Samson's Lovely Mortal

by Tina Folsom

  She breathed heavily, obviously reliving her ordeal as she spoke.

  “Are you sure he wasn’t just helping you up when you slipped?”

  She shook her head. “I’m sure. I saw his face; he wasn’t friendly. He was chasing me.”

  Had she overreacted? Maybe the whole incident was completely innocent. Women sometimes read things into a situation which weren’t even there.

  “Can you describe him to me?”

  “I only saw him briefly, but he was big, Caucasian, maybe in his early forties. There was a scar on his cheek.”

  “Do you think you’d recognize him if you saw him again?”

  She nodded confidently. “Definitely.”

  A strand of damp hair caught on her cheek, and he had to use all his restraint not to reach forward to brush it out of her face. She wouldn’t appreciate any more physical advances from him, not even the tender touch he craved right now.

  Tenderness wasn’t something for which any vampire was known, least of all Samson. Lust, passion—yes, but tenderness? He rather savored this rare feeling.

  He heard the front door open. Carl had a key to the house, as did his friends, except for Milo. A few seconds later Carl made himself known at the door to the living room.

  “Sir, excuse the interruption, the car is ready when you need it.”

  They got up from their chairs, and Samson regretted that he hadn’t told Carl to take his time. He had enjoyed the woman’s company and would have loved to enjoy her for a little bit longer. Enjoy her? What the hell was he thinking? It was better if she left now, before he did something really stupid. It had to end here and now.

  “I’ll get my clothes. I left them in the bathroom.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll have them delivered to you tomorrow after they’ve been washed and pressed.”

  Keeping her clothes for a little while longer would allow him to once again inhale her scent.

  “But, that’s not—”

  “—necessary?” He smiled. “Please allow me.”

  It definitely wasn’t necessary, but his smile was so charming, Delilah couldn’t refuse him. It seemed he absolutely wanted to make it up to her.

  “Carl, please drive Miss Sheridan home. She’ll give you her address. And make sure you escort her to the door and wait until she is safely inside. I don’t want anything to happen to her,” he instructed his driver.

  “Yes, sir.”

  She was flattered. He wanted to make sure she was safe.

  “Thank you so much.” She stretched out her hand. “And Happy Birthday.”

  Samson smiled and took her hand, but instead of shaking it, he slowly guided it to his mouth and kissed it lightly without breaking their eye contact. “Thank you.”

  She felt a hot wave course all the way from her hand to her torso. God, he was handsome and a perfect gentleman—when he wasn’t assuming she was a stripper anyway. That was maybe something she could get past easily.

  Delilah hesitantly turned away and followed the driver who led her outside, sheltering her under a large umbrella as he escorted her to a dark limousine. As she let herself fall back into the comfortable leather seats, she sighed. What a night! The thought of the thug who’d tried to attack her still made her shudder, but as a result of it she’d met the sexiest and most attractive man of her life, so who cared about the first part of the story?

  “Where to, Miss Sheridan?”

  She gave him the address of the corporate apartment. For a second she wondered whether she should ask him to drive her to a police station instead, but dismissed the idea. She didn’t want to spend half the night at a police station reporting the assault when most likely they’d never catch the guy anyway.

  “Ah, that’s just a few blocks from here. We’ll be there in two minutes, Miss.”

  Delilah settled back into the leather seats again and closed her eyes. Samson Woodford. Tall, dark, and handsome. The star in any woman’s wet dream. She touched her lips, the same lips he’d crushed with his. The brandy had obliterated his taste on her tongue, but she could still feel his body pressed against hers and his erection urging her to surrender to him.

  Surrender. Give up control. The notion frightened and excited her at the same time. Of course, it would never happen. She would never see him again.

  THREE

  The stripper wasn’t nearly as hot as Delilah, but she would do. Samson hadn’t had sex in months, and he wasn’t going to wait a minute longer. He heard his friends laughing in the kitchen. Had the show already started without him?

