“I should have taken a page out of Dubheasa’s book and ordered you to come naked,” Saule teased breathlessly.
A wicked smile pulled at his lips, baring his fangs. “I will remember that.”
When her fingers closed around his hard length, he threw his head back and growled his pleasure. His hands left her hips to grab the hem of her robe and lift it over her head. He threw it away from her body, baring her naked flesh to his hungry gaze.
“So beautiful,” he murmured. He raised his hands, caressing the swell of her breasts and flicking his thumbs over the hardened rosy peaks.
Saule’s breath hitched in her throat and she stepped forward, pressing his hands harder against her breasts. She scrabbled at his clothing.
“I want to see you,” she said, her voice hushed with excitement. “All of you.”
Aldric smiled and divested himself of his own clothing. When he finally stood naked before her, the heat in her eyes nearly made his blood boil in his veins. He let his own gaze travel over every inch of her body, drinking in his fill. Her arousal brought her blood to the surface in a delicate blush, tempting him to the edge of sanity. His fangs ached in their sheaths.
So many hungers to satisfy, so few hours in the night.
Saule smiled up at him as he laid her on the ground and then covered her body with his own. She reached up to stroke a stray lock of hair behind his ear.
“My vampire,” she said softly.
“My goddess,” he answered.
His voice had grown deep with his arousal and it vibrated through his chest. Saule rubbed her breasts against him and he groaned his appreciation at the sweet friction of her nipples dragging against his chest. He slid a hand between their bodies, slipping his fingers between her thighs.
“So hot . . . so wet,” he whispered hoarsely.
Saule arched her back, a gasp flying from her throat. “Oh, Aldric, please,” she begged, squeezing her thighs around his hand. “Don’t tease me, not tonight. I’ve waited long enough.”
The sound of his name on her tongue, her sweet voice begging him, was almost more than he could bear. Aldric dipped his head, covering her mouth with his. He kissed her as if he would consume her. Delving his tongue into her mouth, he teased and licked, all the time sliding his hips against hers and he sought to slide his cock into her wet folds.
Saule whimpered, jerking her hips to help him find the right angle and spreading her thighs as wide as she could. Aldric growled when the head of his cock finally slid inside her. Tension sang in her body and she tore her mouth from his with a gasp. Raising himself up on one arm, Aldric stared down at her, watching her pleasure twisted features and he plunged inside her as deep as he could go. Saule cried out, her hands groping for purchase on his shoulders.
“Oh, yes,” she moaned, writhing beneath him. “Please, Aldric, don’t stop.”
A wicked grin curved his lips as he slowly pulled himself out of her body, stopping with just the head still held in her sweet grip. Then he thrust inside her again, hard and deep. She screamed, her nails digging into his flesh. The sharp copper scent of blood tinged the air.
The tenuous grip Aldric had on his control snapped. With a roar, he wrapped his arms under her upper body, his hands cupping her delicate shoulders from behind. He thrust almost savagely inside her, driven to go deeper. Saule thrust her hips in time with his, her head thrashing from side to side. The desperation that held him in its grip seemed to hold her as well, and they both fought to get closer and closer, every thrust bringing him deeper and deeper, her body gripping him tighter and tighter.
Pleasure rose inside of him like a tidal wave building to its peak. Adrenaline heated his blood, pleasure crackling over every nerve. His head spun with it, his senses swimming in the hot ecstasy of her flesh. Finally her body went rigid, spasming around his cock. He lost himself in her release, releasing his hold on his own control.
His fangs sank mercifully into her neck, the sweet explosion of her blood a heady cocktail on his tongue. He swallowed over and over, relishing every drop and the wonderful heat it brought with it. She tasted of the sun and earth, the spice of her arousal infusing every mouthful. The entire world seemed to spin as the pleasure rolled him over and over.
When he finally came to, he was lying half on top of her, his head on her breast. Her hand stroked his hair in smooth rhythmic brushes even as her heart raced beneath his ear. His eyes drifted closed.
“My vampire,” Saule sighed, her smile apparent in her voice.
Aldric tightened his arms around her. A sense of peace settled on him, such that he hadn’t felt in a long time. “My goddess,” he whispered.
The End
Like what you read? Join my mailing list to be alerted when I have a new release. There’s a twisted Cinderella story coming in July. I’ll give you a hint: werewolf.
I love reviews (good or bad, as long as they’re constructive). If you have a second, please tell me what you thought of Revenge in Vein: The Complete Series.
Review on Amazon
Review on Barnes & Noble
Review on Kobo
Review on AllRomance
Other Books by Jennifer Blackstream
Aphrodite’s Hunt
Under His Skin
The Revenge in Vein Series:
Burned
Mastered
Bitten
Converted
Revenge in Vein: The Complete Series
Coming Soon:
Blood Prince Series
Before Midnight (July 2013)
Preview of APRHODITE’S HUNT, an erotic paranormal romance by Jennifer Blackstream:
Chapter 1
“Master, there is someone here to see you.”
