She pressed her breasts against his chest as he continued to pump in and out of her hand. Christine moaned, imagining how it would feel if he moved like this once he was finally inside her. He huffed before taking hold of her wrist to pull her hand out from his briefs. Christine looked up at him, bewildered. The heavy breaths falling from his lips and the look in his eyes certainly betrayed him, so she wondered why he'd stopped her.
“Follow me,” he said gruffly.
He grabbed her hand and yanked her to follow his lead, pulling her along rather roughly. She had the fleeting sense that he was thinking of her as his toy now, perhaps a possession, but even that did not bother her. There was something about this man that made her want to bel0ng to him entirely, and that included allowing him to drink from her from time to time. For once, she wanted her partner to have the upper hand. The euphoria of getting lost in him completely was something she now knew she so deeply wanted even if she'd never thought of it before.
He led her to a large bedroom that was also decorated in a medieval fashion, just like the rest of the loft. At the center of the room was a large bed with a red velvet comforter and plush black pillows. From the top rafters hung sheer black curtains around the bed, pulled back just enough to leave space for an entrance. It was absolutely gorgeous but what made Christine tingle the most was the idea of being in that bed with him. He pulled her forward until they stood at the foot of the bed before taking her dress completely off her. He took a step back and scanned her nude figure from head to toe, the hunger in his eyes now ravenous.
“Please,” she whined, unable to stop herself from rubbing her center with her own hand.
She moaned and looked at him in desperate need. She saw the smirk on his lips as he undressed, purposefully slow. When he's finally removed his shirt, Christine gasped and began to press against herself harder, immensely turned on by his unbelievably attractive physique. His abs were toned, and his tan skin glistened under the glowing lights near the bed. He pulled off his pants, and she saw his long, thick erection standing at the ready. Without realizing it, Christine slipped a couple fingers inside herself and mewled loudly as her eyes remained fixed on the part of him she so desperately wanted to fill her.
He took a few steps forward to close the gap between them and wrapped one arm around her waist, dipping her down to the bed as he gave her a surprisingly gentle kiss on the lips. Christine felt his bare skin slide over hers, his erection grazed across her hot and wet center. She quivered beneath him and moaned into his mouth. Even though she wanted this moment to last forever, she also could not wait for what was to come next. She could not believe how incredibly sexy he was and how his sex appeal was so overpowering.
He purposely moved past her neck before leaving a trail of hot, wet kisses down her torso until she felt his tongue lap up the liquids of her arousal. She gasped sharply and jerked her head up, eyes wide when she felt his long tongue slip inside her. She yelped when the tips of his fangs grazed over the sensitive folds of her center. It was utterly exhilarating, and when he licked her thigh, she wondered if he did not want to drink from her there as well. He paused and breathed heavily as if trying to regain himself, which pretty much answered her question.
“Please,” she finally begged, her hands running through his hair.
As much as she'd enjoyed every moment they'd shared so far, she could wait no longer to finally feel him inside her. She wanted to connect with him even more, she wanted their bodies and souls to join together. Her body grew so hot she thought it could scorch the comforter beneath her as he positioned himself between her legs. His erection pulsed and she just knew he had to be aching as much as she was. With a strong thrust, she felt him plunge deep inside her. She was so full, stretched, but it felt absolutely amazing. He gripped her curls tightly and pulled her head back to expose his neck. The ravenous hunger in his eyes was wild, and his bared teeth looked ready to pierce her skin. She cried out as he continued to thrust in and out of her, fast and deep, unleashing pleasure she'd never known before. She watched his teeth, his eyes, and his expression almost as if she expected him to lose all control any second.
He began to thrust faster, her body lifting up with the movement, her hips undulating to complement his rhythm. With one hand he gripped her hip so tightly she could feel a bruise forming. He shifted and moved her to angle his entry to her most sensitive area, allowing him to go in even deeper than before. Christine had lost all sense of self, screaming and moaning at the top of her lungs. As he thrust faster and faster into her, she could feel he was about to finish. She felt his breath on her neck, and his fangs graze her skin. His body tensed as he held back from plunging them into her just like his erection had plunged into her center. She gripped the comforter so tightly her knuckles turned white.
Christine shut her eyes, and her body went rigid just before shaking violently. She made choked up sounds of immense pleasure as the third, and most intense, orgasm took over her very being. She was barely aware of his fangs pushing against her neck with enough pressure that he almost broke the skin as he pounded into her. He thrust hard and then held his place inside her as she felt his sticky, hot orgasm explode inside her body. She cried out and writhed under him with pleasure and satisfaction. She'd lost all sense of self during her intimacy with him and now her urge to know everything about this man was insatiable.
And her desire to be with him, bonded forever, was too.
Chapter Eight
As they lay in bed afterward in the dark silence, Christine finally decided to ask the question she’d had on her mind. Perhaps it was a silly question with an obvious answer, but she couldn’t keep it to herself. And now that they’d been together she thought she deserved at least the answer to the question so vividly etched into her mind.
