The cold blood had driven out the hot shakes she’d had since his gaze had taken in her larger breasts. She swallowed convulsively. She still tasted him, his heat, his pure heart, his courage. His blood was spicy and delicious, a meal that would fuel her body better than anything. His soul gave her hope and succor in the dark hours, something that promised comfort, safety, and perfect trust.
“Chou?” John entered the kitchen and sat down. “Darling, let me into your heart.”
His body heat radiated through the kitchen. Valerie pinched the bridge of her nose. “You shouldn’t trust me.”
“I do lots of things I shouldn’t, darling. Do not fear.” He held up the forgotten bag of sugary goodness. “If you put out, I’ll give you your sugar.”
Valerie snorted laughter against her sleeve. Clever man.
“We can try, at least,” John continued. “Do you feel nothing for me?”
She knew herself to be brave. Six months ago, Valerie had accepted Lance’s challenge to change and she had been transformed beyond all measure. What price would this choice demand? Did she have the courage to embrace everything this love had to offer as well?
She sucked in air, giving herself a rush from the oxygen. Screw fear.
“I feel much for you,” Valerie answered, and held out her hand.
John clasped her offered hand and yanked her body into him. Their baby bumped into him first and then his mouth landed on hers. He would not allow her to think anymore. He had seen the play of emotions on his dangerous girl’s face.
Valerie’s teeth clicked against his as they kissed openmouthed. He drove his fingers into her sun-hot hair. Holding her head motionless, he ran his tongue along the slick surface of her lower lip. The vampire growled, low in her throat, and grabbed his ass. They were of a height, two pale, dark-haired lovers shoving against each other.
Valerie’s hard fists gathered at the collar of his shirt and ripped it apart. The wail of the fabric was nothing to the groan John gave up when she frantically began combing through his chest hair.
In retaliation, he pulled the triangles of her bikini top to the sides, baring her breasts.
“Sexy, sexy,” he crooned as he pushed her small tits into cleavage. John had thought her skin would be tight and hard from her years of physical work, but she had the softest skin he had touched. The plant woman of his youth no longer rated as the softest, deadliest of his partners. This one had the potential to hurt him far worse.
Valerie’s sharp nails on his nipples jackknifed him forward until he planted his face in her chest. She jerked and scratched at his back when he licked between her breasts.
If she were this sensitive above the waist, what would happen if he licked her hidden jewel box?
Nudge by nudge, kiss by kiss, he backed her up to the edge of the kitchen table and settled her on the lip of the surface.
“What are you doing?” Valerie asked, her brows drawing together in confusion.
He dropped to his knees in front of her. “Making you come, silly girl.”
Her head jerked back in indignation. “I have never been silly in my entire life.” A throaty, almost canine growl curled her lip and caused the head of his ice-hard cock to emerge from the waistband of his jeans. He pressed the heel of his hand against his penis, humming in pleasure at the constriction of his jeans.
Her eyes widened at the sight. “That is mine,” she claimed.
“In time.” Grinning at her, he spread her legs. With a reverent murmur, he buried his face in her still-covered pussy. Apparently, vampires did not lubricate like humans. Her moisture was thicker, more viscous. Here, her aroma of rosemary turned sharper, more pinelike and resinous. He swallowed and dragged the flat of his tongue along the crease of the bikini fabric that hugged her cleft.
She dug her nails into the edge of the table, cracking the finish with her nails. Valerie’s head dropped back, baring her throat. With a violent thrust, she cocked her hips, exposing even more of her vulva to him.
Taking her up on her invitation, John pushed the crotch of her bikini bottoms aside, revealing her pussy.
Like a rare orchid, her labia flared out in hot magenta petals. Adding to her exotic look, fine black hairs modestly veiled her drenched labia and extended clitoris.
“Fuck.”
Her hoarse whisper rolled around the kitchen as he opened her fully to his gaze.
Giving in to his urge to show off, he brushed his mouth over one side of her, the soft hair tickling his lips. Up the other side, he traveled until he reached her swollen clitoris. Puckering up, John sipped from her unfurling flower.
