just the eyes and lips, Savon. We don’t want to hide that blush of hers,” Madame Rouge said looking up from her computer. She had returned to her desk and busied herself typing while Savon worked his magic.
“Absolutement, Madame,” he murmured in response as he looked through his make-up case. Brandishing a pair of tweezers, he said, “Your skin is like fine porcelain, to cover it with anything would be a sin.” With a deft touch, he plucked my eyebrows.
I winced and asked, “Have you worked here long?” What I really wanted to know was how someone ended up with a career making up courtesans, but I wasn’t brave enough to say it so bluntly.
“Years and years.” He dropped the tweezers back in his case and selected an eye shadow palette. He did a quick application of eye shadow followed by liner and mascara. The final touch was a subtle lipstick. As he worked, I caught glimpses of myself in the small mirror attached to his make-up case. The lipstick shade matched my natural lip color, giving it just a little something extra.
“You’re all set, mademoiselle,” he said cleaning up his supplies. “What does Madame think?”
Madame Rouge gestured for me to stand and I did another spin to show off the complete look.
“You are a lovely young woman, Miss Danson.”
“Yes, really divine.” Savon nodded in agreement.
I blushed and looked at my feet. She had to be joking. I doubted I looked as gorgeous as Madame.
“Are you unconvinced?” Madame Rouge stood up and pulled out a floor length mirror hidden in a clever compartment behind the bookcase on the side wall.
The woman who looked back at me was tall and model pretty. My eyelashes were almost as long as Madame’s now and there was a pink glow to my skin. You would never know I had fat pants at home. Or that my idea of dressing up was wearing clean jeans with a Hard Rock Cafe T-shirt from my senior year trip to London.