Grigore’s voice disturbed the relative quiet of the vampire’s study—the crackling in the fireplace the only other sound. Sorin remained still in his chair, staring into the flames. Unlike the large room full of antique furniture, his mind was not lit by the cheery fire. Darkness infused him, body and soul. His heart struggled to beat using only the energy it absorbed from the brownie behind him. The little fey’s life force kept it going—but it wasn’t blood. It didn’t invigorate him, didn’t tempt him. Sorin closed his eyes. Sometimes he wished his heart would give up completely—as he had.
Grigore sighed. The floor creaked as he shifted his weight. The energy flowing from him to Sorin halted briefly before flowing in the opposite direction. Sorin knew what the brownie planned to do before the command left his mouth.
“Sorin, come to the door and greet your guest.”
His name echoed with power on Grigore’s tongue, power the brownie had stolen through their link. Like a puppet on strings, Sorin stood and turned to the door. It should have disturbed him to have his body move without any intention or effort on his part. He didn’t care.
Sorin opened his eyes. His deadened gaze appraised his servant, apathy lying on him like a leaden blanket. Grigore stood less than three feet tall, an average height for a brownie. His brown hair and beard were neatly trimmed, as always, and his brown robe was clean and well pressed despite its obvious wear. He looked more like a tree stump than an alchemist—certainly not the sort of creature who should have any power over a vampire. Sorin shook his head.
“You would use our connection to compel me, Grigore? Am I so reduced that you would make yourself my master?”
“I should be punished, to be sure. Why don’t you punish me, master?”
Sorin knew he should be outraged. The connection a vampire forged with someone he repeatedly fed on was meant to give the undead power over his prey—not the other way around. The fact that Grigore was a mere brownie, kin to the common dwarf, only added to the insult. Any other vampire would have killed Grigore for his audacity.
A voice in his head mocked him, pointing out that no other vampire would have let himself grow so weak that his food could order him about through a perversion of a magical umbilical cord. If he had any self respect at all he would d
iscipline the brownie—severely.
“I will not punish you, Grigore.” Even to his own ears, his voice sounded dull and defeated.
“I know, master.”
The sad tone in the small man’s voice pounded into Sorin’s spine like a nail of solid guilt. If he’d had the energy he may have tried to comfort him. As it was, he had to fight just to remain standing.
His gaze wandered to his chair and its soft velvet lining. It would be easy enough to retake his seat. Grigore’s command had been more of a nudge to get Sorin up than a compulsion to make him go to the door. Still, he didn’t want to make Grigore choose between using more energy and giving up. It was a brownie’s nature to serve, not to dominate. He knew what little force Grigore had used to make him stand had likely already made the smaller man uncomfortable. Just because life had lost all meaning for him, didn’t mean he wanted his friend to suffer too.
“You know I hate stealing your energy, my friend. It bothers me to use what little it takes to keep me alive. If I am to move this leaden body of mine very far, I will have to take more and I do not wish to cause you harm.”
Grigore’s eyes flashed with something akin to anger. “I am fey, am I not, master? Do you think my energy so human that taking enough to walk will cause me harm?”
The indignation in his words lashed at his skin like a whip. Sorin winced. He’d only meant to discourage the brownie from insisting he go to the door. Unfortunately, his years of inactivity had apparently injured his manners as well as his strength. He sighed his submission and began an agonizingly slow shuffle out of the room.
At the doorway he paused, leaning against it for support. “Who is at the door?”
The question was more a means to distract himself from the humiliating amount of exertion it took him to walk, than an expression of interest. He moved so rarely these days, every step took a Herculean effort. Good. A slow-moving predator doesn’t kill anyone.
“Better you see for yourself, master.”
“I would prefer it if you just told me.”
“I know, master.”
Anger tried to flare in the face of Grigore’s quiet refusal, but it died before it could even change his facial expression. Resigned to going all the way to the front door, Sorin straightened up and stepped into the hall. A draft flowed down the passage, ruffling the curtains that framed the windows. The black paint covering the glass absorbed the light, making each one seem like a shadowy portal to oblivion. The breeze wafted under his nose as it passed.
A new scent slammed into him with all the subtlety of a freight train. He froze, one hand automatically reaching for the wall as an intoxicating combination of rich soil and new grass slapped him in the face. He grasped the wall to reassure himself that he was still indoors and hadn’t fallen out an open window into the trees that surrounded his mansion. He raised his nose, sucking the scent deep into his lungs. Under the fragrance of mother earth was a warmer, fleshier scent. Musk and something else. Something . . . primal.
The brownie paused and looked back. “Master?”
