The Red Veil Diaries (Volumes 1-4)

by Marianne Morea

  Miguel turned her toward the mirror again, and lifted her long hair to one side. He kissed her shoulder, feathering his lips over her skin, circling the pulse in her throat with his tongue.

  She moaned and he trailed his hand low over her belly again, fingers splayed against her flesh until he cupped her slippery, wet sex.

  Two fingers worked her slick slit while his thumb circled her clit, rubbing her hard nub.

  He inhaled deep, and just as her orgasm exploded against his palm his fangs pierced her throat. Hot coppery blood laced with sex and adrenaline filled his mouth as she ground herself further into his hand.

  He lapped at her throat, drawing deep pulls from her vein until he threw his head back with a snarl. He licked her wound closed and bent her over the end of the couch, impaling his cock balls deep in her still convulsing sex.

  Miguel rode her hard, his skin slapping against her ample ass. He leaned over, cupping her breasts with both hands, squeezing and working her nipples.

  “Look, Rose. See how hot you are. Your white flesh is pink with lust and ready for more.”

  She turned her head toward the mirror and gasped at how wonton her reflection seemed with her knees apart and her ass in the air.

  Her eyes met his in the glass. “I want you to spread me wide. To lick me and fuck me and feed from my pussy.”

  Stunned at her own smut, she bit her lip reopening the abrasion from Miguel’s fangs. Blood dripped from the cut and he groaned leaning over to lick it clean.

  Shivering at the raspy feel of his tongue she closed her eyes, tilting her head to offer him her throat again. Waves of pleasure from his thick cock and pain from his fangs washed over her.

  Too many nights she spent in the dark alone, with only a movie, a bottle of wine and battery operated boyfriend to ease her loneliness.

  This was real, regardless of how surreal it felt. She’d wrap her head around that tomorrow. Right now all she wanted was to wrap her legs around his hips and ride his cock or bury her pussy in his mouth, maybe both if she had the strength.

  Releasing her throat, he resealed the wounds and pulled his member from her slick entrance. She protested, but he silenced her with a kiss before flipping her onto her back.

  “Spread yourself for me. Show me your pretty pink pussy, shining and wet, swollen and waiting for more.”

  Miguel pushed her knees apart even farther, dipping his head to her juicy slit. He dragged his tongue from her ass to her hard bud and bite down.

  Rose hissed, raising her hips for more.

  Swirling the tip of his tongue, he dragged the taut nub into his mouth, sucking and teasing the tender flesh.

  She dropped her head back, fisting his hair to force herself further into his mouth.

  Miguel reached down to wrap his hand around his rigid shaft, gliding his palm over its engorged head.

  He jerked himself, harder and faster, his hand moving in time with his tongue as he delved deeper and faster into her soft, wet folds. She tensed and he lifted his head and inhaled. This was it. She was ready.

  He plunged his cock deep, holding her ankles wide to lift her hips. He pounded her pussy, until she cried out for him.

  “Give it to me! Come!”

  Miguel threw his head back, every muscle rigid and stretched until his body let go. With a snarl of release he pumped jets deep into her sex, but the feel of her body’s heat enveloping his cock drove him to the edge, again.

  She slumped back against the tufted end of the couch. “I can’t…put a fork in me, I’m done.”

  “But I’m not.”

  He pulled out, his still hard cock bobbing as he stepped back.

  “On your knees, Rose. Open your mouth.”

  She climbed to all fours and crawled to the end of the chaise and cupped his shaft. She licked its sticky hardness and opened for him.

  He fisted her hair and drove his cock deep into her throat. The warmth of her lips and the pressure from her tongue as he fucked her mouth was all it took, and he wrapped his hand around his shaft again and pulled back from her with an audible pop.

  A feral rumble at the back of his throat was the only warning he gave and Rose lifted her face to the spurts as he came, lapping at the glaze on her lips and cheek.

  Miguel cupped her chin and kissed her before pulling her into his arms, her face against his stomach. He stroked her hair and then laid her back on the couch, crawling between her legs again, only this time tangling his with hers as they drifted into sated sleep.

