“Unpleasant?” I mused. “I don’t think I’d find it…unpleasant.”
“Then suck me.”
I slid lower, pursed my lips and directed a stream of moist, heated air over his cock.
“Oui,” he breathed. “Comme ça.”
I licked my tongue up him. Once, then again. Slow, easy strokes.
I was operating on instinct, because I had the feeling that if I was going to survive this month—and I mean emotionally—I needed to keep Remy off balance. He was too old, too dark, too dominant. I’d read between the lines of what Angelique had said about the other women. If I wasn’t careful, I was going to be completely enslaved by him—and then when our thirty days were over, he’d kick me to the curb and my stupid heart would be broken.
Not going to happen.
I might be only a weak human, but I decided then and there to keep this just about the sex. Remy de la Lune might own my body, but my heart was mine.
CHAPTER EIGHT: Star
We didn’t fall asleep until dawn was breaking over the harbor. Remy pulled shut the blackout curtains, and then wrapped me in his arms and murmured, “Rest.”
I was so wrung out, I went right off and slept until noon. When I woke up, we were in almost the same position: Remy curled around me, one big arm over my hip.
Keeping me in his control even in his sleep, because when I moved, he gripped my waist and muttered, “Where are you going?”
I glanced back at him, but the room was so dark I could barely make out his face. “To the john.”
He nodded and released me. “When you’re through, I’ll tell you what I have planned for today.”
“Sounds good.”
As I walked to the bathroom, I felt his gaze on my naked body. I had a feeling he could see perfectly well in the pitch-black room. I flashed him a smile over my shoulder and his teeth gleamed whitely back.
Yep, he could.
The bathroom was like something out of Better Homes and Gardens—warm terra-cotta tiles with black counters and stainless steel fixtures, and a shower behind a clear glass wall. There was even a bowl of wrapped chocolates on the granite counter. I gulped down two large glasses of water and then helped myself to an orange-infused chocolate.
Oh. My. God. I groaned aloud as it melted on my tongue, lush and dark.
As I helped myself to another—this one spiced with chili—I caught sight of myself in the mirror. My eyes were shining, my face was flushed and my usually straight black hair looked like a rat had nested in it—a hyperactive rat.
In fact, I looked like I’d been making love all night—to a vamp. Which reminded me; I pulled back my hair and examined my neck. Even though Remy had sucked from the same place each time, it wasn’t as bad as I expected—just two small red marks and a faint bruise.
I glanced at my face again and shook my head. Then I grinned.
Maybe being a vampire’s courtesan had some compensations.
The shower stall was larger than my entire bathroom at home. I walked through the opening at one side and down the length of the shower to where there were five showerheads arranged at various angles. It took me a few seconds to figure out how everything worked, but once I did, I set the temperature to hot and turned the handle.
All five showerheads kicked on, sending water streaming over me from every possible direction. I practically purred as the heated water washed over my skin.
A woman could get used to this.
To tell the truth, I honestly didn’t care if I was ever this rich. Beyond having enough to eat and buy art supplies, money didn’t mean that much to me. But hey, everyone likes being pampered now and then.
On shelves set into the tiles were a variety of organic soaps and shampoos. I washed and conditioned my hair, then chose a lavender-speckled soap. As I soaped up my breasts, Remy stepped into the shower and held out his hand.
“I’ll do that.”
I turned and dropped the soap into his palm. “Don’t you people sleep during the day?”
“The young ones do. They need more sleep than older vampires like me. I can take the sun in small amounts, and get by on a few hours when I want to.” His gaze flicked to my soapy breasts and his voice lowered. “And right now I want to, very much.”
He tucked my wet hair behind my ears and cupped my face. He seemed to have a perpetual night-beard. I ran a hand down his jaw, enjoying the rough black stubble.
“Do you shave?”
“No, it’s always like that. However your hair is when you’re turned, that’s how it remains.”
“I see.”
