de Sang: Embrace Your Blood Lust

by Hussey, C. D.

  "This was a mistake."

  He grinned, his annoyingly handsome face lighting up mischievously as he gently stroked her shoulders. "Seems like everything worked fine to me."

  Shoving him back, she slid off the barstool. "Maybe it's no big deal to you to bang some random girl on your barstool," she said, picking up her discarded panties and putting them on in a rush. "But not only am I not the type of girl who gets fingered in a bar, I'm not the type who gets fucked in one either."

  He stared at her. "What? C'mon Kate, you can't tell me you didn't enjoy it."

  "Yeah, you're good at sex. You have a big dick and you know how to use it. Congratulations. I'm out of here."

  * * * *

  "What the fuck!"

  Slade stared at the door. Jesus Christ, the girl was a head case. He definitely didn't need that kind of crazy in his life.

  Except, shit if she didn't light him on fire. And the thought of never being near her again made his guts ache.

  "Fuck me," he muttered, yanking off the condom and tossing it in the trash. Zipping up his pants, he plucked his shirt from the floor and slipped it over his head. If he hurried, he could catch her. He'd probably regret it but there was too much potential in her to ignore. He wanted what Armand had. And this was the first woman he'd met who could potentially give it to him.

  Kate was on Royal and moving at a brisk pace toward the Marigny. In one smooth motion, he jogged past her, spun to face her, stooped, tossed her over his shoulder, and then kept walking.

  "What the hell are you doing?" she cried in alarm.

  "I'd like to shake you until you chill the eff out, but this seems like a less violent approach."

  "What are you talking about? Put me down!"

  "No thanks."

  She squirmed against his grasp. "Fuck you. I mean it, put me down!"

  "Not until we get to my place."

  "Oh no, I don't think so." She pressed hard against his back, twisting and torquing her body in a feeble attempt to break free. Tightening his grip, he continued walking. It would only be so long before she gave up.

  They were crossing Bourbon when she finally wore herself out. Jean LaFitte's Blacksmith Shop, the oldest bar in the United States, was still bumping. Rock poured out of the open windows and a dozen drunken patrons loitered outside.

  "Hey!" Kate called. "Hey, he's kidnapping me!"

  "Ignore her. She's wasted."

  "No! No, I'm not! Hey!"

  There was some finger pointing and a whole lot of drunken giggling coupled with finger pointing, but Slade kept walking and pretty soon it was dead quiet.

  The Quarter was weird that way. On one street you could be surrounded by thousands of people and barely two hundred feet away, it could be eerily isolated. Kate fought a little more, before finally conceding and slumping on his shoulder. Her resistance was cute but he outweighed her by a good hundred pounds. It wasn't like she was going to get anywhere with it.

  "This is ridiculous," she huffed.

  "I know. But it was the only way I could think to knock some sense into your spoiled brat brain."

  "I am not a spoiled brat."

  "Really? Coulda fooled me with those $600 boots and your pretentious attitude. What's your daddy do in Texas, sweetheart?"

  She didn't answer.

  "Tell me Kate, why is it every time we're together and having a perfectly amazing time, you run out like some high school drama queen?"

  "I'm not the kind of girl who engages in the type of amazing time you're referring to."

  He shrugged, her soft body rolling with the shoulder movement. "You seem pretty good at it to me."

  "See, that's exactly why I leave. You have some weird effect of me. I'm really not a whore."

  "Whoa, who said anything about a whore?"

  "I did." Kate's voice was small when she spoke and Slade realized what an idiot he'd been. Women in the Community were usually less sexually inhibited than the average girl — the sexuality of the mythical vampire and all. He hadn't thought about it because, one, she looked the part, and two, it just didn't seem like a big deal to him. People fuck all the time. Why not? It's fun.

  But just because she dressed a certain way didn't lump her values in with a group of people who dressed the same way. Not only was she new to New Orleans and the Vamp Community here, she was young. If he remembered correctly, her driver's license put her at twenty-five.

  "Well, you can knock that shit off. You are the farthest thing from a whore."

