It's A Vampire Thing

by Dakota Cassidy

  It's a Vampire Thing

  Dakota Cassidy

  Published 2003

  ISBN 1-931761-80-2

  Published by Liquid Silver Books, imprint of Atlantic Bridge Publishing, 6280 Crittenden Ave, Indianapolis, Indiana. Copyright © 2003, Dakota Cassidy. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  Liquid Silver Books http://www.liquidsilverbooks.com

  Email: raven@liquidsilverbooks.com

  Cover Art by Sahara Kelly

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

  Chapter 1

  "Well, hello sugar!" Claire Treemont crooned softly to the naked male figure stretched out on the table. Come-hither baby blues stared blankly back at her.

  Okay, so he had the glassy-eyed thing going on, but damn, was he babe-o-licious!

  Claire gently brushed a stray lock of silky black hair from his forehead, as though he were a small child. Her gaze traveled the length of his bulky form. Lifting the crisp fabric of the white, institutionally issued sheet, she blew out a breathy sigh that bordered on dreamy as she eyed his package.

  "Well now ... ain't that just whistling Dixie? Look at the size of that monster!"

  She cringed as her thoughts strayed to places they shouldn't, at least not in her profession.

  Tsk, tsk. Such a waste of prime male flesh.

  Claire dropped the sheet reluctantly and grabbed her clipboard, then pulled a pen from behind her ear. Stray tendrils of honey gold hair fell loose from the clip imprisoning them. She brushed at them impatiently, tucking them back in place and glanced at the clock on the wall. Time was wasting while she lollygagged. She clicked on the voice-activated recorder, and began the tedious task of cataloguing hunk-o-rama's vital stats.

  Whew honey, he wasn't just long there, he was long everywhere. All six-foot-five of him. She snapped the tape measure back into its metal holder with a click. Folding back the sheet with care, she ran her hands over the rigid planes of his abdomen to detect any abnormalities.

  "Somebody works out, doesn't he?"

  He must have used Abs of Steel, she mused, then smiled at herself for spending yet another night-shift talking to a corpse. Like he was really going to answer!

  What was his name, anyway?

  Running a finger quickly over his chart, she located his entry. "Zachariah Kowalski."

  "Kowalski, huh? Good thing you were so good looking, with a name like Kowalski." Claire smiled indulgently at him and took his body temp. The cold metal table vibrated beneath her touch.

  Odd.

  She turned to the instrument tray for her scalpel. The sensation of being watched skittered up her spine on spider's legs. She shook it off.

  That's first-year rookie crap.

  Claire had long ago gotten over thinking the cadavers she attended were moving, or that their glassy-eyed stares lingered on her. Indeed.

  I need to spend more time with the living.

  Thankfully, she began vacation tomorrow--a long two weeks with nothing but time on her hands. Maybe she'd hit the singles bars. Ugh. And then again maybe not.

  Again, she felt the curious conviction that someone was watching her. Ignoring it, she dug through the drawer full of gadgets trying to find a sterilized scalpel. Damn Albert for leaving behind a cluttered mess. She hated the day shift guys. She hated their small-town practices even more. Who the hell left a scalpel in a drawer with all the other stuff?

  Hah! Claire latched onto the lone scalpel, feeling rather victorious. She checked to be sure the lethal weapon was still enclosed in its sterile sheathing, then tore it open.

  Okay, handsome, here I come.

  Smoothing her gloved hands over her lab coat before she began, she tugged at the waistband of the skirt beneath, yanking it up. God, she hated staff meetings and wearing skirts to impress the boss. Like she was gonna wear a ball gown while she hacked up dead bodies. Sheesh.

  She pressed her fingers along Kowalski's cold, clammy skin, preparing the smooth surface for the incision. Locating just the right spot, she twirled the metal blade in her hand like a gunslinger and chuckled to herself. It was a shame to mar the perfection of such a beautiful specimen, but the funeral home would fix him up, good as new. She positioned the blade over his abdomen, near the fine sprinkling of black hair that narrowed to a point over his long cock.

