Beauty Bites

by Mary Hughes

  “You’re so beautiful. So hot and wet and lovely.” He returned to my mouth, kissing me while his hand squeezed my breast and his other hand rode my pussy so insistently it drove me up the slope of no return. I moaned, long and low.

  A rumble started, vibrating where our bodies pressed together, a deep roll of thunder like a lion’s purr. “I love your smell.” His words were ruffled by the purr. “I love your taste. I want more. I’m starving for you, Synnove.”

  “You’re starving for blood,” I gasped.

  “No, not blood. For you.” He kissed down my jaw, hot open-mouthed kisses, sharpened by the nick of fang. “Only you. Let me bite you.” Two fingers thrust into me, sudden, burning. I cried out. He purred louder.

  I panted, almost mindless with need. But I managed, “Does it hurt?”

  “Mmm. It’s exquisite.” His tongue traced along the tendon of my neck.

  “That doesn’t answer—”

  “Please, Synnove.” He nuzzled my throat. His breath billowed hot on my skin. His fingers drove into me repeatedly. I built higher, higher still. “I’m desperate for you. Say yes.” His thumb rasped over my clit, sending waves of need crashing into me. “Say it.” His fangs pressed into the sensitive flesh of my throat, not breaking skin but sharply pregnant with sensation. His thumb flicked, hard, sending me so close to the edge I could see the canyon dropping into the warm lagoon below. “Say it now.”

  I launched myself over the edge, flying like a cliff diver. “Yes!”

  Midair, lightning skewered my throat. Twin bolts spiked through my body straight to my groin where his fingers had thrust practically to my eyeballs. They met in an explosion.

  I screamed. I didn’t fall over the edge of orgasm, I shot straight up into the stratosphere. Climax didn’t ripple, it sheared, a jagged bolt of lightning that tore through the night sky. I came so hard my brain lit up, my ears rang and my body wrenched apart.

  Slowly, relaxation enveloped me like freshly laundered sheets. When I finally recovered enough to open my eyes, Ric was licking my neck and purring madly. His eyes were closed and his expression was blissful.

  I could imagine what he’d look like if he’d bitten me during actual intercourse.

  I yawned. I felt fresh, new, sleepy. My mind wandered. For not having gotten any, he certainly looked satisfied. Maybe with vampire physiology, he’d orgasmed from biting.

  I yawned again and roused myself enough to tap his forehead. “Hey. You. Did you want something other than my blood?”

  “I want…” He placed a final broad swipe on my neck and sat up. His chest was flushed and his nipples were so tight they were pinpricks. The top of a sizeable erection jutted from his gaping fly. “I want everything.”

  Or actually, it came out “I wan’ e’ery’ing,” because his fangs dented his lower lip. His eyes glowed bright red.

  Again, maybe I should have been scared but I was only intrigued. Because this was Ric. I wanted this from him. Needed it. My own Happily-For-Now.

  “Everything, hmm?” I waved a hand at my thighs, parted in utter relaxation, glistening with my climax. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m sort of ready for everything.” My wave dislodged air scented with my satisfaction.

  He choked—and fell to his knees with his head between my legs.

  His first long lick popped my eyes open, revved me higher than ever. His tongue dug deep between my swollen labia, caught on my rising red clit. I gasped, automatically trying to close my legs. His palms stopped me, firmly asking me to keep my thighs where they were. When I did, he really got to work.

  He lapped hard, branding me with hot breath and fiery tongue. It got rougher as he licked, until he was toweling me with his lapping. When my mouth opened on a moan, he thrust a finger into me, then two. I groaned. His purr started again, rumbling low, pausing as he swallowed. He beat against me rhythmically, thrusting and driving with fingers and tongue. My breasts bobbled with the force of his laps. My body started jerking from the power of his.

  He opened his mouth on my sex, fangs pressing the length of my labia.

  I whimpered at the volcanic heat. “Don’t…don’t bite there.”

  His eyes flashed up at me, red and hungry, but somehow I knew he was trying to reassure me. He pressed his tongue against my rigid clit, then sealed his lips on my pussy and sucked.