  4

  Late afternoon spilled across the bed in a fine stream, winking in Rose’s face. Cracking one eye open, she pulled her covers higher and rolled over into the expanse of Miguel’s back.

  Both eyes flew open and she blinked, disoriented panic melting into sharp reality.

  The night flooded back in detail, and she slumped against the pillows, her hand flung over her forehead. She muttered an expletive.

  Maybe it was a hot dream.

  Not a chance.

  The soreness between her legs and the sticky feel of sweat and…she squeezed her eyes shut. Ugh. She let him come in her face.

  Yup. Good morning sunshine.

  She sat up, wincing with the effort. The bruised, raw feel in her lady parts a poignant reminder of just how real this was. That and the tenderness at her throat.

  No. That part couldn’t be real.

  Miguel must have given her some kind of hallucinogenic or some new Spanish fly aphrodisiac street drug.

  Yeah, right sweetheart. Try again.

  “Miguel. Wake up. We need to talk.”

  She reached across and shook his shoulder, but jerked her hand back. He was cold. Ice cold.

  Holy crap.

  She rolled him over to peer at his pale face. His lips weren’t blue, but he was deathly still.

  Rose scrambled to her knees on the bed to check his pulse. Nothing. Oh my God. CPR? What was the rule? Two breaths to thirty compressions?

  She lifted his chin and opened his mouth to check his airway. No obstruction. Pinching his nose she blew two breaths into his lungs and then laced her fingers pressing her the heel of palm against his breastbone, counting One, two, three… pumping in measured compressions.

  She repeated the sequence, looking for the telltale rise in his chest, but it didn’t budge, and his body was still like ice.

  Vampires are immortal, right? So they can’t die. Can they?

  Minutes passed and sweat formed on her forehead and between her breasts as she tried to resuscitate him. Damn. Under normal circumstances she’d call 911 or the police or someone.

  Come on Rose, you’re a smart woman for Christ’s sake. THINK!

  The Red Veil.

  This was one of their backrooms. They had to know what to do. They could send for an ambulance or whatever they did for the unresponsive undead.

  She blinked. Wait. This wasn’t the Red Veil. The last thing she remembered was the room with the gauzy sheer curtains and private orgy cubbies.

  Rose whirled around her eyes taking in everything. The floor to ceiling windows with blackout curtains. The minimalist style of the furniture, the king-sized bed and sitting area. It looked like a hotel room.

  But she didn’t remember leaving the club with Miguel. Ugh. She was a living episode of Law and Order.

  She pressed her fingers into her temples trying to focus. Okay…Hotel room equaled phone, phone equaled front desk.

  Taking the sheet with her, she wrapped herself toga style and climbed off the bed for the night table on the opposite side. Bingo.

  She picked up the receiver and dialed zero.

  “The Mandarin Hotel how may I direct your call?”

  The Mandarin? Her hand froze on the receiver and she looked at Miguel’s motionless form. The man had taste and means as well as skills in the bedroom. She finally met a guy who rocked her world and the universe takes him after a single booty call. She closed her eyes and exhaled at the sad injustice.

  “Are you there? H
ello? How may I direct your call?”

  “Yes…I need you to call... I think my…” she hesitated. Her what? Boyfriend? No. One night stand? Uhm…hell no…

  “Ma’am? Hello?”

  “Yes… My friend is unresponsive. I can’t wake him.”

  “I’ll take care of it, ma’am. Hang tight and I’ll have hotel management call you.”

  Rose hung up the phone and sat in the dim light chewing on her lip. How the hell was she going to explain this when whoever got there? She didn’t even know if she had any clothes.

  She glanced around and spotted her bag on the chair across from the coffee table along with her coat. Only she didn’t remember returning to the coat check and she’d left her purse at the table in the VIP lounge.

  How could she be so irresponsible?

