His Vampire Harem_Harem Paranormal Romance [Gay]

by Lily Harlem

  “Yeah, I’m sure.”

  A silence stretched between us. I decided to break it. “What about you, Darius?”

  “What about me?”

  “If you’re not into girls, are you into guys?”

  He closed his eyes and pulled in a breath. “I…I’m not…” He frowned, opened his eyes and set his attention on me. “How did you know you were gay? I mean, when did you find out?”

  I folded my arms. “Always. Well, since I was a teen.” Which was a seriously long time ago. “And I found out when a sweep I was working with—”

  “A sweep?” His eyebrows shot up.

  Damn it.

  “Yeah, you know…” I paused, remembering the sweet kiss I’d shared with Joe all those years ago, before I’d been turned. We were both chimney sweeps. I’d been scrawny back then. “What I mean is he was a council worker. We were both working on some clean up operation, after a big event, a festival. He went for a smoke at the end of the shift, I went with him.” I touched my lips. “He kissed me. In that moment it confirmed to me I was gay, that I’d never want to be with a woman.”

  “And you never have…with a woman?”

  “Actually I have.” I smiled. “Family pressure and all that. Trying to be what they wanted, Mom and Dad. It’s sweet and gentle with a woman, don’t you think?”

  Darius pressed his hand to his chest, rubbing his fingers over the slight dent between his pecs. “I don’t know.”

  “Ah, I guess you wouldn’t know it’s different if you’ve never been with a man.”

  “I mean.” Again he lowered his voice. “I mean I don’t know what it’s like to have sex with a woman.”

  “You don’t?” Now that had surprised the heck out of me. Our beautiful cambion was a virgin?

  “Oh God, why am I telling you this?”

  “Because.” I pressed my hand over his, the one resting on the small tray table in front of him. “I just told you something private about myself, Darius. We’re sharing.”

  He twisted his head to peer at me. A lock of hair hung over his eye.

  I resisted the urge to smooth it away.

  “Can I tell you something else private, Oscar?” he asked, a flash of earnestness crossing his irises and making him appear almost vulnerable.

  “Sure.”

  “It won’t go anywhere?”

  “No, course not.”

  “I think I’m gay…no, I am gay, that’s why I’ve never been with a woman.”

  “And you haven’t been with a man either, have you?”

  His gaze slid downward, over my leather jacket, to my groin, then up again. “No.”

  Holy cow. This man is a dream come true for us in so many ways.

  I leaned closer, reducing the distance between our faces. I could feel his breaths on my cheek, see every eyelash, every dash of color in his eyes. “Have you kissed a man?”

  He paused, then. “No.”

  “Would you like me to kiss you? Here? Now?”

  “No.” He spun his hand, clasping mine in a tight grip. “Not that I don’t want you to. I’m sure I’d like it…a lot. But not here. Not with all these people around.” He snapped back and released my hand. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry.” I’d had many dark moments in the last few centuries, but right now, with this gorgeous creature at my side who said he wanted me to kiss him, I’d forgotten them all. “Just say we can meet up, in London, Darius.” I shifted on the seat. My cock hardening at the thought of all I could teach him. “So I can kiss you in private.”

  Chapter Five

  Darius

  I walked along the suburban street toward the terraced house I’d grown up in tugging my suitcase behind me. The trees lining the path were coming into leaf, casting dappled shadows over the bins set out for collection and the parked cars pressed nose to tail. It was a familiar stroll. I knew every root that had warped the pavers, every cluster of moss on the walls and fences, and the color of each front door.

  The spring air held the scent of blossom and on the ground a few pink petals skittered in the breeze. I’d removed my sweater and shoved it into my rucksack once I’d alighted the double decker I’d caught from the airport.

  But despite the warmth a chill kept stroking my neck.

  I turned again. I tried not to, but curiosity was gnawing at me.

  There he was.

  The same guy who’d been behind me since I’d gotten off the bus. He was strolling along on the shady side of the road carrying a soft holdall that appeared to be bulging with tools, or if not tools, something heavy and hard.

