by ML Michaels
She took in her breath as he raised his face to hers showing her only the charming smile that always touched her heart.
“That was amazing love,” he told her, adding as he cupped her plump face in his hands and stared deep into her eyes, “I must hasten to remind you though, that it’s only the beginning. Tomorrow night, Chloe, I plan to prove to you that you belong with me—that your fated place is here in my arms. And to do this love, I aim to act out your deepest, most sensual fantasy.”
***
The next evening Chloe felt anything but sexy as she assumed the role of chauffeur and caregiver loading the members of Night Serenade and their musical equipment into the back of a band van and driving them to Miami.
After overhearing their internal fights that concerned everything from the contents of their set list for the duration of their mini tour to where they planned to stop for dinner, she sighed relieved when she dropped them all off at the door of Hotel Luxor, the elegant Miami hotel where they would be staying for the next two evenings.
Tired, drained, and ready for a shower, she walked hand in hand with Cade to the door of their adjoining suites reaching forward to grace his lips with an affectionate kiss as she told him, “I would invite you in babe, but I’m feeling sweaty and icky right now. What do you say we shower and change, and we can meet in the bar downstairs for a drink before we all head out to the show?”
Cade smiled.
“You’re always beautiful to me, baby,” he assured her, adding as he cocked his head in her direction, “Come to my room whenever you’re ready and we’ll walk down to the bar together.”
A half hour later a transformed Chloe stood outside Cade’s door; freshly bathed and wearing a flowing ivory kaftan that accentuated her generous curves.
Knocking softly on the door before her, she felt tingles race unbidden up her spine as her lover summoned in a sensual growl, “Come inward, my love.”
“OK then!” she called out, trying to keep the mood light as she turned the doorknob with trembling fingers. “Brace yerself, because Chloe’s comin’ inward! And pronto!”
Moments later she swung open the door, freezing in her place as she witnessed a vision that more than defined the meaning of savage beauty.
Cade stood tall and proud at the center of his plush hotel suite, a room adorned with gold brocade wallpaper, velvet cushioned furniture and—the piece de resistance—an extravagant lace canopied bed swathed in yards of lavender silk.
Yet the glorious man before her remained the focus of her attentions; and this time, it was not just his stellar character and stunning good looks that held her enrapt.
“And I thought I was transformed,” she pondered, eyes flying wide as she beheld a paranormal creature of pure wonder and radiance.
Although Cade maintained the form of a human and very beautiful male, his eyes now glowed with an ethereal luminescence—even as they still regarded her in love.
Parting his full warm lips in a smile of welcome, Cade revealed as he did a pair of fangs that seemed somehow familiar leading her to return his smile with a rather embarrassed smirk.
“Let me guess,” she said aloud, adding as she poised her hands on her buxom hips, “Your guitarist filled you in on the fact that I have a vampire fetish.”
Making no verbal reply, her lover instead whipped off the fluffy white robe that adorned his sculpted form revealing to her once again the beauty of his flawless body.
Then he held out his hand to her, crooking his finger in her direction as she came to him.
Soon the couple’s bodies collided as they lost themselves in a timeless embrace, their lips merging in an impassioned kiss as he swept her most literally off her feet.
They continued to kiss and cuddle as he stripped off her kaftan in a single smooth flourish, his body covering hers as their arms and legs entangled between them.
With an aroused howl Cade seized her up in his arms and bowed his head to her neck sweeping his fangs soft across her skin as she trembled with delight.
Running a single sturdy hand across her breasts and down her rounded belly, he stroked her folds open with attentive fingers and stroked her throbbing clit sending waves of erotic pleasure surging upward through her being.
Running her hands through his silky black hair as he continued to kiss and nibble her, Chloe arched her body backward until two became one, their chests and thighs pressed together as he surged his head upward to seize her lips in an ardent kiss.