“You’re thinking,” he muttered, “I can feel you thinking. What is it? What is on your mind?”
“A question,” she responded simply.
“Is it one with an answer?”
“Yes,” she told him, “At least, I think so. You tell me.”
“Ask.”
“Are you a vampire?”
The man turned to his side to look at her with a laugh. Christine felt her cheeks flush with a mixture of embarrassment and anger. Was he making a fool of her? After all, with his teeth and the ring and the fact that he’d sipped of her blood, it was a perfectly natural question to ask.
“I am not laughing at you,” he reassured her as if he could read her mind.
Christine sighed and looked away from him momentarily. It was eerie, really, how it felt like he read her thoughts and sometimes even influenced them. Deciding that was something to bring up after this initial question, she turned to lie down on her side and face him.
“I am laughing,” he finally went on, “Because the question just shows your lack of knowledge. Vampires are not what you think they are. Your world thinks of vampires as romantic imaginings. They play a role in cheap and tawdry romance novels to fuel personal fantasies.”
“Maybe so,” she told him, “But then how do you explain… Well, yourself?”
“What is it about me that needs explaining?”
“Everything,” she told him truthfully.
The man leaned in and whispered, his lips brushing against hers, “Well then if you want everything explained that is exactly what shall happen.”
He ran his hand through her hair and kissed her deeply, wiping her mind clean of all thoughts for a moment. It was like a superpower of his to work his way into her so easily and quickly, one she quite enjoyed. For some reason, everything that she knew should make her fear him only made her like him more.
“In the basest of all forms, yes, I am a vampire,” he told her, “But that is not how it is. It is not simple, and it is not as you imagine.”
“You told me I’d know everything,” she reminded him, “So don’t hold back. Stop stalling. Just tell me.”
“Very well,” he said resolutely, “I am a Dracula.�
�
There was a moment of silence and then she asked, “Like… Count Dracula?”
“Yes.”
“I thought that was just a book. Or a movie,” she admitted.
The man sat up and looked down at her. She could see him figuring out the best way to explain to her that it was much more than a book. It was an identity, and he had every intention of letting her into his world. He just needed a moment to figure out how to do that. Christine felt something flutter in her chest as she wondered if she was the first he’d done this for. She was curious if he’d ever even considered telling another person. As needy as it seemed, Christine longed for him to feel as connected and drawn to her as she did to him. She wanted to be special because he certainly was.
“Follow me,” he said, suddenly standing up.
He drew a robe around his nude body before handing one to Christine and then leading her down a dark hallway. He led her to a circular room where the painting he’d purchased at the auction hung. It was not the same place she’d seen the deliveryman hang it but she knew this room, the one she now stood in with the man, was a private one. A rush of feelings moved swiftly through her body as if she’d just been granted exclusive access to the most clandestine room in this man’s loft. There were rows and rows of similar paintings on either side of the golden-framed piece he’d paid an exorbitant amount for.
“The paintings you see here are the visages of Counts past,” he explained, “This is the Count Dracula you’ve read of in books and portrayed in films, if rather poorly.” The man motioned to the painting on the far left before saying, “Count Dracula, the first. They are all Dracula, of course, but each with a unique name. Everyone has a story and a relation to me.”
Christine stepped forward and carefully observed the first portrait of The Count Dracula. He was not at all how books and films depicted him. In fact, every Dracula in these paintings was enchanting in a unique way. Even through the strokes of a brush, their strong presence could be felt. She felt a creeping sensation make its way down her spine. After looking over her shoulder at the man, whom she now knew was a Dracula, she walked slowly to the painting at the center and wondered, “Is this him? Is that why there is so much resemblance?”
“That is my father,” he answered her unspoken question.
Christine whipped around on instinct and looked at him with wide-eyes. She had to know if he truly had an ability that allowed him access to her innermost thoughts. She opened her mouth to finally ask, but he continued to talk, not giving her the chance to do so.
“The man in that painting, the one I purchased from your family, is my father,” he repeated.
Christine’s thoughts paused for a moment as she listened to his words. Now she understood why he’d wanted the portrait so much. Now it made sense to her why he’d gone prepared to pay any amount so long as it wound up in his home. What she did not understand was why or how it ended up at the auction house in the first place.
“Tell me,” he whispered, “Or ask me.”
Christine brushed past that uncanny ability of his once more and asked, “Why did you buy it from us? What I mean is, why didn’t you have it in the first place?”
“It was taken from me,” he confessed with a tinge of anger in his eyes and voice, “I, however, was able to trace it. I followed the painting here as it made its way through the black market. Then it reached a well-known art dealer in New York. That was the moment I knew it would soon be back in my possession. Now that the painting had come to be in New York, I carefully monitored it. It sat in wait, as did I, for six months until the date of the auction finally arrived.”
