Holiday Bites: A Collection of Vampire Paranormal Romances

by Michele Bardsley

  When he finished tying the second nipple, both her breasts arched slightly upward, the nipples plump from the ties. The ribbon chafed her neck only a little; a small discomfort worth the bliss felt by her well-loved breasts.

  Michael’s finger dipped into her panties and stroked her very wet pussy. He looked at her, his eyes shining like sapphires. “Do you want me?”

  “Hell, yeah!”

  He chuckled as he walked behind her. He took both of her hands, drawing them behind her back and crossing them at the wrists. Then Val felt the second ribbon winding over and through until her arms were bound. Michael lifted her hair and kissed the back of her neck, right below the ribbon that held her breasts hostage.

  He continued downward; kisses dotted her spine as his fingers stroked her hips then hooked into her panties. She felt him kneel behind her as he drew down the underwear to her ankles. Lifting one foot, he tugged them off. Next, he rolled down her stockings and plucked off her heels.

  Now, Val was naked, except for the pink ribbons adorning her nipples and wrists.

  “Go to the bed and lay down face-first,” he ordered in a soft voice. “Plant your feet on the floor and lift up that sweet ass.”

  Excited, Val did as he asked. She was so wet, her juices dripped down her thighs. She heard the whisper of his zipper then felt him get behind her.

  Her bound hands tingled, but she didn’t care. Her nipples received an extra dose of torture as they rubbed against her bedspread. Oh, God. She wanted to beg him to hurry, but she bit her lip to keep from doing so.

  Finally, he fitted his cock against her entrance. Grasping her hips, he slid all the way into her cunt. She shuddered at the feel of his full penetration. But he didn’t move.

  Frustration roared through her. A girl could take only so much! Then his hand snaked to her wet heat and he rubbed her swollen clit. As he did so, he started pumping his cock hard and fast into her.

  Michael took her over and over, his finger rubbing her clit, bringing her closer and closer to orgasm.

  Then she felt a tug on the ribbon tied to her nipples. As it pulled taut, her nipples, which already felt on fire, went into sensation overload. Her orgasm exploded—endless waves of heat and light and bliss.

  “Valentine!” Michael drove deep and shuddered as his seed shot into her still pulsating flesh.

  Before she could even take a breath, he pulled out. He untied the ribbon binding her wrists then rolled her onto her back.

  He removed all his clothing in a blur. Then he covered her, his mouth taking hers in a desperate kiss. Her nipples rubbed on his lightly furred chest and she felt her body rev up for round two.

  Moaning, she wound her legs around his waist as his hardening cock found her entrance again.

  “I want you so much,” he murmured. “I don’t think I’ll ever stop wanting you.”

  “Good,” she managed as he plunged into her.

  His mouth trailed her collarbone then his tongue flicked at the sweat beading her breasts. Her nipples ached fiercely. As his lips clamped one straining peak, she cried out. It feels so good.

  She held on for dear life as his cock thrust faster and harder. He suckled her tortured nipple and then she felt a double sting in the tender flesh of her breast.

  Pleasure imploded. The orgasm rocked her to the core. As Michael sucked her nipple and drank her blood, she felt rapturous. Complete. I belong to a vampire. The very thought made her giddy.

  Then he stilled, thrusting deeply. She squeezed his penis with her vaginal muscles as he came. He groaned against her flesh.

  Spent, they lay against each other. She needed more breath, even if he didn’t. Finally, he soothed her ravaged nipple with his tongue then released her breast. She watched his fangs recede and was surprised to feel a spurt of disappointment. To her surprise, she liked to be bitten.

  Michael’s gaze was filled with passion as he said, “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

  “The best one ever,” she said, grinning. She knew they were not done making love, not by a long shot. And that suited her just fine.

  I’m dating a vampire. Hmm. That was a great first line to a novel...

  Ten Months Later…

  “I FINISHED IT,” said Val. She put the printed manuscript on the kitchen table and sighed happily.

  Michael looked up from his laptop and grinned. “Congratulations!” He stood up and wrapped her into his embrace. “I knew you could do it.”