  He strode through the door into the kitchen and saw Amaury licking red liquid off the woman’s boobs. Blood. Her nurse’s uniform was open in the front. They were like little kids, playing with their food. Vampires didn’t generally feed off other vampires, which didn’t mean they didn’t like to pretend. His friend had obviously dripped some of Samson’s supplies onto the woman and was now enjoying licking it off her.

  “Stop monopolizing her. It’s my turn now,” Ricky complained and shoved Amaury to the side. Amaury grinned devilishly but made space for Ricky by concentrating on only one of her breasts instead of both.

  “Share?” Amaury’s suggestion was met with approval.

  With a grunt Ricky slid his tongue over the stripper’s breast which his friend had just vacated. He licked the remaining drops of blood, before closing his lips over her nipple. The woman threw her head back and moaned loudly as both men sucked on her.

  “Yes, baby.” Not that the two guys needed the stripper’s encouragement.

  Milo and Thomas watched with little interest.

  “Last time I checked, it was my birthday,” Samson interrupted.

  Both Ricky and Amaury let go of the stripper’s boobs. All eyes were on Samson.

  “So?” Ricky asked.

  “What?” he retorted.

  “Well, everything working again?” Ricky emphasized his question with an unmistakable movement of his loins.

  “I guess I’ll have to do a tryout.” Samson pointed at the stripper.

  “Here, baby, have a lick,” she offered and turned toward Samson, but he shook his head.

  “Upstairs for a private performance.” For his first sexual act after nine months of abstinence he preferred a little privacy. Not that he would normally care if his friends saw him fuck her.

  Samson gave the guys a stern look. “You stay here—and leave me some of the good stuff, for God’s sake! I’ve got some celebrating to do.”

  Samson followed the stripper upstairs. He didn’t even ask for her name. It didn’t matter. All he needed was a willing body to plunge into. Damn, had he missed sex. Finally, he would satisfy his carnal desire and be normal again. This was the best birthday present he could imagine. Maybe birthdays didn’t need to be depressing after all. This could be a lot of fun.

  Holy hell, had the human woman turned him on. She could raise the dead, and she had. For all intents and purposes his cock had been dead the last nine months. He’d turned into a complete and utter grouch, always irritated, always tense. No longer. After tonight, things would be back to normal again. Sex wouldn’t control his moods anymore. It would just again become a normal part of his life.

  The stripper was a vampire, which meant there was no need to be gentle with her. He wouldn’t have to hold back. Just as well, given how tightly wound up he was. When he shut the bedroom door behind them, she turned to him and started her seductive striptease. Nothing he hadn’t seen before. His friends had dragged him to strip clubs often enough, and very little could really surprise him. In his more than two hundred years as a vampire, he’d seen it all.

  Piece by piece she peeled out of her white nurse’s uniform. First the blouse fell to the floor, then her short skirt. In sleek movements she released her stockings from her garters and rolled them down, one by one.

  Her hands went to her boobs, squeezing them together to emphasize their size. Bazookas. Samson wasn’t really into women with huge breasts. He preferred a cute
ass instead, but tonight it didn’t matter. One by one she peeled her heavy melon-sized assets out of the tiny half-cups of her bra. He noticed them sag without the support.

  She opened her legs to give him a good view of her pussy through her crotch-less panties. Shaved. Not particularly his style, but it would do. He motioned her to spin around to get a look at her ass. Her g-string hid nothing.

  Slowly, she wiggled out of the strings that doubled as an excuse for panties, finally standing in front of him in the nude.

  She didn’t interest him, other than as a woman who’d provide him with some much-needed release. He wanted to get it over with.

  Samson glanced at his four-poster bed, an antique he’d acquired back in the days when it was considered contemporary furniture. No, he wouldn’t do her in his bed. Bent over the chaise lounge would do just fine. He’d flip her over, get her from behind and fuck the living daylights out of her. At least he wouldn’t have to look at her face and could pretend she was somebody else.