  A Herculean grip surrounded her wrist, so quick and startling that she jerked back and fell with a thud to the hard tile floor, scalpel clattering after her, wrist still held prisoner. Her heart clamored wildly in her chest.

  She would not look up to see who or what held her in a death grip. No, no, no freakin way!

  Shit, she was gonna look up.

  Cautiously, she raised terrified eyes just a hair to find Zachariah Kowalski peering down at her. His once-glassy baby blues crinkled at the corners, sparkling and full of life.

  Holy Dead Guy, Batman!

  His white teeth flashed as a wide grin spread across his angular face; he had the most glorious dimples. Dimples that were very much alive. Wavy black hair framed a handsome face, falling to brush the top of his shoulders. Her heart thumped wildly in her chest as heat coursed a path down her arm. His smile was genuine, flashing perfect, white, evenly-spaced teeth as he asked, "Need some help?"

  He swung his legs over the side of the examining table, letting the sheet fall to the floor. His thick, erect cock bobbed in her face. Claire's head followed the up-and-down motion in disbelief as the muscles in his thick thighs bulged. Tugging on her arm, he pulled her up, their bodies now just inches apart. Standing, the top of Claire's head reached to just below his nipple, she noted absently. She screwed her eyes shut tightly.

  No, this isn't happening. She worked long hours and it was beginning to have an effect on her. Yup, that was it.

  "No, Claire, it's not the long hours you put in." Zachariah assured her with a deep chuckle. His voice was like a liquid orgasm washing over her trembling body.

  "Although such a beautiful woman really should get out more, you're not seeing things. Here, feel." He took her hand and placed it on his cock. Warm and smooth, it was incontrovertible evidence of his animate status.

  He groaned. "See, I'm very much alive."

  Oh, indeed he is. Claire's hands shook violently. And he knows my name.

  "Don't be afraid of me, Claire, I won't hurt you." His hot-chocolate tenor rippled through her veins like a heat wave.

  Don't be afraid of the dead guy who just got up off your examining table, has a cock the size of a bull and isn't really dead, you say? A dead guy whose cock you have now firmly latched onto like you're declaring it your own.

  She yanked her hand away.

  Nah ... me afraid? Never. Claire struggled to remember where the door was, so she could get the hell out of Dodge.

  Zachariah's large hand shifted between her shoulder blades, and began to caress her back in slow sensual circles. He pressed her closer and sniffed the air.

  "Ah, Claire, you smell delicious, good enough to eat," he declared.

  Um, okay, if this is supposed to be the scariest event of my life, then why are my knees melting like butter and my panties soaked like I just swam the English Cannel?

  "Because you want me, Claire, and I want you. Now," he confirmed, just in case she was wondering.

  Impossibly strong arms scooped her up, hold
ing her tightly to his thick chest.

  "Where is your office?" he asked casually, as though he had asked where the soda machine was.

  Without even thinking, she dazedly pointed in the general direction, and he whisked her off with determined strides, his bare feet slapping on the cold tile with each step.

  Claire felt strangely disconnected, as if this was happening to someone else, and she was just a spectator.

  Then he laid her gently on the maroon vinyl couch, and sat down beside her, caressing her face. His sparkling blue gaze pierced hers; she shivered in response, unable to tear her eyes away, allowing herself to be swept up in the moment, no matter how improbable, how impossible, it was.

  "I'm going to say this as quickly as I can, Claire, I don't have time for explanations. I must fuck you."

  Claire's eyebrows shot up.

  "I promise you it will be good, and I will be as gentle as any lover you've ever had. So relax. No," he stopped her sputtering protest as he leaned closer to her. "You can ask me anything you want afterward, but for now I have to have your consent. Without your consent I can't go any further."

  "Well," he stopped, as though he were thinking about that statement, "I can, but I won't."