  She walked into the sitting area, shoving the cotton sheet under her butt on the end of the couch. Unzipping the top of her purse, she reached for her phone only to find it dead as well.

  Figures. Poetic, even.

  She exhaled, running a hand through her long dark hair. What time was it? What day for that matter. Cassie probably had the police looking for her by now.

  The clock on the nightstand read 4pm. She’d lost an entire day, and once the police and first responders got here she was going to lose a lot more in terms of dignity, not to mention a stint at Bellevue psych if she mentioned vampires.

  “Stupid,” she murmured under her breath. How would she face her colleagues when this hit the papers? Her family?

  Purse under her arm and sheet in tow, she stalked to the bathroom to clean up as best she could. This was not the romantic ending she envisioned. A sticky good-bye after a one-night-stand was one thing, or worse, facing your fantasy and realizing you don’t want it to be good-bye. But this?

  Rose closed the door and took inventory of her face in the mirror. Puffy lips and smeared make-up. Great. Add in disheveled hair, a bruised throat and a distinct post-sex stink and she stole the crown from Edie as skank of the month.

  The first responders would most likely get here before she was done showering, so it was a whore’s bath for her, and she frowned at how well it fit the scenario. This was worse than doing the walk of shame with ruined panties in your purse.

  At least she enjoyed herself for once in her life. The memory of what she and Miguel did and how they did it and the dirty talk that came out of her mouth sent a crimson blush from her chest to her ears.

  She’d never done anything like this before. In fact, she scoffed at girls who hooked up after barely making a guy’s acquaintance. Rose Landry was too independent and had worked too hard to throw her reputation away on a seedy hook up.

  Except, this wasn’t seedy.

  Last night was unbelievable and Miguel was definitely someone to haunt her dreams, even if she never got to say goodbye.

  Tears pricked her eyes but she brushed them away. She needed to be strong and emotionless. It was time to break out every lawyerly trait she’d learned over the past decade.

  She opened the linen closet beside the toilet for a towel and washcloth, only to find her dress, bra and shoes placed neatly inside. Even her panties were clipped to a hanger, clean.

  Either she did hand laundry last night or Miguel was truly one in a million.

  Fresh tears threatened at the thought of never seeing him again. Never getting to ask the thousands of questions she had about his life, his existence.

  She hated unanswered questions and loose ends. But this went deeper. She had been given a gift. Shown something amazing and she never felt more alive. What she thought would be a frightening and a psychosis–inducing scenario was actually thrilling and romantic, and it had been ripped from her before she had the chance to savor it fully.

  If she thought she was lonely before, life was going to be hell now.

  Rose dug out a washcloth and a towel and turned on the tap. She lathered the soap and washed the parts of her body that needed it most before using the hotel’s facewash to scrub off last night’s makeup. Rinsing, she groped with one eye open for the towel.

  “Hey there, sexy.”

  Rose jumped, dropping the towel and knocking the tray of sample-sized toiletries clattering to the floor.

  “Miguel!” she stared at his reflection in the mirror afraid to move. “You’re alive!”

  “What?” He stared back at her clearly trying to reconcile her fear and confusion. It dawned on him then, she had awakened before dusk.

  He flashed a sheepish smile. “Rose, I’m fine. Let me explain.”

  Scrambling to pick up the towel and spilled toiletries, she backed away clutching the damp towel to her naked chest.

  “Explain? I did CPR on you, Miguel! I called for help. It’ll be here any minute.”

  He shook his head. “No it won’t.”

  Speechless, she opened her mouth but then closed it again.

  Miguel was as naked as she, and he looked and smelled even better than she remembered.

  A swath of early winter twilight illuminated the room from where he opened the curtains, and the purple light highlighted his swarthy good looks.

  “This has got to be a dream or a residual high from the champagne.”

  He shook his head. “This is no dream, and you didn’t drink that much. What happened between us is very real. As I am.”

  “But you had no pulse. You weren’t breathing.”

  “It’s called death sleep. It’s part of what I am.”