  He was tall and lean with blond hair cut into a short style with a flick at the front as was the fashion. He wore jeans with frayed rips in each knee and a vintage Beatles t-shirt. There was no doubt about it, he was a great looking young bloke, he could be in the same business as me if he wanted to be. But his bag was making me think he was a tradesman, which was at odds with his shades which looked to be high-end designer.

  So why is he following me?

  I carried on. The sound of an ice-cream van grew louder, then deafening as it journeyed toward me, stopping only a few yards away to wait for business.

  Three children tumbled out of a house to my right, clutching coins and giggling.

  My mother’s house came into view and I smiled, thinking of how she’d like the macaroons and the perfume I had for her.

  Should I tell her?

  That thought had come to me several times since my conversation with Oscar. Should I confess to her that I was gay? Come out of the closet, as it were.

  The image of her I had in my head changed. It went from smiling to shock, then sadness. She wouldn’t understand, I was sure of it. She’d said so many times over the years how I should find a nice girl and settle down. I didn’t want to disappoint her. Oscar had talked of family pressure to be with a woman. I understood how he could have gone along that route.

  I touched the cross at my neck.

  I’d met two men in the last twenty-four hours I could settle down with. Okay, that was maybe stretching it. But both Lloyd and Oscar were hotties. More than that I had both of their numbers and had agreed to meet up with them.

  Dates. I have two dates with two sexy as fuck guys!

  A police siren sounded behind me. I turned, made a pretence of being interested to see what was going on, but really I had another look at my stalker.

  He’d kept his distance; it had barely changed since the bus. That was unusual in itself. I walked fast, with my long legs, and even with a roll along case I’d made short work of the distance.

  This man was also tall, true, but he carried a heavy bag and the day was heating up. Most workmen, in my experience, would take their time, stroll rather than stride.

  I frowned. I was being overly sensitive to be worrying about a man going about his day job. It was foolish. I guessed my emotions were a little fraught. My decision to be true to myself and follow my desires to be with a man had drained me. Not to mention a bad night’s sleep, early start, and a flight which had all played havoc with my energy levels.

  I was glad to reach my mother’s home. Frustration had been building the last hundred steps, and I really didn’t want to get in and immediately have to dispel sparks into the sink. My mother worried when I did that and I would have endless, ‘are you sure you’re okay?’ ‘Did something happen?’ ‘Can I get you some ice for your hands?’.

  Ice didn’t help, but she’d been doing that since I was small and the sparks had first started appearing, so I went with it.

  “Mom,” I called, opening the door. “Are you in?”

  She appeared almost immediately in the kitchen doorway. She wore her usual pink flowered apron and was holding a saucepan in one hand and wooden spoon in the other.

  “Darius. Oh, I’m so glad you’re here.” She smiled, disappeared, and then returned to the doorway minus the pan and spoon. “I’ve been making your favorite pasta sauce. I figured you’d have had enough of
all that fancy French food.”

  I pulled her into a hug. Her small frame was light and delicate and I had to be careful not to squeeze her too hard. “I had steak and chips last night. Nothing fancy about that.”

  “Well that’s good.” She held me at arm’s length and surveyed me. “I don’t want you getting anorexic like those girls you work with.”

  “They’re okay,” I said. “And that’s not likely, I enjoy my food too much.” I rubbed my flat belly.

  “Just as well it doesn’t show.” She laughed.

  The doorbell sounded.

  I shrugged off my rucksack and set my keys on a polished wooden dresser next to the photo she always kept there. It was a strange picture. She’d never really explained why it was of a man in smart polished shoes, a black tuxedo complete with bow tie, the picture ending at the point of his chin.

  “Are you expecting someone?” I asked.

  She didn’t answer. Instead she rushed to the door and pulled it open. “Oh, hello, you must be Rhys Muller.”

  “That’s right. I hope I didn’t keep you waiting long, Ms Linnet.”