  "Okay, maybe slut is the better descriptor. Why else would I spread my legs so easily every time I see you?"

  "Ever heard of undeniable attraction? Seems like we got a good case going."

  "Whatever."

  He grinned, even though the gesture was pointless. It wasn't like she could see his face. "What, you don't find me attractive?"

  She sighed, her entire body heaving with the effort. "I know what you're trying to do but it's not going to work. You might as well put me down."

  "Not until you explain why you're trying to run from what's so obviously perfect."

  "You're kidding, right?"

  "No. It seems pretty perfect to me. I think you're a kickass chick I'd love to get to know better. The sex has already proven phenomenal. Your blood tastes like fucking candy and you seemed to like it in my mouth. What isn't perfect about that?"

  "I know what kind of guy you are."

  "Oh yeah? Wanna enlighten me?"

  "Tell me Slade, was I the first woman you've had sex with in the bar?"

  Oh shit, she had him there.

  "No," he admitted.

  "Exactly. Look, I'm sorry, until two days ago, the most sexual thing I'd done with a guy in a bar was some dirty dancing. I've never been into casual sex. I'm a monogamous kind of girl."

  "How do you know I'm not a monogamous kind of guy?"

  "You keep condoms in your pocket."

  "Better safe than sorry. Besides, I pass them out more than I use them."

  "You know, it's really awkward talking to your ass," she said suddenly.

  "Oh, of course." Tucking one hand under her hips and the other under her shoulder, he spun her, wrestler style, onto his other shoulder. All those military presses at the gym were finally paying off.

  She made a startled noise before letting out an exasperated sigh. "This isn't what I had in mind."

  "I know."

  "So, are you?"

  "A kickass guy? Why, yes."

  "No asshole, a monogamous guy."

  "I'm considering it."

  They'd reached his house and Slade ducked and twisted carefully through the narrow gate to avoid knocking his cargo on the fence. A quick punch of the key code on the back door and he stepped into his dining room/living room/kitchen.

  "Let me guess, you just haven't found the right girl."

  Squatting, he leaned back until her feet touched the floor and she slid from his back. "Actually," he said, turning to face her. "I think I have."

  She rolled her eyes. "Please."

  He clicked on the lights. "Shouldn't you be running?" he asked when she just stood there, staring off into his apartment. "I did kidnap you, remember? I'm all pumped up to chase after you and everything."

  Her eyes were studiously scanning the room. "Give me a minute."

  "Well, I'm going to make a drink while I wait. Want something?"

  "Sure, whatever." Her voice was distant as she wandered through the room. She was focused on the art cluttering his walls. "You have an amazing collection," she mumbled.

  Slade poured a couple glasses of wine and brought her one as she stared intently at the largest oil paintings hanging by the sofa. She took the glass without removing her eyes from the wall.

  After taking a sip of the Syrah, he wondered, "You like?"

  "These are all from the same artist," she said, gesturing at the rows of paintings with the glass of wine and spilling a little in the process. She didn't seem to notice.

  "They are."


  She continued to stare at the paintings. She took in every detail, scrutinized every inch. Finally she turned to him. "They're outstanding. I mean, this one." She charged past him excitedly. "There's such a bold use of color and yet the piece has such a clear sadness to it. And this one..." She darted to the opposite side of the room. Slade sat on the arm of his sofa and watched her. Her energy had spiked and the flush in her pale cheeks was positively breathtaking.

  "I can see the same brush strokes," she went on, "the same balance of color and yet, the emotion is so different." When she turned to face him, her eyes were so bright they glowed. "I've never seen this artist before. Who is it? Lauren, my boss at the gallery, would love to put this collection on exhibit."

  Slade tried to keep the smug satisfaction from his smile, he really did, but it was pointless. He was a smug son-of-a-bitch. No trying to change that now. "I am."

  Chapter Ten

  Kate stared unbelieving at Slade. He had this goofy grin on his playboy face and she knew he had to be joking.

  "You're so full of shit."