  A beautiful face flashed in his mind. Delilah. He could pretend it was Delilah.

  Right, that was the plan.

  Perfect plan.

  The stripper wouldn’t object. After all, it was what she was paid for. She’d do whatever he wanted her to do.

  Excellent.

  There was only one problem with his brilliant plan.

  His cock had gone completely limp.

  Dead.

  Absolutely fucking dead!

  Not a single blood cell rushing to it to rouse him, not a one.

  Shriveled up like a prune.

  What the hell was going on? It had been working fine only a few minutes ago, and now, with a naked woman waiting to be fucked, he couldn’t get it up!

  Not even an inch, not half an inch.

  No movement whatsoever.

  “What are you waiting for, big boy?” she teased him and batted her mascara-crusted eyelashes at him.

  Samson glared at her. Was she mocking him?

  She took two steps toward him and placed her hand over the zipper of his pants.

  “Oh.” She let out a disappointed sigh.

  With lightning speed, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand off him. He pushed her away from him with his next breath.

  “Fuck!”

  The guys downstairs toasted each other when they heard Samson’s voice from upstairs. In the old Victorian voices carried well.

  “Now, that’s either been one hell of an orgasm,” Ricky began.

  “Fucking hell!” Samson’s voice came from above.

  A few choice expletives followed. The guys looked at each other.

  “Or none at all,” Amaury mused.

  They raised their heads toward the ceiling to listen for more, when they heard heavy footsteps on the stairs.

  “None at all,” Thomas confirmed.

  “Oh bugger.” That was Milo. “Poor sod!”

  Samson had already stormed into the kitchen and overheard Milo’s comment. He was fuming and ready to kill somebody. Thomas protectively stepped in front of Milo.

  “Fuck!” With the power of a sledgehammer Samson slammed his fist onto the counter, cracking the granite countertop. It split into several pieces.

  His eyes glared red, and his fangs were extended. He could barely control his anger.

  “Amaury, get him some blood, now,” Ricky ordered calmly, though he didn’t take his eyes off of Samson.

  “I’m already on it.” Amaury handed Samson a glass with the lukewarm red liquid.

  “Here you go, Samson, take a drink. You need it.”

  Samson snatched the glass out of Amaury’s hand and gulped it down in one go, then glared at Ricky.

  “You’d better make it clear to that stripper that if she breathes one word about this to anybody, I’ll snap her pretty little neck in half. Is that understood?”

  The feral look in his eyes confirmed that he meant it.

  Ricky nodded. “We’d better be leaving. Guys!” He waved them out of the kitchen.

  Samson could hear them in the hallway as the stripper came down the stairs.

  “But he had a hard-on when that woman was here. I saw it. In fact, it was hard to miss,” Thomas whispered loud enough for Samson’s sensitive hearing to pick it up.

  “I guess it would have worked with her. Shame she’s a mortal,” Amaury whispered back. Then his tone changed. “Hey honey, since we’ve hired you for the entire night, how about you come back with me. I have something you could squeeze in between those big tits …”

  A giggle was the stripper’s reply.

  Seconds later they were gone. The place was quiet again. Too quiet.

  Amaury was right. It would have worked with her. Samson was positive. So why couldn’t he get it up with the stripper? She had a good body, she was willing.

  But she wasn’t Delilah. She didn’t have her scent or her beauty. Damn, her lips had been so delicious, and that timid tongue he’d finally coaxed out of her. Heaven. What a kiss, and what a pliable little body with just the right curves. He knew it hadn’t been one-sided. He’d sensed her arousal. And then, when he’d come down the stairs bringing her dry clothes, her eyes had examined every inch of his body, and she’d liked what she’d seen. In fact, she’d licked her lips even though he was sure she hadn’t noticed she was doing it. In her eyes he’d seen heat.

  Fuck, he wanted her. Whatever it took, he had to have her.

  Samson dialed a number. The call was answered immediately.