Valerie drummed her heels on the table. At the upstairs neighbor’s knock, she hissed and wrapped her strong thighs around his head.
“Come on, come on,” she chanted as she thrust her mound deeper and deeper into his eager mouth.
John kept his lips and tongue soft, resisting the urge to stab at her tender bloom. He was determined to take her higher and higher until he sunk in her. As it was, she writhed under him and hissed through her teeth. A glance up her flushed body showed him her rounded abdomen, rigid nipples, and fully extended fangs.
His cock thumped against the inflexible material of his pants. God above, she was blisteringly hot. Unable to keep his hands motionless, he covered her breasts with his palms, squeezing and plucking her erect nipples.
“Motherfucker,” Valerie ground out. With an enormous gasp for oxygen, she came all over his face.
John readied his hand at her vagina, ready to take her on yet another trip.
“I don’t think so,” she muttered. She braced her hip and pushed, rolling on top of him. They bumped up against the kitchen counter.
“How about we take this to the bed?” He smiled.
Valerie stripped off her bikini as she sprinted for the bedroom. She landed on the bed, her hand cupping her mound and pressing as John toed off his socks and let his torn shirt fall. Still in his pants, he lay down next to her.
“Let me kiss you again.” He took her hand in his and lifted it from her vulva.
“I don’t think so.” Valerie yanked the button on his jeans. The brass button pinged in the far corner and rattled to a halt. Breathing through her teeth, she wrenched his zipper down.
“Hey! Careful with that!” John swatted at her hands.
“I’m going to take you right here, pretty boy.” She stripped him of his pants and, sweet blood below, the man wasn’t wearing any underwear. Valerie hadn’t many lovers, but she knew that this was a very special penis. Instead of a bend to the left or the right, it curved downward in a perfect gentle curve. She wrapped her hand around him and stroked.
His eyes crossed and his head thumped against the pillows.
She straddled him, holding his shoulders against the firm mattress. The tips of her breasts stung as they pushed her skin to its limits. Valerie twisted and stroked her sensitized nipples across his hairy chest. “So damn good.” She thrashed back and forth. Each individual hair shot tiny electric sparks over her breasts and hanging belly.
“More. I need more.” She lifted his cock and lowered herself onto him. The crest of his head and that intriguing arch combined a perfect one-two punch of pleasure on her G-spot. Desire poured through her like hot honey.
John seized her hips and guided her into a fast trot on him. “Ride me,” he ordered in Valerie’s ear. She shuddered at his words. “I want to see you on my cock.”
Valerie wanted to surrender to his lead, but her pride held her back. Defiantly, she stopped her bouncing.
“I’ll ride you,” she hissed as she pulled herself up until only his head filled her. “I’ll fuck myself on you and you’ll like it.”
John merely smiled and nudged his legs wider, forcing her to shift forward. She closed her eyes as his thick, thick cock opened and spread her. A thrust with his hips and she bit her lip, trying to control her response.
Firm fists caught her hair. He yanked her, forcing her to look at him. “Scream for m
e. Don’t ever hold it back.”
She shook her head, nearly helpless at the feeling of his cock thumping against her sensitive walls. He yanked, setting a pace that drove him into her throat.
Despite her eagerness to take this risk, old habits clutched her in vicious claws. Valerie whimpered, her eyes closed, fighting the tears that threatened to spill from the pleasure.
As she fought herself, she didn’t notice when John let go of her hair. Barely a second later, the cold, pulsing ball of a wand vibrator landed on her swollen clit.
“Come for me.” He shoved the tennis-ball-sized head against her hood.
Guides were known for their relentless persistence. The vibrator toppled her resistance like an earthquake destroyed city walls.
Valerie exploded. A gush of liquid shot from her vagina. She soaked John and the sheets of their bed.
Her throat was sore. Pleased, she circled her hips on her stiff perch.
Smooth as a tiger, John rocked them over to their sides. He slid down her body and took a nipple in his mouth. He shoved his thigh between hers as he sucked, nipped, and licked her already-tender flesh.