  “Steven said it’s good. He got me an invite to his agent.” Her heart thudded at the very idea of shipping off her baby.

  “My Date, The Vampire will be a hit,” he promised.

  “Merry Christmas to us. Yikes! I have to zipper myself into that maid-of-honor dress in less than an hour.”

  “I’m glad Steven and Eve are getting married.”

  “Me, too. And I think Christmas Eve is the perfect day for their wedding.” She looked at him, happier than she’d ever been. Michael was an insatiable lover and she met his every sensual demand. She wasn’t hungry so much for the sex, even though it was beyond spectacular, but rather she was hungry for Michael. She loved him. He made her feel ... complete. Geez, that sounds so corny. But it was true all the same.

  “I have something for you,” he said.

  He reached into the pocket of the jacket hanging on the chair. Then, to her shock, he got onto one knee and offered up a black velvet box. When he popped it open, she saw a princess-cut diamond set on a platinum band. “Valentine, will you marry me?”

  “Yes!”

  Michael stood up and plucked the ring from the box, sliding it onto her left ring finger. “I love you, my darling.”

  “I love you, too.”

  I’m marrying a vampire. Hmm. That was a great first line for a sequel ... My Husband, The Vampire.

  TREATS FOR TRIXIE

  “TRIXIE LULABELLE MONROE Jameson.”

  “That’s your real name?” asked Val Sanderson. “No wonder you write as Lanie Haart.”

  “Trixie Lulabelle sounded more like a porn star’s name than a romance writer’s.”

  “I think it’s a toss-up,” said Val, grinning. They sat on a love seat in the living room. Some people milled around holding drinks or tiny plates filled with nibbles from the buffet. Others, like her and Val, squeezed on to available seating and conversed. It was All Hallow’s Eve and the weekend-long party at the home of famous writer Steven Jones/Adora LaFortune was in full swing.

  Trixie sipped her champagne and giggled. “Oh, my. I do believe this bubbly is going straight to my head.”

  “That’s the benefit of staying at your host’s mansion. You just have to stumble up the stairs to your room.”

  “I certainly feel privileged to hobnob with the stars of our industry,” said Lanie. “Do you know I ran into the goddess herself in the ladies’ room? I nearly swallowed my tongue just trying to say hello.”

  “She’s very nice,” said Val. “And she’s got a killer fashion sense. Did you see her shoes?”

  “Did I!” Trixie fanned herself. “I think you could buy a small country for as much as those cost.”

  “No kidding.” Val looked at Trixie. “How’s your little girl?”

  “Sadie’s spending the weekend at the farm with her grandparents. They always do a pumpkin patch and hayride for the locals. My daddy is in charge of scaring the kids. Last year, he dressed up like a vampire and jumped out of the bushes as the hay ride ended.”

  Val laughed. “You sound very close to your family.”

  “Yeah.” Trixie wanted to sigh, but she sipped champagne instead. She loved her daughter and she loved to write, in that order. It felt selfish and wrong to give up a special family get-together in order to pursue her career interests.

  “Quit packing for a guilt trip,” her mamma said. “This is your dream and all dreams require sacrifice. Besides, you need to go have some fun. You’re single, honey, not dead.”

  “So, how was the Bahamian wedding?” asked Trixie.

/>   “We got married in this little chapel near the beach—on the fourteenth of February.” Val shook her head, her smile wide. “I used to hate Valentine’s Day, but Michael made it special for me.”

  “I don’t think I could ever get married again.”

  “I felt the same way,” said Val. “But Michael is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

  Trixie watched her friend track the handsome Michael Sanderson across the room. Val’s husband was a well-known publicist and sweet as sugar. Trixie envied her friend a little too much. How could she ever hope to find love again? She might settle for less than love if she could find a decent man who would treat her and Sadie with respect.

  This time, the sigh escaped. Val looked at her sharply. She placed her hand on Trixie’s arm. “You’ll find someone. You deserve a good man. You deserve true love.”

