Caught: A Vampire Blood Courtesans Romance

by Julia Mills

  Wanting more, needing to be closer, I grabbed his shoulder and slid on the silk sheets until his hands closed around my waist and I climbed onto his lap. His erection pushed against the softness of my stomach as our kiss deepened and my arousal skyrocketed.

  An ache of pure desire burned in my center. My nails bit into his back through the cotton of his shirt as he pulled his lips from mine with a gasp and began nibbling and tasting across my jaw and down my neck. My fingers found his hair, fisting his dark, silken tresses, holding him close, loving the way he made me feel.

  Paying special attention to the spot where my pulse was pounding just under the skin of my neck, he whispered, “I love that your heart beats faster with my every touch.”

  I could feel the truth in his words. Knew he felt the same from my touch. Heard those exact words as he thought them. Fresh, white hot arousal shot through me as the scratch of his fangs brought the recollection of the first time he’d bitten me to the forefront, begging for a repeat performance.

  Pushing him tighter to my neck, I let my head fall to the side and gasped, “Please….”

  “Let us make it all the sweeter,” Roarke growled against my skin as, from one heartbeat to the next, he stood up with me in his arms, laid me back on the bed, and ripped his shirt from my body.

  Looking at me with fire in his eyes, Roarke stripped out of his clothes and joined me on the bed, his lips smashing to mine with the scorch of demanding need. His hands seemed to be everywhere, teasing my nipples to near painful points, leaving fiery trails of seduction across my stomach and down my ribs, and finally running across my pelvis, the tips of his fingers ruffling the already wet curls atop my center. Of their own volition, my hips lifted off the bed in an effort to force his skillful digits where I ached the most.

  As my body burned, my hands explored the beautiful man beside me. The well-toned muscles of his chest flexed under my fingers; his nipples pebbled as I sought to touch and feel all of him. I had just reached the thin line of hair leading to his erection when Roarke’s two middle fingers invaded my throbbing pussy and the pad of his thumb teased my aroused clit.

  My body was burning from the inside-out. A need unlike any I had ever known pushed my every action, my every thought, as my hips met each thrust of Roarke’s fingers sliding in and out of my center with deliberate intent. His index finger joined his thumb, rolling my clit between the two until I saw stars. One gentle pinch and the orgasm that had been sitting just out of reach roared to life as I screamed his name into our kiss until I was hoarse…but it still wasn’t enough.

  I needed more. I needed…him.

  As if he knew my thoughts, Roarke pulled his fingers from my center, climbed over me and while holding himself up, looked deep into my eyes and asked, “Are you sure? It was less than…”

  I’d had enough talking, enough thinking. Reaching up, I wound my hands around his neck and pulled his lips to mine as an answer to the question I hadn’t let him ask. Lowering us until my back touched the mattress and the delicious weight of his body was on top of me, Roarke rolled his hips, letting the tip of cock slide through the proof of the arousal wetting my curls.

  Reaching between our bodies, I wrapped my hand around his erection, trying to direct him where I wanted him most, but Roarke was too quick. His hand closed over mine, holding it as steady as he held his body. Tearing his lips from mine, he captured my eyes with his lust-soaked gaze and then using our combined hands, pushed his cock into my throbbing pussy.

  Pulling my hand away with his, still looking into my soul, inch by glorious inch Roarke pushed inside of me, going slow as my body adjusted to his size. Once seated deep inside, he immediately began to pull back out, pushing in again just when I feared he would fall from me. Stroke after excruciatingly slow stroke he moved in and out of me, never looking away, controlling my gaze as he controlled my body.

  His arms shook with restraint as he worked hard to go slow, to let me get used to the myriad of feelings rushing through my mind and body. Needing him more than I needed my next breath, needing to feel the release only Roarke could give me, I wound my legs around his waist, pushed my heels into the rock-hard cheeks of his ass, and began thrusting my hips against him as quickly as I could.

