Voracious Vixens, 13 Novels of Sexy Horror and Hot Paranormal Romance

by Travis Luedke

  He didn’t bother asking.

  In the taxi ride home, Michelle surprised him by reaching down into the front of his designer DKNY black slacks. She freed his semi-hard cock from his pants and promptly went down on him. It only took her a few seconds to suck him to full-tilt rock hardness. She sucked and sucked and sucked until thoughts of feeding and bloodlust were replaced with another kind of desire.

  “Oh shit. Damn!”

  She grunted and slurped, making wet guttural sounds as she swallowed him whole over and over. She pulled and tugged, stroked and sucked, until he couldn’t think or move except to grip the armrest for dear life as he was rocked by the force of his release into her powerful warm suction.

  The taxi driver tactfully looked the other way with a grin he couldn’t hide as Michelle slipped Aaron’s spent manhood back into his pants. She zipped him up and tucked his shirt back in like a mother primping her child to send him off to school. She patted his thigh affectionately, smiled as she wiped her mouth with a tissue, and licked her lips in a silent promise of good things to come. He wondered how hard he’d have to scrub to remove all that red lipstick from his groin.

  He was struck with a lightning bolt realization––he loved her so much it hurt. She was everything to him: his mother, goddess, lover, caretaker, and the most gorgeous and sexiest woman he had ever known.

  She ruined the magic of the moment when she started asking questions. “Are there any more friends or family we need to deal with? What of your parents? Why don’t you speak of them?”

  * * * *

  Michelle sensed her probing had struck a nerve. This was a sensitive issue for Aaron.

  He gave her a non-answer. “I don’t really have any other friends I hang out with. And my parents ... well ... there’s nothing to say there. My father died and I don’t really speak with my mother much anymore.”

  She didn’t like the potential loose ends of Aaron’s former life blowing in the breeze. She needed to be certain there wouldn’t be any surprises from his past rearing their ugly head in her nicely-ordered existence. She enjoyed the simplicity of detachment from humanity. A lonely life, but one without complications. Michelle had learned the hard way, through costly mistakes, that she could not build or maintain relationships with people. They were food and entertainment, nothing more. In her experience, these affairs always ended to the detriment or death of her human companions.

  She briefly considered ordering him to talk. She could force his hand, but that seemed extreme and unjustified. She knew how it felt to be on the receiving end of compulsive authority. She was acutely aware of the fine line between control and abuse in relation to Aaron’s free will.

  Perhaps another form of coercion would be better for making him talk. Having decided upon a course of action, she didn’t hesitate. She continued rubbing his thighs, reaching inward to tease his cock back into semi-hardness. She barely let up as they exited the taxi into the apartment building, caressing and kissing him in the elevator.

  She tortured him delicately, watching him squirm as his eyes rolled back in his head with her sensuous massage. His cock stiffened out straight in his pants. Upon entering the apartment, he hurriedly stripped his clothes. She backed off, smirking. He stood naked before her, his raging erection pointing in accusation as if to say, you did this to me.

  She studied him, appreciating her handiwork, pleased with his display. She stepped up, taking him firmly in hand, and whispered, “Please tell me. I want to know. Tell me of your parents. I don’t like secrets.”

  As she spoke, her fingers slid down the length of him to his most vulnerable point. She cupped him, his precious jewels safely ensconced in her tender grip. Her hands and fingers kept moving slowly, sliding and testing his size and weight.

  She stroked all that soft, yet hard cock. His mindless arousal rolled off his aura in waves. She had stolen away all reason with skilled, calculated seduction. His thoughts broadcast to her loud and clear. He wanted to throw her on the floor and ravage her body. Nothing else existed in his world beyond the need to be inside her, to finish what she started.

  Using both hands now, while kissing his ears and neck, she continued to work him without mercy, stroking his full velvet shaft and his taut balls. She whispered again in his ear, brushing her lips across his skin lightly, her tongue flickering in his ear. “You promise to tell me everything after we finish?”

  His powerful arousal had sparked her own. Her panties were soaked through with anticipation. It was all she could do to continue the game, holding his explosion at bay.