Limp, she sighed over and over, rocking against his thigh as his mouth lifted her higher and higher again. Who knew her nipple was so sensitive? The long-lost image of a woman with milk-wet nipples threw Valerie back into orgasm.
If a vampire could give milk, she would have at that time.
He lifted himself and with a single smooth move, settled his face between her legs. “Your little button calls me so loudly. I must answer.”
Sweet hellfire, the man didn’t stop. She flew into the blast furnace of another orgasm.
John left the shades open as the sun set. The peach and orange illumination gilded John’s white room with the warm colors of longing and domestic harmony. Valerie slept through the spectacular light show, her body limp as an exhausted kitten. Her hair flopped over her face until only her oft-broken nose emerged like a rock from a river.
At ease and momentarily sated, John crooked his finger and pulled the black strands away from his lover’s face. He’d not lived with anyone before. It was as delightful as the view of the brown and green mountains rising over his town.
He had been reasonably content as a single man. Guides and Fallen Angels kept themselves a secret from the mortal world. If he kept out of long-term relationships, he could hide his gifts of foresight, quick healing, spiritual insight, and superior taste. Being French probably had more to do with the superior taste, though.
John tucked her legs under the fluffy cream comforter, watching Valerie’s face the whole time. Regular vampire sleep was still a little-understood phenomenon. Some needed home soil for rest, some didn’t. Some woke up at actual sunset, some slept in until astronomical twilight. Some vampires dreamed, some didn’t. Some could function in dim sunlight, some not.
Even the oldest vampires had no answers for researchers. Bloodlines, age, diet—nothing correlated into needs and habits.
His great-grandmother, Josephine O’Neill, had theorized that vampires were individuals, just like humans with different requirements. No one liked that answer, though, consistently ignoring her research. Stereotypes and racial profiling were so much easier to use.
John caressed the thin skin of his woman’s inner wrist. If his nana could see how her former champion had softened, she would cheer for the victory of love over the evils of the past.
In her sleep, Valerie yanked her arm away from his tickling fingers. Changed, yes. Docile or passive? Never. John smiled. Thank God.
His five o’clock beard itched and forced him to face uncomfortable thoughts. One half of his vision had come true. Perhaps the summer would bring him the rest of his desires. The bitterness of winter was not easily shaken off, though. Would Lance ever reappear?
John wrapped his fingers around hers and stared off into space. No matter how loudly he asked, eternity did not answer him. How does one survive the absence of part of your soul?
CHAPTER 8
Unlike human depictions of Heaven, there were no fluffy clouds full of white-clad, winged bipeds playing on harps. Rather, eternity was everywhere at once. This made sense to Lance Soleil’s partially expanded angelic consciousness, but left him with very few ways to describe his homecoming party. He was in a garden, by the ocean, on top of mountains, in fields, and at the bottom of valleys all at the same time. Add the improbable beverages he and the rest of the hosts had been consuming, and he was one disoriented angel. This longed-for reception should have been worth every grinding minute on the Wheel, learning to serve.
But Valerie wasn’t here. Neither was John. Casually, Lance set his drink glass on something that might have been a tree trunk, a rock, or even a garden gnome. He ran, trying yet again to slip away from the wild bash. His attempts to reach Earth numbered in the thousands by now, but he was not allowed to leave. Frustration tightened his jaw.
“Hey, buddy, try this one!” The Angel of Fermentation shoved yet another tall chalice of something cool and fruity-sweet into Lance’s empty hand. Lance’s wings dipped in distracted thanks. Why were the angels persistently preventing him from seeking his lover?
“Guys, really. I want to go.”
Fermentation’s headlike appendage swiveled back and forth. “Not yet, not yet. The timing must be perfect.”
“The timing of what?” Frustrated and irritated, he took his first sip of the new drink. As with all of Fermentation’s work, it was ridiculously intoxicating. The first flush of exhilaration brought a wave of heat into Lance’s angelic form and then settled into a warm presence in his love center, what mortals would call his heart. Joyously, he swallowed the rest of the potion.
“Do you like it?” Fermentation asked. The bubbly, yeasty mass gestured to Lance’s now-empty cup. “I call it God’s Breath.”