“Enough about me. I’m more interested in you.” He gave me a soft, open-mouthed kiss. “Ah…you found the chocolate.” He licked the seam of my lips.
I closed my eyes and swayed toward him. “Mm-hm.”
He flicked his tongue inside. “Dark chocolate. My favorite.” He caressed my shoulders. “I ordered you something to eat, but it won’t be here for a few minutes. You have time to finish your shower.”
Firm hands turned me around so I was facing the terra-cotta wall. I set my hands on the tiles. My body was still being massaged by several hot streams. Remy moved my hair aside and, after rubbing some soap on a washcloth, began scrubbing my back.
Oh, yeah. I rounded my back like a cat against the slight roughness of the cloth and gave a moan of pleasure.
He was just getting started. Next, he slid his arms around my front and I arched in the other direction as his erection pressed into my lower back. He took his time washing my breasts, lifting each one in turn and soaping it thoroughly before rinsing it with his bare hand.
Rivulets of heat undulated through me. I rested my cheek against the tiles and stifled a moan. The man could easily become an addiction.
He nudged my legs apart with a single hairy thigh and crouched behind me, washing my feet and legs with the same care he’d given my breasts.
He dropped the washcloth and slid a hand between my thighs, caressing me. “What’s this?” His mouth traced the outline of my tattoo.
“A shooting star.”
I’d designed it myself: a simple star outlined in black with thin trails curling out behind it, giving a sense of forward motion. Scattered among the trails were nine tiny black stars—one for every year since I’d left the monster that was my father and started living again.
He pulled back to study it. “Because of your name?”
“Not really.”
“Then why?” His fingers stroked down my cleft again.
“Who cares?” I spread my legs a bit further and arched my ass toward him.
“I want to know.” He nipped one of my cheeks. “Tell me, Star. You chose it for a reason.”
My fingers flexed against the terra-cotta wall. “Freedom. It means freedom to me.”
“There. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” A single long finger circled my needy center.
“No,” I gritted.
“By the dark skies.” He growled against my ass, his stubble scraping erotically over my skin. “You are so responsive. I knew you’d be perfect for me.”
My breath sobbed out. “Take me, Remy. Now.” But he didn’t move, just kept caressing me. I hesitated, and then added, “Please.”
I felt his smile against my bottom. He rose to his feet with a muscular grace. “How?”
I shook my head against the tiles.
Strong hands pulled my hips back, tilting me at the right angle. Teeth touched my neck as he positioned himself between my legs. “I asked you a question, Star.”
“Hard,” I told the tiles. “I need it hard.”
“Then that’s what you will have.” He sank his fangs into my neck and thrust into me.
* * *
When I came back to myself, Remy had turned off the shower and was drying me with a fluffy white towel. That finished, he wrapped me in a second towel and carried me back to the bedroom.
I reclined on the pillows, spent.
He turned on a single soft yellow li
ght and stood looking down at me. “You are feeling well? It was not too much for you?”
“Too much?” I smirked. “You blew my freaking mind—not that I’m complaining. But I’m starving.” Right on cue, my stomach growled. I rubbed it and gave him a mock-pout. “Didn’t you say you were going to feed me—or are you going to keep me in bed all day?”
He raised a brow at my sass. I had the feeling he didn’t quite know how to deal with it.
“Of course I’m going to feed you. Your dinner should be here”—he cocked his head to one side—“right about now.”
There was a discreet knock on the penthouse door. Remy pulled on a pair of black jeans. “I’ll be right back,” he said and headed down the hall.
I looked around for a bathrobe. When I didn’t see anything, I reached for his shirt instead. It was some kind of silky rayon blend that felt wonderful on my skin. I buttoned it up and ran a hand down the soft material of the sleeve.
Remy returned pushing a trolley with two glasses, a bottle of sparkling water and a plate piled high with all kinds of food. A small bowl held strawberries dipped in dark chocolate, and there was a single sunflower in a green glass vase.