  She knew the poor boy was so drunk on lust he would have agreed to assassinate the President if asked. His whole essence was consumed by the unbearable need to be buried inside her. He answered without reservation. “Yes, Michelle, I promise!”

  With his agreement, she flung off her clothes, stripping pants, top, and underwear in a lightning-fast blurred Superman-in-the-telephone-booth frenzy. She emerged from the whirlwind stripper routine completely naked. She leaped at him ferociously and pinned him against the wall. His hands gripped her ass, and he shoved all that hard cock straight up into her.

  “Dieu qui fait mal!” God that hurts!

  And he definitely didn’t slow down on her account. He slammed into her over and over, his claws digging into her ass painfully. He hit home, right where she had taught him to go, hitting that spot. It was so rare a man knew where to give it to her. She pumped her hips to keep up with his sexual assault, riding his wave.

  “Oh shit! Yes!” he cried out as he pounded her with every inch he had to give.

  In the maelstrom of sensations, their psyches merged to become one, each knowing how to accommodate the other. He pumped hard and fast, slamming home to her limit as she ground her hips with animal grunts and squeals. It was actually painful, he was so powerful. But it was the right kind of hurt.

  They growled and grunted their way to an explosive climax, biting deep and hard simultaneously. Their psychic bond synced them perfectly. They knew where, when, and how to pleasure themselves, and they knew exactly when and where to bite.

  She kept at it, riding him upright with his back to the wall. She sunk her claws into the sheetrock of the wall while he pummeled her, his slamming thrusts bouncing her into the air.

  “Michelle!”

  “Aaron!”

  They growled each other’s names as they both came hard. Sex, blood, pleasure and pain created a wicked lovely blend like no other experience in this world. She bit him over and over, keeping him hard and virile throughout their sexual marathon.

  “Oh. Oui, encore! Encore!” She drove him mad, frenzied with her demands for more.

  They continued pounding and grinding, destroying the living room wall in their fervor. When the post-orgasmic exhaustion hit, by tacit agreement through their psychic bond, they released their bites and gave it a rest. She collapsed in his arms, wrapped around him, his cock still shoved deep to her core. She didn’t want to admit how wonderful it felt to have the unconditional love and attention of a powerful male vampire with his arms wrapped protectively around her. She could never connect with any other this way. Only with her own kind.

  Why didn’t I do this decades ago?

  He carried her to the bed and laid his weight into her without separating. She could sleep with his cock buried in her all day long and know she’d never be alone again.

  * * * *

  It felt so damn wonderful inside Michelle. He wanted to stay there for the rest of the night. As she looked into his eyes, he thought he saw a look of heady emotion, something reminiscent of the way he felt for her. Michelle quickly masked her features with a dreamy smile of contentment. She boosted his ego off the charts when she admitted, “It hasn’t been this good in a very long time.”

  She popped her hips, digging him in deeper, which he took as the signal to give it to her again. His zeal renewed with her admission. He pushed in harder and deeper, grinding down in to hit her where it hurt, where she like
d it to hurt. Each thrust squeezed a sexy little noise from her lips, driving him crazy.

  After another exhausting round of biting and orgasms, he settled down to hold her tightly, spooned from behind with his abused cock fit between her perfectly rounded ass cheeks and his mouth up against her ear. He could picture staying like this, with Michelle molded to his body, for eternity. The only reason he need move was to make love to her over and over again, and then return to this very same embrace afterwards. What a perfectly wonderful life, lying in bed with Michelle, screwing like rabbits. This was as good as it got.

  CHAPTER 11

  They lay there for a time in the wonderful, magic afterglow of awesome sex, Michelle spooned up against Aaron. They were a good fit, his build seemed to match her, just right. She hated to do it and almost didn’t, but she needed to know. She needed to be certain he was truly hers with no strings attached to his former life. She interrupted their beautiful moment of peace.

  “Mon chér, I am waiting patiently to hear your story. Tell me.”

  She caught the smile splitting his face, he knew her well enough to understand the limits of her patience had been reached. Then he laughed out loud, at her.