  His tongue snaked out to swipe at her lower lip like a velvet probe. Claire gulped as her nipples tightened into hard beads and lust bubbled at the apex of her thighs. Who in the hell cared if he was dead, alive or a figment of her imagination? She'd never felt anything like this before, and damned if she wasn't going to give in to temptation, just this once. Screw responsibility and rationality and all the other r-words that went along with them.

  She nodded her head in consent, just before he opened the buttons on her blouse, unclasped her bra and buried his dark head in the soft valley between her breasts. His hands cupped them firmly as his tongue sought her aching nipple, suckling it with force. Claire's hands raked through his thick hair as he lapped at her, and white hot needles of desire shot to her cunt.

  Zachariah stretched his full length out on the couch, lying on top of her. His skin, ice cold just moments before, was fiery hot now, searing her exposed flesh. His thick cock throbbed against her belly. As he laved a nipple, his hand roamed over her thigh, inching her skirt up. Claire held her breath when his hand lingered at the crease between her thigh and pussy. His long fingers slipped beneath the lace sheath of panty and slid into her wet folds. Her hips bucked in response as his fingers threaded through her wet flesh like magic. He tore his lips from her nipple and raised his head; surprise glinted in his blue eyes.

  "Your cunt is smooth, Claire, like nothing I've ever known. Soft and so wet," he said with a groan. His words of obvious pleasure sent a thrill of hot desire through her.

  His fingers continued to caress her, making her whimper with delight as he thumbed the swollen nub of her clit. All Claire could think of was the delicious pressure of his long fingers, and his thick, thick cock. Her hand trailed down between them to find his rock-hard length simmering with heat. She ran her fingernail lightly over him, and watched from beneath her lashes as his head rolled back and he groaned. The corded muscles in his neck bulged; she leaned up and nipped at them, luxuriating in the salty taste of his skin, the pure thrill that shot through her at the thought of using her teeth. He smelled delicious. She grasped his cock more firmly and found that her hand just fit around the wide circumference.

  Claire gasped as his hot tongue trailed a wet path along her body. Kneeling between her trembling thighs he put his hands on her knees, spreading them wide.

  Embarrassment made her try to snap them shut, but he kept his grip firmly in place.

  "Don't hide from me Claire, you're beautiful. Don't ever hide from me."

  But she had never...

  Zachariah's blue eyes searched hers before he said, "Let me taste you, Claire. You have no idea the delight it brings me knowing I am the first to bring you this particular pleasure." His dark head lowered to her cunt, and she felt his hot breath graze the sensitive flesh as his tongue swept apart her soft folds. His sigh was husky and broken.

  Claire's body jerked in response as his tongue invaded her, and when his lips fastened on her clit, she writhed wildly beneath him. His velvet tongue found her slick passage and plunged into her, making her clench the arm of the couch in a viselike grip. "Cum for me Claire, let me taste your sweet juices." Her head swam with his hoarse words and her breathing quickened as she came with a violent shudder.

  Lifting his head, he sat up and knelt between her thighs, and then reached up to caress her flushed cheeks. Eyes fastened on hers, he grasped his hard cock, long fingers wrapped around the meaty width, and began to guide it into her aching passage. Fear made her heart pound wildly, it would never fit. He was the largest man she'd ever seen.

  "Don't be frightened, Claire, you were made for me. I would never hurt you. Trust me." His eyes implored hers, as he nudged her slick entrance.

  The head of his cock rubbed tantalizingly against her, and of their own will, her hips pressed forward encouragingly.

  They didn't have a condom. You didn't need a condom in a morgue. Oh, shit. She didn't care. Claire wanted him like she'd never wanted anything in her life, and her body screamed for him to plunge into her depths.

  So screw the condom.

  Who the hell had just said that?

  It's your libido, Claire. Go with it.