Christine, who had been clinging to his every word, had made her way to stand closer to him without noticing. And even when she was just inches from him, her mind was focused on the story. He pulled her in so deeply with just the sound of his voice, the words he spoke, and the stories he told. Everything about him was fascinating, and she could not help but feel as if a grand privilege had been bestowed upon her for him to open up in this way. At least, that was what she so deeply wanted to believe this was all about– a mutual connection, an undeniable affinity for one another.
“Why didn’t you just steal or take the painting back from the person who took it from you? I’m sure it was illegal, what they did.”
“I did not want to reveal who I was because every Dracula in history has been murdered following similar careless mistakes. Our identity has never been a welcome one. Placing myself in danger was pointless when I simply wanted the portrait of my father to return to me.”
“Oh,” she said, “If you’re so secretive and careful, how was it lost to begin with?”
“You are quite inquisitive.”
“You told me I’d know everything.”
The Dracula smiled, and she felt a little jolt of joy run through her. The look on his face was genuine and almost sweet. Christine used every ounce of self-control to not show him how happy she felt due to something so small on his behalf.
“As I said, it was taken from me. Stolen. We Dracula have not been exterminated only by humans throughout time. Another group has long sought to eliminate the Dracula line.”
“What group?”
“The Van Helsings.”
Christine could not help but laugh at this point, which garnered an affronted look from the Dracula. She immediately shut her mouth and stared at him, waiting to be rebuked.
“Tell me why you laugh,” he demanded in an unsettlingly quiet tone.
“It’s just… All these terms make it sound like you’ve stitched together different movies to make your own story.”
The Dracula stepped forward and ran his hands through her hair until his hand cupped around the back of her head. Christine held her breath and shut her mouth for fear she might throw up her very heart. There was a rush of adrenaline coursing through her, but whether it was out of exhilaration or trepidation, she did not know.
“My darling, dear Christine,” he whispered dangerously, “Where do you think you have all come up with your nonsense?”
“All our nonsense is rooted in reality,” she breathed out, finally beginning to comprehend.
“Exactly,” he confirmed, “The Van Helsings are very real and very much ruthless. They have sought to eliminate the Dracula completely for centuries now. Unfortunately, they have succeeded more times than I care to admit in murdering some of our lines. It was one of them who stole the painting, no doubt trying to get a rise out of me and lure me into a trap. Unfortunately for him, I was gone once he reached my home.”
“He’s been here?”
“No. My original home was a castle in the Alps,” he informed her.
“Oh. So if he wanted to lure you by stealing the portrait, didn't you fall for the trap by buying it at the auction? Wouldn’t he have kept track of it this entire time just like you?” Christine asked with obvious concern.
“Yes,” he sighed, “I may have been foolish in the end. Perhaps I did not allow myself to be lured from the start in the way he wanted, but I simply could not let my father's portrait end up in the hands of just anyone. The thought of that was unbearable. It was too infuriating. Maddening.”
Christine, increasingly nervous, asked, “Are we safe?”
The count tightened his grip on her hair and pulled her face closer to his as he whispered, “With you here, I think so.”
“I don’t understand.”
The count looked deeply into her eyes and, for a moment, Christine had a distinct feeling that he wished to kiss her. Deep down, she wanted the same. For once, however, straight thinking won out. A kiss at this moment would allow her to become carried away, but there was too much at stake now that he’d confided all these truths in her.
“Follow me,” he told her.
He took her hand and led her to a library in his loft where he pulled out a large book from a heavy, ornate desk. He set it down flat on the surface and stroked it down the middle with one finger. Christine gulped and
stared at the cover. It was old and worn. She looked up at him and then back down to the book, so he finally opened it to a page that was held by a ribbon down the inside. The page detailed a family tree.
The top of the page read “Van Helsing, ” but something seemed off. Something amiss about the page and about the way the Count was looking at her now as her eyes scanned what was in front of her.
Christine looked carefully at the first names listed on the family tree. The more she looked, the more they all began to look familiar. She saw noted there the names of her grandparents, her parents, and finally…her.
She shook her head. Harder and harder until she began to step back away from it slowly. She began to mutter “no” under her breath, her eyes fixed on her name on the page. None of this made any sense. It couldn’t be true. This couldn’t be happening. Why did this man, the Count or Dracula or whatever he wanted to call himself, have an ancient book with the names of her family? With her name? Cold dread filled her.
“No,” she said shakily, “I’m a Sunderby. I’m a Sunderby, not this Van Helsing thing you’re telling me about. No. No, no, no.”
He shook his head and said, “No, that is merely the name that was given to your family to hide your true identity.”
“No,” she breathed, “It can’t be.”
“Didn't you ever wonder how your father came across so many treasures at the auction house?”
“It’s his job!”
The Campus Jock: A College Bad Boy Romance Page 43