  She flipped around to face him, her ferocity barely contained. She stared him down, daring him to break his promise. Though a smartass, she read his sense of obligation to keep his promise even though she’d extorted it from him at a moment of vulnerability.

  “Okay ... um ... ... My father died ... six years ago. It was probably the worst time of my life.” A searing avalanche of his pain accompanied his words. His grief burned all the way through their psychic bond. She sat up, shying away, trying to shut down their connection. No one should have to share that kind of pain, so intense, so personal.

  It was pointless. She had stirred it up, and now the only thing to do was accept his pain, ride it out to the other side.

  After a moment of shock and a couple quick gasps, she dived into his pain headfirst. She wrapped her arms around his waist to hug him close. She had forced the issue, at the very least she could offer some meager comfort.

  He instantly calmed under her embrace. And then his mind opened wide to her as he spoke. She could actually feel and experience his memories; far more depth of imagery and emotion than could ever be communicated by speech alone. She flowed down into the pain-filled recesses of his memories––to the time of his father’s funeral and an overwhelming sense of loss and grief. The pain was still there, strong as ever, suffocating. She felt her own throat constrict with it. A pain she understood well, the loss of a father. She couldn’t help but think of her own father, in a time and place long removed from here. Her memory still carried its share of pain. Perhaps it’s something you never really get over. You just learn to live with it.

  His memories were most painful at the wake, standing in front of his father’s coffin. Aaron didn’t want to see the corpse in that shiny box, all painted up by a mortuary makeup artist who’d never known his father in life. That wasn’t his father lying there, but the image branded into his memory. He couldn’t rid himself of the memory. Aaron turned away quickly, preferring to look at the collage assembled by the entry to the chapel. The collage held a much truer representation of his father, not that dead thing in a box. He spent a good amount of time staring at the photographs, trying to overwrite the painted corpse image.

  Michelle immediately noticed the telltale signs of family resemblance. Aaron had his father’s smile and other small details like the shape of his jawline and set of his shoulders. She recognized something in his father’s face, a solemnity, a quiet strength that she’d seen glimpses of from time to time in Aaron’s demeanor. The kind of strength one doesn’t see at first. A subtle quality.

  Some of the pictures sparked corresponding memories of the times and places they were taken. A picture of Aaron in his early teens sitting next to his father holding up a fish triggered the memory of his father’s voice urging him on. His father, Lucas Pilan, Luke, encouraged him. “Give her a fight. Don’t let up. Keep the rod solid in your hand. Pull back, steady ... steady ... reel her in, slow and easy.” Aaron was so excited and yet afraid to lose the fish. He didn’t even like fish, but he wanted this one for his dad, who loved a good pan-fried trout with beer batter.

  Focus shifted to another picture of his father in a hospital bed, looking embarrassed but still smiling. Aaron recalled how his dad maintained his good humor to the very end, even as the chemotherapy treatments and medications brought on recurring bouts of nausea, making him so tired that he slept through most of the day. Though his body was frail, Luke’s spirit held strong. He’d smiled and laughed constantly, as if the discomfort was merely a distraction. At times his father would say, “I’m catching an early retirement out of this one ... don’t you worry, it’s no big deal. You can’t keep a good man down.” He’d spout off ridiculous things like this while bedridden, in extreme pain. Aaron had often wondered if it was the pain meds talking, or his father trying to smooth it over, keeping up appearances for his family, or perhaps lying to himself.

  Aaron recalled his problems in school. How he was held back in the tenth grade to repeat the year because he’d spent so much time with his father in the hospital. And then, again, he missed an entire month of school after his father had died. Ironically it wasn’t the cancer that killed his dad, but the complications of internal bleeding after removing the tumor in surgery.

  Another photo in the collage was Aaron at sixteen, just before his father’s diagnosis of cancer. He sat with both parents at his birthday party; all three of them smiling with faces pressed together side by side and cheek to cheek. Aaron’s mother, Angela, was a slight woman of dark brown hair, so dark, almost black, and sad brown eyes. Aaron obviously inherited something of Angela’s cheek bones and the sad tilt of her eyes. They seemed happy. An average American family living day by day, blissfully unaware of how death would irrevocably change their lives, robbing Aaron of all his joy for years to come.