  “I’d settle for a good lay,” lied Trixie. She hadn’t had sex with a human being since Benny left her and Sadie almost seven years ago now. And he’d been her one and only lover. The only action her bed saw these days was when she got desperate and pulled out her battery-operated boyfriend.

  “I’m going upstairs for a while.” Trixie stood up, drained her glass, and set it on the tray of a passing waiter.

  “Don’t miss the fireworks.” Val stood, too. “They start around ten o’clock and they’re going to be spectacular.”

  Trixie glanced at her watch. It was just after seven p.m. She had plenty of time to go to her room to shower, change, and mope. “I’ll be there.”

  MARCUS MORAVIUS LEANED against the wall with his arms crossed and watched the lush blonde sashay through the living room and up the stairs. His cock stirred as his gaze roved over the nice ass wiggling inside the gold lame dress. Then she was gone. He’d overheard part of the conversation between her—the oh-so-lovely Trixie—and Michael’s wife, Val.

  He snorted. Why the hell his friends insisted on marrying mortals, he couldn’t comprehend. Beautiful women were everywhere and most would do anything asked of them. A vampire didn’t even need to bend their wills. In all his years on the Earth as a vampire, nearly a thousand now, he had never married. In his human life, before his maker found him and turned him into the living dead, he had been a husband, a father, a warrior for Rome.

  “I’ve seen that look in your eye before,” said Steven. “It’s the same look you get when you go after editors for more money.”

  “That’s my job as a literary agent. And I don’t hear you complaining.”

  “I’m not.” Steven’s gaze bounced over the people in the room, stopping on the brunette conversing in a corner. Marcus resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He couldn’t deny that Steven had been blissfully happy in his marriage to Eve. However, the idea of love for vampires was laughable.

  “Will you turn her?” he asked.

  “If she wants.”

  Marcus frowned. “And if she does not?”

  “Then I will spend every day of her mortal life with her.”

  “You would taste love for a blink of a vampire’s eye rather than take it for all eternity?” Marcus chewed over this alien concept. “She would forgive you for turning her… if she loves you so much.”

  “Ah. You can take the warrior out of Rome, but not Rome out of the warrior.” Steven looked at his friend. “I won’t make the same mistake with Eve that I made with Derina. Love is not about conquering, old friend. It’s about surrendering.”

  Steven nodded good-bye and joined his wife, leaving Marcus to ruminate over their conversation. He did not believe in love, but he knew all about honor and duty.

  Caligula had named him a Praetorian Guard and lavished gifts on him, including his marriage to the daughter of a Senator—Julia. Their union had not been a love match, few Roman marriages were, but they had affection and respect for each other. The first time he had known real love was the birth of his twin daughters. Only then had he known the true fear and longing of wanting to protect something precious and irreplaceable.

  Then Caligula had taken them all away—the whim of a mad emperor who could do anything he wanted because he was powerful. He thought himself a god. But Marcus and his fellow conspirators proved that belief a falsity. With the blessings of Julia’s father and others in the Senate, and with the help of other Praetorians, Marcus had been among those who assassinated Gaius Julius Caesar Augustus Germanicus. May the bastard rot in hell.

  But not even the death of the one who’d murdered his wife and children had brought them back.

  Lost in the dark memories, Marcus felt pain bloom in the region of his never-beating heart. He didn’t want to bury himself in old regrets and past mistakes. His life now was one of meaning and of pleasure.

  Gorgeous women populated the party and more than one had made it clear they would be happy to spend the evening in his company. Still, his gaze went to the staircase as he thought about Trixie Jameson.

  She was the one who stirred his blood. She was the one he wanted.

  And so, he would have her.

  TRIXIE FINISHED TOWEL-DRYING her hair and tossed the towel into the hamper. Wow. She felt so much better. Her opulent guest room included a private bathroom. The tub was huge and had jets, for heaven’s sake. She’d sat in the churning water until her skin crinkled.

  Now, she was tucked into her favorite terry cloth robe and she had no intention of getting out of it. Her room faced the backyard—if five acres could be called a backyard—which gave her a perfect view for the Halloween fireworks. She imagined there would be plenty of orange sparkles.