Their tongues entangled as the couple’s joined beings collapsed with heated fever in the sheets beneath them rolling wildly across this whisper-soft trysting spot as he covered her body with his.
Soon it became difficult to tell where one ended and the other began as his long hard cock surged wildly between them, kissing her feminine cleft as the couple merged in the form of a single radiant constant.
Even as he licked her lips and kissed his lover senseless, Cade refrained from speaking his usual words of love, instead growling and roaring in an animal frenzy as he joined them as one.
Finally, her lover spoke her name, or rather released it on the wings of a passionate howl, as he surged deeply and smoothly within her, all the while continuing to work her clit with intense, feverish fingers.
Soon Chloe writhed in the throes of passion as ecstasy overcame her, and she kissed Cade’s sumptuous lips as he pulled her closer to him.
Losing herself in her lover, she came to savor all things Cade: his strong but nurturing touch, his crisp citrus tinged scent, his animal passion—and most of all the tender way that he worshipped her with his kisses.
Finally, and with an impassioned howl, her lover exploded within her launching them both into the succulent realm of divine mutual ecstasy.
Through a haze of pleasure, she stared deep with wonder into her lover’s eyes, as the glow in his gaze deepened and intensified.
Suddenly he threw his head back and let loose with an unearthly howl as his fangs flashed before her.
Then moments later, he bowed his head to stare into her eyes as his own gaze resumed their familiar ebony cast. Then he graced her with a loving, intimate smile.
“So now you’ve seen it all, my darling,” he whispered, adding as he cupped her flushed face in two tender hands, “Now you know the real me—and for that matter, the real us.”
Immediately understanding his cryptic words, Chloe nodded as she hugged him to her.
“Somehow I always knew that there was something different about all of you,” she told him, her tone soft and wistful. “And it’s true, isn’t it? The members of the band Night Serenade are all vampires.”
Cade nodded.
“It’s true my love,” he revealed, adding in a faraway voice, “The four of us met years and years ago, at a European music conservatory. Collegiate musicians all of us, we reveled in our love of classical music and in the women who flocked to us enthralled by our songs. One of these women, an enchantress named Emilie, lured us in kind return, seducing us one by one and granting us the gift of eternal life. She turned us all into creatures of the night—but, I must tell you, we are not killers.” He paused here, adding as he raised a finger for emphasis, “The men of Night Serenade do not drink blood. Rather, we derive our soulful nourishment from the sensual energies of women. We are incubus vampires.”
Chloe pursed her lips.
“One chicksta turned all of you, and she made you all smexy?” she marveled, adding with arched eyebrows, “She must have been good.”
Cade guffawed outright.
“She was good, and so were we—good musicians, that is,” he clarified with a grin. “Beginning as a classical quartet that toured extensively throughout Europe, we evolved into a jazz band, a pop ensemble, and—in recent years—a rock band.” He paused here, adding as he gave her an affirming squeeze, “Now you, my lady, are the enchantress who has us all entranced.”
Chloe smiled.
“Well the feeling is mutual, especially where you’re conc
erned. I consider all of your bandmates my dearest friends—but you are my only lover,” she told him, adding in a tone of deepest sincerity, “I love you, Cade—all of you. I not only accept who and what you are—I adore it!”
Letting loose with yet another howl, this one of pure joy, her lover swept her up in his arms and graced her lips with a binding kiss.
“Then stay with me, my Chloe,” he told her, adding as he pulled her closer, “Now, and for eternity.”
The End
*****
Night Serenade: Lancer – A Vampire Rock Band Book
By ML Michaels
He was her muse, a walking golden dream brought beautifully to life. As the owner and proprietor of a small photography studio in downtown Clearview, Florida, Amie Hannigan had seen more than her share of gorgeous male models; so many, in fact, that she began to see their carved, chiseled masculine beauty as the simple source of artistic inspiration—as opposed to the more divine inspiration for her own dreams and fantasies.