  And then his mother had changed in the blink of an eye. Almost overnight his mother had disappeared, replaced with a complete stranger. She began dating all different kinds of men her friends introduced her to. She never warned Aaron of her intentions. She just did it. The extent to which she had consulted Aaron about her desire to date and move on with her life had been an off-hand comment about how they both had to go on their lives and Luke wouldn’t have wanted them to be lonely. Before he knew it, she was out on Friday or Saturday nights, two-three-four in the morning. Sometimes she didn’t bother coming home until the next day. Angela’s behavior immediately after his father’s death seemed a horrible betrayal of everything he held sacred.

  They grew distant quickly. Aaron wasn’t assertive enough to let her know how he felt. Long accustomed to the quiet, unobtrusive temperaments of both Aaron and his father, Angela didn’t bother to ask what Aaron thought. Had she asked, it would’ve been purely courtesy. Angela Pilan had been bowling over her boys for years. She’d always found a way to get exactly what she wanted. Luke hadn’t been the kind of man to set limits or argue with his wife. The Pilan men are long-suffering. Luke had been happy just to have Angela in his life. He taught Aaron to go with the flow when it came to the whims of his mother.

  In going with the flow, Aaron withdrew from Angela. He found solace in his friends, Kyle and a couple other buddies. His grand plans for college and career were shelved for the day to day life of pursuing girls and enjoying the teen social scene of parties, movies, and music. It worked. Kept his mind off things at home he’d rather not deal with. Aaron stopped talking to his mother about anything he thought or felt. About anything at all. She didn’t seem to notice. Or perhaps she preferred it that way. She never tried to reconnect with her son. Angela pursued the single’s lifestyle, and Aaron took care of himself, rarely requiring anything from her.

  Angela was busy making up for lost time, meeting new people, making new friends, and jumping from boyfriend to boyfriend almost monthl
y. During their family years, when Luke was still alive, Angela had maintained the habit of going to the local Catholic Church on Sundays. After his death, all pretenses were dropped. Aaron wondered that maybe he’d never truly known his mother all these years. It was as if she’d been maintaining appearances for Luke’s sake, and now the real Angela showed her face for the first time.

  As he spent more and more time hanging out with Kyle, making plans to get their own apartment, it seemed the life he’d once known with a mother and a father was something experienced in a dream.

  The final episode between him and this woman Angela, this stranger he called mother, happened the day he met Charles Miller. An insurance salesman, Charles and Angela had hooked up three months prior. Somewhere during these three months, in which Aaron hadn’t known the man existed, Charles and Angela had fallen in love and decided to marry.

  This day was crisp and clear in Aaron’s mind, branded and labeled as the day he lost whatever remaining sliver of the mother Angela had once been to this stranger, Charles. The man showed up at the house––the first time Aaron had ever seen him. Aaron realized right away his mother was serious about Charles.

  He gave it an honest effort to talk with Charles, to accept him into his life. Aaron’s limited conversations with the man ranged over sports and religion, subjects on which Aaron had little comment or interest. Apparently, Angela had been miraculously restored in her faith by the divine hand of Charles Miller. All the two of them ever did was preach Jesus and salvation. Aaron couldn’t run the opposite direction fast enough. It was painfully obvious they had no common ground. As it turned out, it wasn’t necessary for Aaron to welcome Charles into their home.

  After meeting Charles, and sharing a meal together as though they were now a family, this strange woman inhabiting his mother’s body pulled Aaron aside to talk with him privately. She told him you’re nineteen years old, and its time you moved out and became an adult, and that she wanted to live her life with Charles without the weirdness of another male adult in the household. Aaron had listened to her in a daze of shock, simply nodding at the proper moments to indicate understanding. Understanding was the furthest thing from his mind on this day. He didn’t get it at all. Where was his mother? Had she been invaded by body snatchers? Had she become one of those pod people? Who was this woman telling him to leave the only home he’d ever known? How could she toss him out on the street like the spring-cleaning trash?