  “Marie, please, and no, no, I only mentioned yesterday at the center my washing machine was broken, then I got a phone call, saying there was a scheme for voluntary workers to have a free white goods service.” She pulled the door wider. “Very generous of your company.”

  “We feel you should get something back for generously giving up your time.”

  “It’s most appreciated.”

  There was a pause.

  “Can I come in?” he asked.

  “Yes, do. Of course. In you come.”

  My heart rate sped up.

  Stepping into my mother’s hallway was the workman who’d been following me. Up close I could see how handsome he was. His youthful skin was flawless, his hair carefully casual, and he had deep navy blue eyes. His lashes were long, he was clean shaven and his lips were almost pouty. I’d been right to think he could be a model—he had the chiseled, manscaped look going on.

  No wonder he was following. He was coming to the same address.

  His attention fell on me. He didn’t appear surprised to see the man he’d been trailing.

  He probably didn’t notice me!

  I didn’t like that thought. I’d noticed him. I’d been acutely aware of his presence. And now…now even more so. I could smell his cologne, rich and fruity. His eyes sparkled, and his mouth pulling into a grin made him all the more attractive.

  “Hey.” His was voice light and friendly. “I’m Rhys.”

  “Darius. Nice to meet you.” I held out my hand. “And thanks for this. I knew the washing machine was playing up, but it’s really not my forte. I probably wouldn’t have known where to start.”

  He wrapped his hand around mine, his long, cool fingers squeezing gently. “It’s my pleasure.” His smile didn’t drop and I noticed he had the cutest dimples.

  “This way,” my mother said, bustling into the kitchen. “It’s out the back.”

  I released Rhys’s hand and gestured for him to go through.

  The house was designed so the washing machine was in a small utility room behind the kitchen. Once upon a time it had been a downstairs bathroom, but that had been moved upstairs and now it housed a pantry, a washer, drier and a stack of cookbooks on a wonky shelf which I really should fix.

  Following Rhys, I found my gaze straying to his ass. His jeans were tight and hugged his rounded buttocks. The pocket on the right side was ripped, the scars of stitches apparent. I guessed it didn’t matter to him what he wore for work. Any old thing would do. But still, I liked his look, his casual chic was sexy and it appealed to the fashionista in me.

  Sexy.

  Yes, he was sexy, very.

  Is he gay?

  I halted in the doorway, emotion filling my chest. It seemed now I’d admitted it to myself, I was looking at every guy around and thinking about their sexual persuasion. More than that, I was thinking about kissing them, getting naked with them…fucking, shagging, screwing.

  Heat traveled up my neck and heated my cheeks. I clenched my hands, willing the sensation not to spread to my arms and fingers.

  I blew out a breath, imagining the heat leaving in the expired air.

  My mother was talking to Rhys and tapping the top of the washing machine.

  He set down his bag then placed his hands on his hips and listened to the problem. Halfway through her explanation about a funny whooshing noise, he turned to me. A smile spread and he let his gaze drift down my body, slowly, as if perusing me, taking in every detail.

  The heat came back.

  He is gay.

  I knew that look. Oscar had done the same thing to me in the hotel corridor the night before. That was a man liking what he was seeing and thinking about getting down and dirty.

  “I…I…would you like a cup of tea, Rhys?” I asked.

  “No, I’m fine, thanks.”

  “You sure?”

  He nodded. “An old towel would be good, in case this leaks when I take the pump out.”

  “Yeah. I can get that.” I turned, keen to hide my hot cheeks and the bulge in my trousers.

  I rushed up the stairs and pulled open the door of the linen cupboard. My cock was hardening by the second. An image of Rhys, naked, us alone in the house and all the things we could do to each other filled my mind.

  “Damn it.” I shoved my hand down my pants and gripped my growing shaft.

  But despite my discomfort, my imagination continued to hold me hostage. I thought of his skin, soft and smooth, beneath my palm, my lips, his chest against mine. My chest against his back as I bent him over, spread his buttocks…

  “Fuck!”