  "What, you don't believe me?" He shook his head. "You are a pretentious little hellcat, aren't you? C'mon baby doll, I'll prove it to you." After setting his glass of wine down with enough force some sloshed out, Slade grabbed Kate's hand and pulled her into the bedroom.

  The bedroom was like the rest of the house; a little cluttered with painting after painting covering the walls. The furniture was simple and looked right at home in a bachelor's house.

  "My latest," he said, pointing to a half-finished canvas.

  Her breath caught somewhere in her throat and she approached the easel cautiously. It was definitely in the same category as the others: somewhat abstract, a little dark and brooding and simply...beautiful.

  She turned to Slade. "I owe you an apology."

  "You didn't think my fat fingers were capable of something other than pouring drinks, did you?" He said the words with a smile, so she didn't curb her desire to laugh.

  "That's exactly it!" Her face fell serious. "I'm sorry. I really am."

  "It's cool."

  "You're really talented. Where'd you go to art school?"

  "I didn't."

  "Then where'd you learn?"

  Slade sat on the bed. "I had a pretty good teacher in the fifth grade."

  She knew her mouth had to be hanging open. "That's it? Grade school?"

  "Hell, I barely finished high school."

  Kate sat on the bed next to him. "Really?"

  When he turned to face her, his expression was the most serious she'd ever seen it.

  "Do you know why I work out so much?" Kate shook her head. "Because I can." He laughed. "I know it must seem over the top to you but before I figured out all this blood bullshit, I was constantly sick. Hell, I don't think a Christmas went by when I didn't have the flu. Plus, I was this scrawny little weakling. When I was finally well enough to hit the gym, I hit it like my life depended on it."

  "I can't imagine you scrawny."

  He cocked an eyebrow. "Wanna see a picture?"

  "Please." There was no way to mask her fascination. Like his Vampire condition, she suddenly wanted to know everything about him.

  He went to the dresser and retrieved a Polaroid from a cigar box. "I'm not sure why I keep it around," he said as he handed her the photo. "I guess I like to remember where I came from and what I don't want to go back to."

  She stared at the hollow-eyed, pale kid staring at her with the most desolate expression. It reminded her of the children they showed on commercials for children's charities. The only thing resembling the man beside her was the thick, black hair.

  In the picture, Slade was lying in a hospital bed, an IV dangling from his skinny arm. A birthday cake with lit candles was on the tray beside him.

  "How old were you?" she asked.

  "Eighteen." He looked fourteen.

  She stared at the picture. "What were you in the hospital for?"

  "Probably pneumonia," Slade said with a shrug. "Don't remember now but it's usually why I went."

  She handed him the picture and he returned it to the cigar box. "That must've been horrible."

  "It wasn't a walk in the park, that's for fucking sure. The worst part was the way my brothers treated me. I'm from Jersey and my brothers are a bunch of macho, Italian assholes. They took strong offense in my lack of good health and a tan."

  Kate shook her head. "I don't understand the obsession with tanning. All I get from the sun is freckles. My sister hates how pale I am. She wouldn't let me come to her wedding unless I got a spray tan. I think my skin matched my hair."

  Slade laughed. "You would have fit right in in Jersey."

  Kate studied him. She couldn't believe how wrong she'd been about him. He was right; she was a spoiled, pretentious brat.

  He caught her staring and the smile slowly dropped from his face. Abruptly, she grabbed his face and kissed him. The emotion sweeping over her was sudden, unexpected and overwhelming. It was different than the lust normally consuming her in his presence. This was genuine affection for the man he was, not because his six-pack made her loins quiver.

  She fell back onto the bed and he followed her, his lips soft but intense against hers. Reaching behind his head, he smoothly pulled off his shirt before moving his focus to her earlobe. Raking his teeth across it, he slowly bit his way down her neck, leaving a wake of chills behind his fangs. He paused when he reached her collarbones.

  "This," he murmured, wrapping his thick fingers around Lohr's necklace. "Needs to go." He flicked his red eyes up to hers. "May I?" he asked, tugging on the vial.