  I came so fast I jerked against his hard hold. He thrust his fingers and slapped clit and sucked right through it, spiraling me into another buildup before I could even shout. He thrust and sucked until I writhed on the bed, until I thought my skin would turn inside out.

  When he’d driven me to the peak of insanity yet again—he stopped.

  I throttled a scream of frustration. He rose between my legs, all that beautiful sleek musculature, rose to his knees, set a foot on the floor and spun off the bed. I cried out in disappointment—

  Just as he shucked his pants.

  My cry cut off. I gaped. His erection thrust huge and smooth from his hips. The claws predictor was right on. If six inches was average, Ric was two men.

  I came to my knees on the mattress. My hand reached out automatically, stopping just before I took him. My eyes sought his, asking permission. His burned dark red. With careful fingers he led my hand to his cock. I took him in my hand.

  He throbbed, smooth and warm. His purr was practically deafening now. So I had to. Really I did.

  I opened my mouth and sucked him deep.

  And choked. I didn’t have much gag reflex but I’d never experienced that much man. Ric’s cock filled my mouth and throat and then some.

  “Synnove.” Ric groaned, but his hands caressed my hair, reassuring, warm. “You don’t have to.”

  I looked up at him with one eye. “Is that a challenge?”

  “No, it’s—gah!”

  I opened my throat and thrust my mouth over him as far as I could. Concentrating, I managed to stuff him down until my nose bumped the incredible muscles of his abdomen.

  He throttled a long groan. His hands clenched in my hair, and his cock went rigid in my mouth and I knew I’d rung his bell like he’d rung mine.

  And then, as a pièce de résistance, I drew slowly off him, letting him feel each ripple of cartilage, each rasp of tongue, all polished off with a knife-fine scrape of my teeth.

  He threw back his head, gritting his own teeth against a roar of pleasure, perspiration glistening along his fine torso.

  Still in control. So not happening.

  I grabbed his hips for purchase, clamped my lips tight around his cock and bobbed along his length. He gasped. I lapped and swirled as I rode him with my mouth. He howled. I drove and tongued until he was trembling.

  Then I took him down my throat, to the hilt—and swallowed.

  He came, great hard contractions of his balls I could feel on my chin. The roar that he’d been throttling erupted full-voiced.

  It went on and on. I lost control and ended up wearing some. But it was entirely worth it to see the extreme pleasure on his face, and then see him relax into bliss.

  He collapsed to his hands on the mattress, head down, panting. I started to roll off the bed to get a towel. He snared his shirt, more agile than I would have expected given his state. Gently, he used his own shirt to wipe me.

  Then he laid me on the bed and slicked his tongue along my swollen sex. The orgasm delayed by his shucking his pants rolled through me, a thundershower power-washing away every tension, every obstacle.

  After, we lay together on the narrow bed. It felt less tight than close. Comfortable. Right.

  It felt right.

  Me and Ric Holiday, vampire and ad man, felt right. That should have scared me almost as much as what had happened in the woods.

  But I try not to lie to myself, and I wasn’t going to start now. It felt right—maybe because it was right? I didn’t like the idea, but in all honesty I had to consider it.

  I put aside thoughts of getting rid of him and considered lasting happiness instead. A
relationship.

  A fairy tale come true.

  Not. Possible.

  I was missing something. Couples adjust to each other but we were far too different. Dissimilar at a basic level. Different to the point of being discordant.

  But what if, despite that, we were meant for each other?

  That did scare me. If, despite being true opposites, we were stuck with each other anyway, we’d rub each other raw. Which, considering the last half hour, wasn’t unpleasant…

  Smack me with a lutfisk. Emotional fire in the bedroom most often translated to bloody strife outside it. Like social, vivacious Twyla and her self-contained, masterful Spartan. Like brash, confident Elena and her householder Bo…

  No, they all seemed pretty happy, now that I thought about it.

  So why couldn’t I have that? Why couldn’t I find happiness with Ric?

  My stomach swooped. Why not?

  Warmth filled me, surprising with its strength. I’d always pictured myself as a doctor, smiling at patients, discussing treatments. But even more clearly I could see a future with Ric—us sitting together reading, doing dishes, discussing our work over a cup of tea.