The exciting aroma swirled around him, teasing his senses and coaxing him to continue forward. Taking another pull of energy from Grigore, Sorin managed to walk with something resembling a normal pace. Exhaustion still clung to his limbs, but he fought against it as he followed the invigorating scent down the hallway. It seduced him, whispering wicked words in the dark. Never before had a scent held such promise.
His heart beat harder as he flowed to the wooden banister lining the balcony. The feel of the cursed organ pulsing in his chest sent a dull ache through his body. He ignored the pain. In the face of this new scent, this wonderful scent, the pain was irrelevant. To the right, the wide staircase curved down to spill into the front hallway. From this vantage point, he could see the front door and the foyer.
Werewolf.
The word echoed in his mind even before he saw her. She paced in front of his door, her strong supple body moving with the liquid grace common to her kind. Pale blue jeans hugged the curves of her hips and thighs before disappearing into worn brown leather boots. Every slope called to him, tightened his groin with the need to run his fingers and hands over every hill and valley. The tight fit of her royal blue sweater accented her breasts, filling him with the desire to rip the soft fibers from her body and smooth his hands over the warm prizes underneath.
As if feeling his eyes on her, the woman looked up. Her golden gaze offered a window to her inner wolf and for a moment he could have sworn his heart stopped. Alpha.
There was no mistaking the authority in that gaze, the force behind that stare. She looked at him as if he were the intruder and it was her home they stood in. There was a sort of defiance in her eyes, a challenge. He wanted to go to her, to answer that challenge. He raised his hands to grip the banister, preparing to leap over the railing just to get to her faster.
“Master, this is Gia.”
Grigore’s voice startled him, dragging him back to reality. The period of time between catching the first hint of her scent and this moment looking down at her, all seemed a blur. He frowned. He was so tired all the time, it wasn’t unusual to “check out” mentally for stretches of time. Still, this felt . . . different.
The hair on the back of his neck stood up as he continued to watch Gia. The urge to go to her remained strong, something inside him straining to get closer. The intensity of the desire disturbed him and he struggled to concentrate past it enough to speak.
“What do you want?”
The coarseness of his voice and the rude manner in which he’d spoken bothered him, but he didn’t try to apologize. She was a werewolf, half beast. Though he’d always tried to maintain a civil relationship with the local pack, he’d always kept a professional distance. Werewolves were a barbaric species and he’d had no interest in becoming entangled in their hedonistic ways. Now all of a sudden he found himself drawn on a very primal level to one of their females. He wrinkled his nose. How could he be attracted to one of her kind? What had possessed him to nearly vault over the balcony to get to her? Something strange was going on, and he was starting to doubt his sanity.
Gia shifted her weight from foot to foot and scowled at him. “Are you going to come down here, or do I have to speak staring up at you like some sort of peasant appealing to her king?”
Sorin’s eyebrows shot up. She seemed so . . . angry. It vibrated the air around her, charging it with the force of her ire. Between her obvious agitation and his . . . disturbing reaction to her, he found himself needing more information.
“As you wish,” he murmured. He turned his body to descend the stairs, but kept his gaze on Gia. His body moved more easily, as if he’d taken a huge pull of energy. He wanted to glance behind him at Grigore to see if he was all right, but he couldn’t pry his eyes away from Gia.
The longer he looked at her, the more the world seemed to fade around him, leaving only her body, her face. Her lush auburn locks curled around her shoulders, brushing her back as she tilted her head. Sorin’s fingers twitched, itching to lose themselves in the soft tresses. He could feel the cool silk in his palms now, threading through his fingers as he tightened his fist in their depths and dragged her mouth to his . . .
He continued to advance, his heart beating harder the closer he got to her. Her scent was intoxicating, beckoning to him like a lover whispering in a dark bedroom. She stared him down, her pulse pounding like a drum in her body. The sound of her blood rushing through her veins roared like an ocean in his ears. He wanted to press his lips to that quivering skin, to feel her lifeforce sliding under the surface as he kissed his way from her jaw to her collarbone. Pleasure thrilled down his spine. He could almost taste her now.
He stopped when he reached the floor, standing a mere ten feet away from her. A tempting aroma wafted off of her, caressing his senses and making his mouth water. Desire mixed with . . . fear. A dark pleasure filled his mind as her scent and her heartbeat gave her away. Part of him wanted to feed that
fear. Feed it until she ran. He would chase her, catch her . . .
He swallowed twice before he could speak. “You are afraid of me.”
She narrowed her eyes and stuck out her chin. His observation seemed to anger her and he couldn’t resist the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth. She was a fighter. They could have such a wonderful game of cat and mouse before he caught her.
That thought startled him. Game of cat and mouse? Since when did such bestial imagery hold appeal for him?
“You’re different than I remember you. The man I remembered wouldn’t be staring at me like I’m a walking steak.”
Revenge in Vein, The Complete Series Page 23