  All she really wanted to do was crawl into the luxurious bed with her Kindle and lose herself in one of the romance novels in her digital TBR. But she should probably turn on her laptop and try to write a few pages on her new novel.

  She looked at the laptop, sitting on the desk a few feet away from the bed. Then she looked at the Kindle sitting on the nightstand. Guilt warred with indulgence.

  Reading won.

  Feeling giddy, Trixie practically skipped toward the bed. A knock on her door stalled her progress. Crap. Had Val decided to make sure she attended the fireworks?

  Deciding to plead a headache, Trixie turned on her heel and hurried to the door. When she opened it, Val was not the one standing in the hallway.

  The man was tall, olive-skinned, with eyes like obsidian. He was not handsome so much as he was striking. His nose was crooked in the middle, his cheeks slanted, and his lips a little too full. A crescent scar curved from his right brow to just below his eye. His brown hair was cut short, but the silky strands begged to be touched. He was dressed in tailored Armani. His smile was almost feral.

  She held closed the gap at the top of her robe, realizing just how naked and vulnerable she was underneath the terry cloth. Still, she put on a brave front. She looked him straight in the eyes and said, “May I help you?”

  “I hope so.”

  Her bravado appeared to amuse him. His voice had a hint of an accent … Italian, maybe? She stared at him, waiting for him to reveal why he’d knocked on her door.

  “You are quite beautiful.” He stepped close to the doorway and Trixie automatically moved back. She cursed her stupidity. She hated that he intimidated her. What did he want? Her heart turned over in her chest. Oh, hell. Surely he wouldn’t try anything with a houseful of guests downstairs.

  “Please go away,” she asked, her voice shaking.

  “You want me to stay.” That lovely voice echoed in her mind, wrapping around her thoughts like a gift. It was liquid desire. It was a promise made. A wish granted. “Invite me inside.”

  Trixie shook her head. What was wrong with her? She felt strange. Her gaze narrowed. Boldly, she reached out and pushed him. He was so startled, he stumbled backward and she slammed the door in his face.

  Mr. Sassy had picked the wrong girl to play weekend paramour. She wasn’t a slut. And she sure as hell wasn’t interested in sex games—no matter how handsome or intriguing the man might be. Honestly! The ner
ve of some people.

  He knocked again.

  She stared at the door, astonished. What kind of moron couldn’t take a hint? “Go away!”

  “Please, Trixie. Allow me to apologize.”

  She pursed her lips. He sounded sincere—which didn’t mean jack squat. Most charismatic men could make a lie sound like the truth. “How do you know my name?”

  “I know Steven and Michael.”

  That didn’t exactly answer her question. “Who are you?”

  “My name is Marc.”

  “Okay then, Marc. Apology accepted.”

  “I will not feel that I have earned your forgiveness until I see you face-to-face and offer my penance.”

  Trixie rolled her eyes. “That’s an awful lot of words just to say I’m sorry.”

  “Must we converse through this door?”

  Frustration was seeping through his slick charm. Well, he might be human, after all. Trixie cracked open the door and stuck her face between it and the jamb. He looked at her, his expression caught between amazement and confusion.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, not sounding contrite at all. His brows furrowed. “Invite me inside.”

  “What the hell for?”

  He looked her over, the dip between his brows deepening as he frowned. “You are … different.”

  “You’re not the first to make that observation.” She opened the door a little more. “Look, I’m not your girl, okay? I’m not interested in one-night stands.”

  “I will give you great pleasure.”

  “I’m sure you would, honey. But the answer is no.”

  He studied her so intently, she felt like a bug under a microscope. Apparently, he was unable to solve whatever mystery she represented.

  “Can I kiss you?”

  Trixie sighed. “No.”

  “Please. One kiss.”

  Strangely, she was tempted. Marc’s manner had changed somehow. He seemed less arrogant and more tentative. She hadn’t been kissed in so long her lips had probably forgotten what to do. Impulsively, she opened the door.