He watched as I rolled up the shirt cuffs, then handed me a napkin. I laid it on my lap and reached for the plate, but he picked it up himself. “It would give me pleasure to feed you.”
“Suit yourself.” I fluffed the pillows behind my back and sat cross-legged.
Remy fed me an assortment of bite-sized morsels, each better than the one before it: small slices of sweet cantaloupe; tiny crab cakes, chunks of cheese, crispy waffle fries and a crusty peasant bread. I was starving, but even if I hadn’t been I would’ve gorged myself. It was that good.
“Mm,” I said between bites. “I could get used to this.”
His lips twitched. But his eyes were serious. “Whatever you wish. You have only to ask.”
I quirked a brow. “That’s a dangerous thing to tell a woman.”
“Oui. But I think with you, it’s not so dangerous.”
“I’m not going to ask for diamonds, if that’s what you mean. But I would love one of those chocolate-covered strawberries.”
“Of course.” He held one to my lips. I took a bite and hummed with pleasure.
“Have some more,” he urged, not that I needed any coaxing.
I finished all five strawberries and then sat back, replete. That’s when I realized Remy hadn’t tasted any of it.
“You don’t eat?” I didn’t think so, but last night, he’d drunk that wine.
“Non. Nothing but wine. But it pleases me to see you eat. I can almost taste the food with you.” He trailed a finger down my cheek. “Your face is so expressive.”
He offered me a cube of Swiss cheese and I reluctantly shook my head. “No thanks. If I eat any more I’m going to explode. But it was great.”
“Good.” Remy set the plate on a side table.
Across the room, his cell phone rang. While he took the call, I fingered the sunflower. It was a bright, fiery yellow, with petals fanning around deep brown seeds in the center.
Remy glanced at me—and winked. “I guessed that you were a sunflower kind of woman,” he mouthed.
My jaw dropped. Had he really just winked at me?
It relaxed his whole face, made him look less like a beautiful statue. In fact, he looked almost…human. Until now, I’d been distracted by his aura of power to really look at him. Now I realized he must have been turned as a young man, probably not much more than thirty.
What would make a thirty-year-old man choose to be a vampire?
I recovered and mouthed back, “I am,” and Remy returned to his conversation, frowning and speaking in rapid-fire French.
With him busy, I decided to explore my new home. The penthouse was huge—big enough for a good-sized family. The furnishings were exactly what I would’ve expected from Remy—tasteful and quietly expensive: beautiful, one-of-a-kind furniture, spiky flowers in tall vases, museum-quality paintings and sculptures. In addition to the master suite, there were two more bedrooms, one of which had been converted into a small gym with a treadmill and various other exercise machines.
A hallway beyond the bedrooms opened into a huge living room/dining room. I walked into the dining room and fingered the large flower arrangement on the sideboard, breathing in the sweet scent of roses and peonies.
I crossed the room to the wall of windows that ran down one side of the dining room. While it was fun having wild rabbit sex and being hand-fed like some kind of concubine, the idea of being trapped in here for another twenty-nine days was a little scary.
Chill, Star. The man has to go out sometime.
But damn, I didn’t even know what the weather was like today.
The windows were completely blocked by black blinds. I pressed a button and the blinds slowly raised.
I smiled. The sun was out in full force, but even better, an enclosed balcony ran down two sides of the dining room. I slipped out the door and raised my face to the sunlight, drinking it in. It felt like it had been a week since I’d been outside, not less than twenty-four hours.
Below me, the harbor sparkled like a million diamonds had been scattered on its surface. Along the waterfront, a mix of tourists and office workers strolled, a bright, busy crowd that I itched to sketch. I propped my forearms on the railing and absorbed it—life, movement, color—until I couldn’t stand it any longer.
I’d seen a desk stocked with pads and pens in the living room. I darted back inside, helped myself to one of each and returned to the balcony, where I sat cross-legged on the sun-warmed tiles and began to draw.