  She'd forgotten she still wore it. "Get it off me."

  He grinned and, with a quick flick of his wrist, popped the cord from her neck and tossed the necklace on his nightstand. "The last thing I want to see is Lohr's blood around your beautiful neck."

  She couldn't agree more.

  Shoving her hands above her head, he pinned them to the bed and then met her in a rough kiss. Using his knee to push her legs apart, he settled between her thighs, his bulky body heavy above her. She loved the enormous heat he generated, not just from his muscled torso but between her legs as well.

  Releasing her arms, he traced the curve of her neck with his tongue, and then trailed his lips over her shoulder, her collarbones and down her chest, his hands following his mouth.

  He started with her corset. The first hook came undone and he kissed the satin fabric below. The remaining hooks followed, his lips pressing against the front of her dress whenever the corset parted to expose it. When he got to the last hook, the sensation of his lips on her, even through the slick fabric, was making her squirm.

  He slid the corset from beneath her and tossed it aside. After finding the zipper on the side of her dress, he slowly pulled it down, and then, with a grin, grabbed the dress at the hem and yanked it over her boots and tossed in on the floor. Her panties rapidly joined it.

  Leaning back, he looked over her naked body. "Damn, girl," he growled.

  "Aren't you going to take off my boots?"

  "Hell no. You look extra fine with nothing but your boots on."

  Wrapping his arms around her, he rolled onto his back, dragging her with him. Cupping her ass, he thrust his hips into her, rubbing his sex against hers. His cock was a rigid mass between her thighs and with a few minor movements, it could be a rigid mass inside her.

  She wanted to yank his pants down and let his width stretch her again, or slide his dick into her mouth and suck him into ecstasy. She was surprised by the animalistic need to have him inside her. She needed to ride him to orgasm, needed to drive his dick deeper and deeper, harder and faster until the pleasure overtook them both.

  She'd never understood wanting to fuck someone until Slade. She was reminded of the conversation they'd had in La Luxure the first time she met him.

  Reaching up, he caught a nipple in his mouth and sucked. She arched into him, whimpering when his cock slid against he
r clit. When he gently clamped his teeth on her nipple and flicked his tongue against the tip, she nearly came.

  "Oh fuck," he groaned, thrusting his cock hard against her. Grabbing her hips, he suddenly jerked her up and slid beneath her. "I want your pussy on my face," he said.

  Positioning her hips until she straddled his face, he pulled her clit into his mouth. She gasped, and then shuddered as his warm, wet mouth covered her sex. His hands on either side of her ass, he encouraged her hips to slowly rock back and forth as his tongue flicked over and around her swollen clit.

  She clutched the headboard. His hands told her hips to rock faster, the motion intensifying the pressure of his mouth against her. He sucked her clit in and out of his mouth, all the while keeping her hips moving and her sex rolling against his lips. When the climax rocked her body, he thrust his tongue deep inside her, eagerly consuming every last drop of her orgasm.

  After the last of the convulsions seeped from her body and her heart thundered in her ears, she lifted her hips from his mouth and eased down his chest. He released his cock from his pants, and she slid the condom he handed her, and then herself, onto it, closing her eyes as a fresh wave of pleasure whipped through her.

  "I could lick you all night," he murmured as she slowly rode him, her body perched over his massive chest. "I could fuck you for days." He bit her neck and growled. "You have the smoothest, most perfect pale skin." He gripped her ass. "The most perfect ass." Cupping her breasts, he pushed them together and ran his tongue down her modest cleavage. "Perfect tits."

  Suddenly, completely out of left field, she was overwhelmed by emotion. It took her by surprise, slamming into her body like a tsunami, crippling and rendering her immobile. A sob caught in her throat. Her hand braced on his shoulder, her head slumped forward. She tried to control it, tried to push the tidal wave back to the recesses of her mind where it belonged but it wouldn't budge.

  "Whoa!" Slade started, his body suddenly rigid beneath her. "Wait. No. There's no crying during sex."

  When all she could do was cry harder, she covered her face.