  Maybe we could try it. Try…a relationship. I turned to Ric, opened my mouth to tell him my thoughts.

  He was on his back, snoring softly, out like a light.

  Dammit, this was important. I put my hand on his shoulder to shake him awake. Got distracted by velvety skin over rock. Mmm, nice. I forgot to shake, caressed instead—

  A shadow filtered into the edge of my vision. I sucked in air. I swear I did not scream.

  I did squeak a little.

  Ric’s eyes flew open. He sat up so fast the covers flew. “What the hell? Aiden?”

  The shadow inside the room was a man. I shrieked at that, a little girly yip, and grasped covers to my chest. Shrinking violet modesty and shrieking at shadows. Damn it, if this was what having a steady guy made of me, I’d have to rethink my relationship decision.

  Beyond Ric, the shadow solidified. “Sorry to interrupt.” The laconic voice had a pained amusement in it. “But this couldn’t wait.”

  “What’s so fucking important—?”

  “The painting is gone.”

  Chapter Twenty

  “What?” Ric shot to his feet. “When? Where? How?”

  The shadowman Aiden was wearing a black leather coat and looking bulkier than I remembered. “When, about an hour ago. Where, from where you told me to put it, the safe in your office. And how? It was an inside job. No new scents.”

  “Damn. We need to find it.” Ric started throwing on clothes, boxers, torn shirt and one sock. “Let’s get back to the office—”

  “Problem. Sunrise is minutes away. I’m surprised you didn’t notice.”

  Ric collapsed, half-dressed, on the bed. He closed his eyes and shook his head. “I was distracted.”

  “I can tell.” Aiden’s eyebrows waggled suggestively.

  “You.” Ric cracked an eye. “You’re cruising for a fist to the jaw.”

  “You can try.” Then black eyebrows lowered and Aiden’s lips compressed. “Although it’s no more than I deserve for losing the painting.”

  “Don’t. You didn’t lose it, it was stolen from us. The question is, by who?”

  “Someone better than us.”

  “Aiden, stop it. There’s no one better than you, not at tracking, not at intelligence gathering. So, an inside job?”

  “No break-in, the safe wasn’t blown and then there’s the timing—almost the minute I returned. Someone was waiting at Holiday Buzz. Watching.”

  “Someone we trusted has betrayed us.” Ric made a low, terrible sound.

  A cell phone rang, muffled. I startled.

  “It’s mine.” Ric snatched up his pants and extracted his phone. “Holiday.”

  The voice on the other end sounded tinny, mechanical. Ric’s jaw worked hard; he didn’t like what the caller was saying at all.

  I exchanged a glance with Aiden. Any softness had gone from his face, leaving only the cool ruthless shadowman.

  Ric’s jaw abruptly stopped working. His eyes flicked to me.

  Suddenly his face drained of color. He snapped, “Out of the question. This conversation is over.” He ended the call with an abrupt clip of his thumb.

  “The thief?” Aiden asked.

  “Yes. Using a voice disguiser, unfortunately.” Ric put on the pants then thrust the phone into his pocket.

  “What did he want?” Wrapping myself in the sheet, I stood to put a hand on Ric’s arm. He was trembling with rage.

  “Money. And other considerations to be named. Delivered at three this afternoon.” Ric’s nostrils were white and the tips of his canines protruded. “Whoever this asshole is, he’s got some nerve.”

  “Steady, Ric.” Aiden slid away from the window, where dawn was creeping through the cracks between the vertical blinds. “At least we know the painting is safe. The question is, what do we do now?”

  “I can go out in the sun,” I said. “Maybe I can deliver the money.”

  Ric spun on me. “Not. Happening.”

  I stepped back at his vehemence. “But I thought this painting is important. That it’s some sort of leverage against Nosferatu.”

  “You figured that out? You’re quick. Most of the time I like that.” He ran a hand through his hair.

  “Which is his way of saying yes,” Aiden drawled. He leaned, arms crossed, against the door. “The portrait is…was his insurance that Nosferatu won’t attack his household or Holiday Buzz. We have to get it back.”

  “But not by paying any damned ransom at three in the damned afternoon.” Ric glared—at me.