I had finished three sketches in rapid succession when I heard my name. Remy was beckoning me from the doorway of the dining room.
The sun. It must be too bright for him.
I jumped up and came back inside. “Sorry,” I said as I closed the blinds, “I didn’t think.”
“No matter,” he said with a shrug. “As I said, I can take a small amount of sunlight, especially through tinted glass like this, but I prefer not to.”
He glanced at the pad in my hand. “What are you doing, ma petite?”
“Nothing.” I set the pad on the sideboard. “Was that call anything important?”
“Business.” He skirted me to pick up the pad and flip through it.
My face heated. “Those are just scribbles.’
“Non. You are an artist.”
I moved a shoulder. “A wanna-be, maybe.”
“‘Wanna-be’ means want-to-be, yes?” When I nodded, he said, “So you think you are not an artist?”
I took the pad from him and held it to my chest. “Well, maybe I am, but no one else thinks so.”
He took me by the shoulders. His hands caressed me even as his face stayed dead serious. “Trust me, you are an artist. I am a collector, and in my time, I’ve known many artists. You could use instruction, perhaps, but you have the artist’s eye.”
He pried the pad out of my fingers and flipped to the second sketch. “See, here—where you used a few lines and shading to show the motion of the crowd. I can feel their energy, their enjoyment of the beautiful day. In color, it would be even better.”
I bit my lip. The critic in me was mortified that a sketch I’d tossed off in ten minutes was being viewed by anyone, let alone a collector; but the artist, that small, needy heart of me that was starved for praise, glowed at his words.
“You will use the bonus money to work at your art?”
“Yeah.” I nodded, my eyes on the third sketch, a bicyclist weaving through the pedestrians.
“Good. It is yours then.”
“What?” My gaze jerked up.
He had an odd expression on his face. I realized he was embarrassed—or at least, as much as a vampire could be.
“I’ll direct Malik to deposit the bonus to your account today.”
I shook my head disbelievingly. “But why?”
He moved a shoulder. “A
whim.”
My mind whirred. I’d have money? Real money? Enough to work as an artist full time—for a year, maybe more?
“Holy crap. I mean—wow.” My grin split my face. “I—I don’t know what to say. Thank you. Thank you very much.”
He set the pad down and drew me into his arms. “You are most welcome.” His hands slid under the shirt to squeeze my bare bottom. “But I have an even better way for you to thank me.”
CHAPTER NINE: Remy
I walked Star backward until her back was against the dining room wall. My hands went to the black rayon shirt.
My black shirt.
Something darkly possessive in me liked seeing her clothed in nothing but one of my own garments.
I’d rarely offered a courtesan a bonus—and fifty thousand was double what I’d ever paid before. And then I’d given her the bonus before she’d even spent twenty-four hours with me.
But I trusted Star. The woman radiated honor.
I was used to buying everything—even loyalty—and what I couldn’t buy, I compelled with a combination of fear and magic. But Star was different. I wanted her to trust me in return, to give herself to me freely. No strings attached.
There was something about her… I’d resisted it, tried to keep this strictly business—my cash for her body.
But to hell with it. A smart businessman knew when to follow the rules—and when to toss out the book and act from the gut.
Sometimes even a jaded, too-long-lived man can surprise himself.
But that didn’t mean the woman wasn’t going to earn every penny.
I toyed with the top button of the black shirt. “I like you in this. I may keep you in a shirt and nothing else for the next month.” I undid the top three buttons and teased one of her pretty bronze nipples into arousal. “But you look even better with nothing.”
I undid the rest of the buttons with vampire-quick speed so that the shirt fell open as if by magic.
Star moved her head from side to side against the wall, making low, sexy sounds of pleasure.
My fangs lengthened. My beast wanted to bury them in her neck and suck for hours. To sink balls deep in her tight, wet passage. Pin her to the wall, helpless and enthralled.
Ensnared: A Vampire Blood Courtesans Romance Page 5