  She watched in fascination as each inch disappeared within her until his black pubic hair rasped against her clit and he filled her. Claire sighed as he settled inside her, unmoving, letting her adjust to his size. His hands massaged her thighs, sending tingles of warmth to her cunt. She had never watched anyone make love to her before, it had always been between a set of sheets, under the cover of night. She hesitantly ran her nails lightly over the crisp curls at the base of his cock and he groaned with obvious pleasure; in turn, he spread her wet flesh apart with deft fingers and rubbed a thumb over her clit as he began to slowly move deeper.

  Claire closed her eyes. She'd never felt so full or alive, every nerve a slow delectable burn of friction and warm flesh. Their hands tangled as she stroked his sleek belly and he caressed the smooth, dripping flesh of her pussy. With each thrust his heavy balls slapped soundly against her ass. She held fast to his wrists as he stroked in and out of her, his hands splayed over her mound as her hips ground into the sticky vinyl couch. She tugged at his hands, pulling him to her, and sighed with pleasure when his chest made contact with hers, scraping her sensitive nipples, his heavy weight pressing her deeply into the couch.

  Claire ran her palms over his thickly muscled back, and wrapping her thighs around his waist, she lifted her hips and pressed the heels of her still shoe-clad feet into his ass. Zachariah licked the hollow of her neck, following the outline of her jaw until his firm lips touched hers. He hovered there until Claire whimpered into his mouth, and then his velvet tongue was scraping hers, devouring her.

  When his tongue touched hers, Claire would have sworn by all that was sacred that she had seen the heavens open. Brilliant white lights flashed behind her closed eyes as tiny pinpricks of heat shot to all her secret places. Zachariah must have felt it too, for his body tensed and his cock seemed to surge more deeply inside of her welcoming warmth.

  He suckled her lips, sipping at them, tasting them, moaning into her mouth. Claire felt the tension build and her muscles begin to tighten as she contracted around his cock, milking the thick length.

  "I've never felt anything like this before; you're so tight and sweet." Zachariah threw his head back and clenched his teeth; Claire clutched the flesh of his muscled ass as she prepared to come. Burning heat and wild abandon shot through her as she met his hips stroke for stroke. An orgasm ripped through her sharply just as Zachariah's cock twitched violently, washing her inner walls with his hot seed.

  He collapsed on top of her, cradling her in his arms.

  "You are exquisite, Claire, everything a man could hope for," he whispered softly, betwee
n heaving breaths.

  Claire's muddled brain absorbed that statement slowly. Oh yeah sure, like you haven't said that to every coroner you've ever boinked. It couldn't have been nearly as good for you as it was for me.

  He rose above her, bracing himself on his powerful arms and looked down at her. "I'm insulted that you would think such a thing. I most certainly have not, nor will ever again, utter those words to anyone but you, Claire Treemont," he said jauntily, just before his beautiful blue eyes rolled to the back of his head and he collapsed heavily on top of her, snoring rather loudly.

  * * * *

  Claire woke with a start, bolting upright to find herself in the familiar surroundings of her bedroom. With a shaky sigh she lay back down on the bed.

  Whoa, that had been the dream of the millennium. Stretching like a cat, she felt her muscles creak in protest. Her thighs were tender and her nipples felt raw. Oh good, just what she needed, the flu. She had never missed a day at the County Coroners Office in eight years, and didn't intend to start now.

  But wait, she was on vacation! A long leisurely shower and all would be right again. She swung her legs over the side of the bed ... her naked legs. Naked? Where the hell were her thermal jammies?

  "I didn't know you had any, Claire, but you're so much more beautiful nude." The liquid-orgasm voice from her dream announced, from the far corner of her darkened bedroom. A dizzy rush of panic threatened to overtake her; she clutched the sheets and closed her eyes, trying to steady herself. The dead guy. She groaned out loud.

  "I'm hurt you would call me that, Claire, after what we've shared." She gripped the edge of the bed for support.

  "Claire," she heard him whisper her name softly. "Turn around, Claire, and look at me."

  The hell I will! Oh no, this can't be happening, not to me!