“God breathes?” Lance had forgotten so much of what Eternity was like; he had to rely on human theories to fill the blanks.
Fermentation laughed. For some reason, everyone found Lance’s confusion uproariously funny.
Death strolled over, twirling its scythe like a majorette’s baton. “What hilarious thing is it this time?” it asked.
“You didn’t hear that?” Beerlike suds splattered everywhere as Fermentation slapped Death on its shoulder. “He asked if God breathes. Next, he’ll ask if God can build a rock ‘He’ can’t lift!”
“Mortal philosophy slays me!” Death bent double as it wheezed laughter through its bony jaw. At Lance’s blank look, Death uncurled and gasped for air. Calming down, he patted Lance’s forearm.
“Be nice, Ferm. The poor boy has been gone a long time. He’s still all literal and shit. Besides, he’s champing to get going. Can’t have that yet.”
Death and Fermentation laughed as though they’d heard the secret to creation. The buzz from God’s Breath wore off, leaving him pissed off and belligerent. Lance elbowed his way past them, determined to find the entrance to Earth. The two angels grabbed his elbows and dragged him back.
“Trust us.” Death’s teeth clattered in Lance’s ear. “This is important. You must wait.” Distressed, Death rolled its scythe from one hand, across its body, and to the other. Lance and Fermentation ducked as the shining blade sliced toward their heads.
Fermentation nodded, froth splattering Lance’s sweater. “You need to get acclimated again. It’s all symbolic here, remember? The wings, the swords, the tools? All ways of expressing our essence.”
Death continued. “Sure, we can transport as fast as thought, blah, blah, but we aren’t infinite. Remember?”
“Not really. I’m all literal and shit, remember?” Lance gritted his teeth.
“Good one!” Fermentation flapped its armlike pseudopods. “Welcome home, brother.” It turned to the assembled masses and crowed, “Cheers to the first to ascend!”
All the heavenly beings toasted Lance with another round of hooting and hollering. Resigned, he waved. Eternity had a whole new meaning when it involve
d trying to escape a party.
A group of angels enjoyed the constraints of corporeal form by folding themselves backward and attempting to dance under a stick that kept lowering toward the ground. The tinkling sounds of a steel drum band kept all the symbolic butts dancing.
Limbo. Angels had a strange sense of humor.
Too bad Lance had completely lost his.
“I’d stay, but I see someone with an empty glass,” Fermentation said, and took off, dripping yeast behind itself.
Lance’s control snapped. His hand wrapped around Death’s skeletal throat. “What is it I am waiting for?”
Death sighed. Its vertebrae separated and reformed a few feet away, leaving Lance’s fist floating in the air. “You are vulnerable and not into your full powers. If you go to Earth, it is entirely possible that you may Fall again.”
Lance stretched his wings, crowding Death closer to the edge of whatever they were standing on. Bone-hard fingers pinched between his wings and neck, forcing Lance down.
“Listen.” Death’s earthy smell invaded Lance’s space. “We’re not the omnipotent, omniscient ones. We have limits. You need your tools before you can go to them.”
“Then get me my tools.”
Death stroked its chin and tipped its head to the side.
“Enough with you.” Death stood straight and shifted its shoulders under its shimmering gray-black robes. “I’m going to go win that juggling contest. But since I like you …”
Death drained its enormous stein of God’s Breath. It tossed the jewel-encrusted mug high in the air. As it spun and flipped in the heavenly air, the other angel threw its scythe after the cup. The sharp blade sliced the vessel in half. Death caught the two halves, one in each skeletal hand. The scythe whirled in the air, the magical edge shining in deadly, hypnotizing arcs.
Death kicked the scythe handle like a hacky sack, forcing it to land, handle first, in the soft ground. It stuck there, quivering, as Death faced Lance.
“Won’t Fermentation want its cup back?” Lance asked, his mind a blank.
Death grinned smugly. “For us, energy is neither created nor destroyed, only transformed.” With that, the cup shimmered and fused into a large magnifying glass with a jade handle and gold scrollwork holding the lens.
Dracula's Desires Page 4