  “Dr. Drake’s office. How may I help you?” Barbie doll purred like a kitten.

  “Samson Woodford. I need to see Dr. Drake.”

  “We’re fully booked tonight. How about tomorrow at 1 A.M?” she offered, her voice much cooler now. He’d never shown her any interest in all the times he’d visited the practice, and she’d finally given up wasting her charms on him. Just as well. Samson couldn’t stand her or her sugary smile.

  “I think you can do better than that. Considering the outrageous fee your office charges me, I don’t care who you have to cancel.” This was a true emergency.

  “One moment.” There was a click on the line and a short silence before she came back. “He can see you in half an hour.”

  “Thought so.”

  Samson hung up, snatched his coat off the rack and headed for the door. He could walk to Pacific Heights. The night air would clear his head. He sure needed it.

  He stalked through the night, his collar turned up, his hands buried deep in his coat pockets. The rain had eased. The streets were still busy with humans. He ignored them. After midnight the streets generally became more deserted, and more vamps would be out. But it was still too early for that.

  Samson didn’t understand why this human woman had affected him the way she had. True, she had a nice body and she was pretty, but he was used to beautiful women. As one of the most eligible bachelors in the city, he always had his pick of the cream of the crop.

  He’d dated lots of beautiful women. Maybe “dated” wasn’t the right word—he’d had sex with lots of beautiful women pretty much whenever he felt like it. There was always a steady supply of willing females, all vampires of course, to satisfy his carnal desires in the hope that maybe he’d pick one of them as his mate.

  But then he’d picked one, and all his troubles had started.

  Samson always supported some of the local charities and went to two or three charity balls a year. At one such ball he’d spotted a new woman in town. He’d heard her name mentioned before, but he hadn’t yet seen her or been introduced to her. The moment he’d seen the tall redhead amongst the crowd, he’d fallen head over heels—in lust.

  Rumor had it that Ilona Hampstead had come from a large coven in Chicago and was very well connected in the vampire world. She was the quintessential socialite and had decided to make San Francisco her home.

  She played hard to get, and Samson’s hunting instincts took over instantly. It took him more than a month to get her into bed. During that
time he’d continued fucking every available vampire female to get over his frustration. But finally he had his trophy and wasn’t shy about showing her off at every society event. She could be seen on his arm whenever he was out on the town.

  The society pages were full with pictures, showing them at event after event. Contrary to common belief, vampires did show up in pictures. In fact, many were rather photogenic.

  Despite his need for privacy, Samson enjoyed the attention and admiration of his fellow vampires for landing a beauty like her. While she was what he would call a high-maintenance woman, she did have her charms. She expected exclusivity, and he hadn’t objected.

  Over the next few months he fell in love with her, and somehow she became part of his life. He’d been alone for far too long, and the thought of having a constant companion he could trust appealed to him. All his friends assured him how great they thought the two of them were together, all except Amaury who kept his feelings to himself.

  Their sex life was excellent, they had the same circle of friends, the same standing in society. They were the perfect match.

  It was only a matter of time until rumors of an impending blood-bond were circulating, and the thought of forming a permanent bond between them excited him. Something was missing in his life, and she could fill that void, so he’d made up his mind.

  Samson pushed away the thoughts of that fateful night when his world had come crashing down in one sweep. The past had no place in his life now. Only the present did.

  He wondered whether the fact that Delilah was human had something to do with how he reacted to her. While he’d certainly had sex with human women before, back in the day when he was still a little wilder and more untamed, none of those had really interested him, so little so, that he gave up sex with humans altogether.

  Sex with humans always presented itself with more danger than the payoff was worth. Amaury didn’t share his opinion on this subject. But Samson felt that he’d always had to hold back and had never been able to truly unleash his power and strength on them without potentially injuring them. In the end it had felt like too much of a chore to continue with. Vampire females were easier to deal with when it came to sex. They could keep up with the strength and ferocity of their sexual partners and didn’t break easily.