Since her divorce five years ago, as a matter of fact, Amie had not allowed herself the luxury of fantasy choosing instead to focus on the corporate endeavor that would allow her to survive her separation from a penniless artist—one that came accompanied by only a heartbreak, and nothing in the way of a reasonable financial settlement.
From this day forward, she swore that she would be unmoved and unimpressed by the most striking male bodies seeing their breathtaking looks only as the key to enhanced financial security for herself.
“Probably a pretty sad attitude, particularly when coming from a 25-year-old who meets the most beautiful people in Florida on a daily basis,” she mused, adding with a shrug, “On the other hand, my spectacles, seeming allergy to cosmetics of any kind and clothes that aren’t remotely fashionable, and utter lack of a figure pretty much negate the possibility of me scoring a date with any of these hunks. So I might as well just keep my mind on my work and my money on my mind. Huzzah!”
She had no earthly idea as to why she attached the word huzzah to the end of that last sentence; but after letting loose with such a clichéd sentiment, she thought it best to follow it up with an even more clichéd exclamation.
“It’s a darned good thing that I make my living as a photographer, not a writer,” she mused now, standing squarely at the center of the illuminated clean-lined studio that served as her workspace. “Keep your mind on your work, Hannigan.”
Yet every time she set eyes or lens on the beneficent Lancer Lovejoy, all illusion of objective professionalism fled her mind and heart not to mention all of the other body part that Lancer tended to influence in a most affirmative manner.
“Beneficent,” she repeated to herself, adding as her lips pursed in a show of keen confusion, “Is it wrong to describe a long-haired smexy rock star in roughly the same terms that one would define a high flying celestial being?” she mused, adding with a sigh, “Probably so. My soul, in fact, has likely been condemned to the pit of Hades just for making that comparison. No matter, though; this man is worth it.”
As the lead guitarist of Night Serenade, a classic rock band known for its own unique brand of atmospheric rhythms and romantic, some said poetic lyrics, Lancer supplied the driving rhythmic force behind one of the most popular—and, lucky for her, obscenely photogenic—groups in the Florida area.
When her dear friend Chloe Morgan invited her to serve as the official photographer for a local band that she managed, she leapt at the opportunity, particularly after hearing a rich sampling of the band’s songs--from ballads that included “A Song of Nuit” to rocking, pop-influenced ditties like “Let Me Be Your Fantasy.” She had immediately bought and enjoyed “Songs of the Night,” the debut album of this four-man band that was comprised of classically trained musicians of upscale European descent.
“I’ve never heard a sound quite like theirs,” she observed at the time. “Their songs hold the sublime beauty and elegance of classical music, without putting one to sleep in the process. These dudes know how to rock!”
She also had to admit that, with its crooning vocals, suggestively romantic lyrics and raw, even sensual rhythms, the songs of Night Serenade more than lived up to their name, exuding a tasteful but deliberate sexiness that could ignite the imagination of even—well, of even her.
Then she had to go and see a photo of the band, a casual, unstaged shot that Chloe—also the band’s press agent—had taken during a concert. Her friend had warned her ahead of time that all four members of Night Serenade seem blessed with an inordinate, nearly blinding level of masculine hotness.
“No worries,” she had assured Chloe, adding with a shrug, “My job is to photograph inordinately hot people, and—with some prime tricks of photographic magic, less kindly known as airbrushing—make them hotter still.”
Yet with one casual glance at the strapping young members of Night Serenade, captured on stage at a local nightclub known as Club Groove and in their natural element, Amie realized that—whether regarded individually or collectively as a group—the members of Night Serenade made Michelangelo’s Statue of David look just a bit like the creature from the black lagoon. On a bad hair day.
All members of Night Serenade stood as tall, muscular males who boasted flawless faces and flowing silky hair. Beyond these most admirable shared traits, each of the band’s musicians stood as a sterling example of exquisite masculinity.
“Translation,” Amie mused. “These dudes are hawt!”