  “Sorry. Only trying to help.”

  “Help.” Ric whipped toward Aiden. “Can you trace that phone call?”

  “Not from here.”

  “Damn it.”

  “Ric, what’s really wrong?” I touched his shoulder. His muscles were as tense as steel cables. “Is it the sunlight? Do you need to, um, go to ground or something?”

  “No.” He made an obvious effort to relax. “I just hate feeling this exposed and not being able to do something about it.”

  “Maybe we’re asking the wrong question.” Aiden started pacing, lean, springy. “Not who stole the painting, but who could get into the safe?”

  “That’s good,” Ric said. “Nosferatu. He has some East European techies on his team.”

  “His lieutenant Giuseppe Marrone,” Aiden said. “Marrone’s a tech.”

  “Unless it’s that Ancient One guy,” I said.

  Sudden, horrified silence.

  “What?” I said. “He’s got techies on his team too, doesn’t he? And he knows everything, from what I can tell.”

  Ric shuddered. “If the Ancient One is against us, we’re as good as dead.”

  “Oh. Okay.” I held up one placating hand. “Not Elias.”

  “Camille,” Aiden said. “She doesn’t have technical skills of her own, but she could seduce someone to crack the safe.”

  “Seduce…?” I snapped my fingers. “And an inside job. Chicken Little.”

  “Who?” Ric said.

  “Sorry, I meant Charles Little. That cock’s comb hairstyle and red wattle neck remind me of a chicken… Ric, the point is, he looked awfully taken with Camille at yesterday’s meeting.”

  “Little wants Holiday Buzz,” Aiden said. “He’s made no secret of that.”

  Ric’s face hardened. “And he knows the combination to the safe.”

  Aiden nodded. “That’s it, then. The instant the sun goes down, I’m going after the bastard.”

  “We go together,” Ric growled.

  “You’re forgetting something,” I said. “He wants the money at three p.m.. If he doesn’t get it, he might destroy the picture, and there goes your leverage.”

  Ric glared—again, at me. “I won’t let him back me into a corner.”

  I didn’t understand the glare. I was only trying to help, an
d it was a reasonable solution. “Why are you so stubborn about this? If it’s the money—”

  “It’s not the money.”

  “But—”

  “Synnove, that’s enough!”

  I drew myself up to my full height and glared coldly. “May I remind you, you can’t stop me?”

  He stepped in until we were toe to toe. “Oh, can’t I?”

  “Yikes,” Aiden said. “Get a room.”

  I jerked away from Ric, my face hot but I couldn’t help smiling a little at him. “We’re a pair, aren’t we?”

  “Yes. We are.” Ric’s tense expression eased. “Synnove, I’m sorry. I’m worried, but I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

  “Me too.”

  “Still here,” Aiden said. “And gooey making-up eyes are as bad as frustrated sex yelling. Can we nip all of this in the bud? Why don’t you call Little? Let him know we’re on to him.”

  I got the impression that Aiden knew what really had Ric going nuclear. That with his vampire hearing, he’d heard what Little had said in that first phone call.

  Ric smiled down at me. “Good idea.”

  He dug in his pocket for his phone, thumbed up a number and pressed it to his ear. “Charles. I know you have the portrait. I want it back. Let’s talk terms.”

  “It doesn’t matter that you know,” Charles Little said into Ric’s ear after a shocked pause. “I still want Synnove Byornsson here at three.”

  Ric clutched the phone so hard the plastic cricked. When, as a child, he’d sneaked into that wagon headed east, he’d been trying for a better life. Now he was rich and successful. But his life really hadn’t been better, not until an aggravating, luscious female had walked into it.

  A few hundred years of sex with both human and vampire females had given him a fine taste for it. He’d thought the body rush of pleasure it gave him was the epitome of delight. Delight, ha. Even kissing Synnove went far beyond mere delight. Orgasms with her made his whole brain detonate with sunshine and his blood fizz with joy.

  In two sentences, all of that was threatened.

  “No.” Ric snarled the word. That a man he’d trusted would betray him this way—especially for mere greed—made him shake with anger. “Not negotiable.”