  “Death sleep?” Her hand involuntarily went to her throat. “I can’t handle this, Miguel. I thought you were dead.” She looked at him. “I mean dead-dead. As in never waking again.”

  He didn’t answer, but the look on his face spoke volumes.

  With a high pitched whimper, Rose sank to the cold tile, her fingers knotted in the damp terrycloth.

  Miguel took a step toward her and squatted down. He slipped two fingers under her chin and lifted her face. “Are you sorry we met? Sorry for what we did together? I’m not.”

  Slowly, Rose shook her head. “I had the time of my life.”

  He smiled, running the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip. “Me too. You’re very special.”

  You’re very special. She cringed inwardly. That was a guy’s get-out-of-jail free line if she ever heard one. Like telling a date he’s a nice guy or that it’s not them, it’s you, when you don’t want to see them again.

  When she didn’t reply, he nodded, acknowledging her silence before straightening to his full height. “You must be starved. I’ll order room service.”

  She looked at him, her face tilted up, studying him. “Why is help not coming if you didn’t know I called?”

  “Because.” He held his hand out to help her up. “This hotel is operated by a friend. He understands my kind and their needs.”

  “Kind?”

  “Vampires, Rose. It’s okay to say the word. I’m not ashamed of what I am. I got over that a century and a half ago.”

  She swallowed hard. “You must understand how this sounds in the cold light of day. I accept what you are, but my rational mind is having trouble wrapping around it.”

  “Around what?”

  “Vampires. The existence of the supernatural… and us. You have to explain.”

  “Explain what? Ask me anything.”

  “THIS, for one.” She pointed to their naked reflections in the bathroom mirror.

  Confused, he looked at her. “A vampire not casting a reflection is an old wives tale, Rose. It’s oral tradition without an ounce of truth that became part of the myth.”

  He paused. “I can understand your hesitation about the supernatural, especially since we skate so far under the human radar, but…”

  “That’s not what I meant,” she interrupted. “I mean me…this.” She ran her hands over her body. “Why me?”

  He put his hands on her shoulders and turned them both to face the mirror.

  “You are a beautiful, desirable woman, Rose. I told y
ou that last night. I chose you for many different reasons. You’re humor, your humility, your loveliness.” He pressed his stiffening cock against her ass. “See what you do to me even now? I can’t get enough of you, and I don’t mean just your blood.”

  Their eyes locked and when Miguel skimmed his hand around her waist and trailed his fingers to gently cup her breast, the same electricity jolted through Rose’s belly as it did the night before.

  “Nothing has changed for me, querida, and from the smell of you, nothing has changed for you either.”

  Heat crawled to her ears. “I tried to wash as best I could, but there was no time.”

  With a smirk, Miguel lifted his hand to cover her mouth. “That is not the scent I mean.”

  He slid his fingers to the juncture between her legs and stroked the quickly moistening flesh. Bringing his fingers to his lips, he licked her essence. “This is the scent I mean.” He moved his wet fingers to her lips. “Open your mouth, Rose.”

  Her lips parted and he slipped his thumb between them. “Suck.”

  With a sigh, she drew his thumb into her mouth, swirling her tongue over the rough pad, tasting the salt of their combined scents.

  Using his free hand, he cupped the full weight of her breast, squeezing and massaging the soft flash, rolling her nipple between his fingers until her head lolled back on his shoulder and her jaw went slack.

  He pulled his thumb from her mouth, leaning down to lick her bare throat and shoulder.

  “If you wish to wash properly, the shower is right there,” he whispered against her skin.

  Rose shivered, opening her eyes to see his in the mirror. They held the same dark need ringed with a red aura as they had before. He was the predator and she was prey and once again, and she shivered, not caring in the least.

  He stepped away from her to turn on the spray, letting the hot water run until the bathroom filled with steam.

  Moving to sweep Rose into his arms, she balked at first, but he lifted her full figure into his arms with ease.

  “Never try to hide yourself, mi amor. Never be anything but proud of your body, in your ability to please any man as well as yourself. You are a true woman.”