She had marveled at the vision of lead singer Cade, the ebony eyed crooner with the flowing, waist-length dark hair and full moist lips, lips that lucky Chloe, his girlfriend of three months, got to kiss on a regular basis. She also admired the doe-eyed, ginger-haired Blake, a statuesque thunder god who played drums with passionate fervor, and Nash, the sly sexy bass player who stalked the stage like a cat with his soft auburn hair and eyes as dark as night.
And then she saw him. Lancer, the enchanting green-eyed blond who seemed to embrace and embody the riffs he released on his prime Stratocaster guitar.
With a lustrous mane of golden hair that he tossed back in a leonine motion as he played his high-powered instrument, Lancer’s wide eyes shone like emeralds in the low lights of the club as his tall, statuesque body held reign over the stage.
“Wow,” she breathed, her gaze devouring a muscular, sweat-lined form just barely concealed by a tight aqua blue muscle T-shirt that read Night Serenade, and some sinfully sculpted blue jeans. “Just amazing.”
“Aren’t they though?” she jumped as her effusive praise was acknowledged by Chloe, the mussy haired, rubenesque friend who sat across from her at a center table at Bing’s Bistro, a quaint little sandwich shop where they often met for lunch. “I’m surprised that the whole blasted night club—if not the city as a whole—doesn’t just explode from the effects of all that mitigated, downright ridiculous hotness.” She paused here, adding as she pointed an accusing fork straight in Amie’s direction, “Admit it, Hannigan. At this point you would sacrifice a distant family member—or perhaps even your prized collection of miniature framed lobby cards from the melodramatic but socially significant women’s pictures of the 1940s—to become their designated band photographer.”
Amie nodded.
“Yes to all of the above,” she admitted, tone deadpan. “First, however, I have a few questions to pose regarding the band. When it comes to band photos, do they prefer posed studio shots, live performance shots, or both? Do they prefer glossy or gritty when it comes to photo styles? Does Lancer have a girlfriend at the present time?”
Chloe guffawed outright.
“OK then, so we’ve identified Amie’s favorite member of Night Serenade,” she told her friend with a playful wink, adding more seriously, “I am sorry to tell you that, yes, he is currently seeing someone.
Amie rolled her eyes.
“It wouldn’t happen to be the chesty peroxided blonde with the perpetual tan, who always shows up at their shows,” she queried. “Would it
?”
Chloe frowned.
“Well yeah, but how did you know?” she asked her friend, adding with a shrug, “You’ve never been to one of our shows.”
Amie smirked.
“I know,” she deadpanned, adding as she rolled her eyes heavenward, “I also know and have photographed more than my fair share of musicians. That’s just what they go for.”
Chloe nodded.
“Yeah, well, Tandy does pretty much fit that description,” she admitted. “She does just happen to be blonde, tanned, busty, pouty, etc., etc.”
Amie chuckled.
“So in other words, Lancer is dating his identical twin,” she observed. “And her name is Tan-dee.” She crossed her eyes. “Is she an actress/model or a model/actress?”
Chloe chuckled.
“Don’t sweat it, Kid,” she reassured her friend. “Cade also dated a long line of irritatingly sculpted supermodels. Then he got some taste and went for me instead.”
Amie grinned.
“You lucky wench,” she teased her friend, adding with an attempt at a casual shrug, “Look, I’m not asking you to fix me up with your guitarist. I’d far prefer that you set me up on a date with the whole band, and only for the purposes of a professional photo shoot.”
***
Amie reconsidered her position a week later, when she met the members of Night Serenade for a nighttime photo shoot, one conducted at a neighborhood park in the light of a full moon.
Arriving early at the spot designated for tonight’s inaugural picture session with the band, she stood at the edge of an emerald-leaved green space that bloomed forth with ebullient growths of ruby red roses; florals that shone like sparkling rubies in the light of the moon.