  I’d push my cock into him, giving into what we both wanted and filling his hole. I’d be gentle to start with, then passion would take over and I’d let go of my control. He’d love it, he’d cry out for more. I’d give him everything I had to give and make us both come so hard. We’d be sweating, cursing, and crazed with pleasure.

  “Darius, you got that towel?”

  “Er, yep, hang on, Mom.”

  I grabbed one and quickly made for the bathroom. My dick ached but my chest ached more. The burn was there, a furnace inside of me. It had claimed my shoulders and was shooting down my arms.

  I angled my right hand at the tub, flicked on the tap, and allowed water to splash to the base.

  Gritting my teeth, I released several sparks. They tore the frustration from me. Dragging the need that was almost too much to bear into the open. As they sizzled in the water I managed a few deep breaths.

  Get a grip.

  My eyes were misty from the effort and my heart was thudding. But my cock, luckily, was deflating.

  “Darius.”

  “I’m coming,” I called, flicking off the water and summoning what energy I had. “Be right there.” Plastering a smile on my face, I headed down the stairs. My knees were weak. “Here.” I passed the towel to my mother.

  “You okay?” She frowned.

  “Sure. I’ll stir that sauce, shall I?”

  “Mmm, yes, okay.”

  I hadn’t completely convinced her. She knew me too well. Likely I’d have to confess to releasing sparks later when we were alone. I’d probably tell her something on the shoot had wound me up. Which was true, Amy had. But I wasn’t going into the details of why—that she was antsy because I wouldn’t date her and wouldn’t admit to being gay.

  I have. To myself…and Oscar.

  It’s a relief.

  As I stirred the pasta sauce, the landline phone rang. Mom went into the living room to take it. When I heard her say the name Nora, I knew it was going to be a long conversation.

  I stared at the doorway to the utility room. Rhys was still in there.

  Like a magnet I was drawn to him and I allowed myself to be, not least because I’d released sparks and felt more in control.

  Control of what? My attraction to him?

  I straight
ened my t-shirt and wandered into the utility. “Is it the pump?” I asked.

  He didn’t look up from where he was crouched behind the machine. “Yeah, it’s blocked. Easy enough fix.”

  “Blocked?”

  “Probably a penny or a button, they’re the usual culprits.”

  “Oh, that’s good then. I won’t have to buy her another washing machine.”

  “You’re a good son, if you buy your mother what she needs.” His face appeared. He had a streak of dark grime on his right cheek.

  “She provided for me for long enough.”

  “I guess that’s true.” He smiled then disappeared again.

  My line of sight was drawn to his back. His shoulders were wide, his waist tapered and the tight t-shirt showed off the gutter of his spine and his defined lateral muscles.

  I tensed my belly and locked my knees. Willed my cock to behave.

  “Ah yes,” he said. “A fifty pence piece. Got it.”

  “So that should be it?” I asked.

  “Yeah, I’ll reconnect it and give it a test. But it should have a few more years left in it.”

  “That’s great news.”

  He fiddled for a minute then stood and rolled out his shoulders.

  “You’ve got…” I gestured to his cheek.

  “What?”

  “Here.” I wanted to wipe at the smudge of dirt but held back.

  “Oh.” He laughed and rubbed his cheek. “Dirty bugger, aren’t I?”

  “Hazard of the job.”

  “And what work are you in?” A smile tugged his mouth showing off his dimples again. “No, let me guess.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Go on then.”

  “Mmm.” He nipped his chin and narrowed his eyes. “Doctor?”

  “No, not clever enough for that. Don’t much like blood either.”

  “You don’t?” He appeared surprised. “But you’re full of it.”

  “Yeah. And it can stay there. Inside.”

  “Everyone can afford to lose a little.” He licked his lips and his attention seemed to stray from my face to my neck. “How about a tattoo artist?”

  “No, I’m not artistic. Well, I’m okay with photographs, I understand them.”

  “Ah, you’re a photographer.”