  Shock mixed with intense desire and the hint of a wicked glint flashed in his eyes as he immediately met me stroke for stroke. I could feel my release rolling with increased passion and fire to its blissfully wonderful end as Roarke’s lips met mine with a harsh kiss of possession before teasing my earlobe with his teeth as he whispered, “May I taste you?”

  Unable to deny him anything, I rolled my head to the side and gasped, “Yes, oh yes.”

  His fangs slide down my neck, hovering just above my pounding pulse as our rhythm became frantic. Roarke hissed, arching his back, pushing him deeper into me as my nails slid down his back. The sounds of our bodies meeting thrust after thrust, coupled with our ragged breaths, filled the room. His hands slid under my ass, lifting me off the bed, changing the angle just enough that the tip of his cock bumped the sensitive bundle of nerves at the top of my channel on every stroke until breathing became impossible.

  Sure I would lose my mind and loving every second of the journey, my body shook with anticipation as Roarke’s fangs pushed against my skin, piercing the flesh, pulling my life’s essence from my vein just as our orgasm reached a mutual mind-blowing end. Over and over, I rode the waves of my climax as he drank at my neck, holding me tight.

  Tenderly, Roarke retracted his fangs, lowered me to the bed, and slowed his movements, gently sliding in and out, wringing the last vestiges of my orgasm from me. Slowly opening my eyes, all I could give him was a lazy smile as he asked, “How are you, my sweet?” Followed by a slow, sensual kiss that threatened to awaken even more passion within me.

  With a knowing smile, he pulled his still semi-erect cock from me, lifted me in his arms, and positioned my head on the pillows before laying down beside me. Rolling over, I laid my head on his chest and sighed as his arms came around me. I wanted to tell him that I’d never experienced anything like what we’d just done and that is was wonderful, but exhaustion was winning the battle and within seconds, I fell blissfully asleep.

  This time I woke with a smile as Roarke placed kisses on my temple, my cheek, and the tip of my nose before finally reaching my lips and making the morning all the better for it. Opening my eyes as my fingers found his, I yawned and stretched, loving the feel of his body against my back and the tickle of the smattering of hair on his chest as his chuckle rumbled through me. “Time to get up, my sweet. You need something to eat and I need to make some calls.”

  Rolling over, I caught a bit of what he was thinking and before I could stop myself, I asked, “Why can I hear your thoughts?”

  “You can hear my thoughts?” he asked with a look of total shock.

  Nodding, now more than a little nervous, I held the sheet over my chest and sat up as I countered with, “Yes. Can you hear mine?”

  “Yes, but that’s a side effect of the blood bond,” he rushed to explain as I felt my eyebrows raise as high as they could go. “It’s nothing to worry about. It happened when I gave you my blood in the limo. Another of my powers is the ability to help others heal. Anyway, a blood bond would usually give me the ability to track you if you were in danger and to know what you were thinking and feeling, which serves as protection because of my strength and abilities.”

  Lifting himself to a sitting position, Roarke continued, “But in all my years, which you know is considerable, I’ve never known a human to hear a vampire’s thoughts after just one taste of blood.” His eyes narrowed. “Can you also feel my emotions?”

  “Some of them,” I murmured, afraid to answer since I wasn’t sure if it was a good thing.

  Nodding, he turned toward me and put his hand over mine where it laid on my leg. A smile brightened his face as he said, “I think...no, I know I like that you can hear my thoughts and know what I’m feeling.”


  Unfortunately, I never got to ask any more questions as a loud knock echoed through the room. “Yes,” Roarke called out in an annoyed tone.

  “I’m sorry to bother you, sir, but you received an urgent package some time ago. Mr. Monroe has called several times to see if you’ve opened it. His last call came just a few minutes ago and he was quite insistent.”

  “That’s fine, Michael,” Roarke answered. Then pulling up the thick, navy comforter and making sure I was completely covered, he winked before adding, “Bring it in.”

  A tall, thin, man with dirty blonde hair and scruff on his jaw opened the door and walked straight to Roarke, who smiled and gestured to me. “Michael, this is Miss Katharine and she will be staying with us.”

  With a single nod, Michael replied, “Nice to meet you, Miss Katharine,” and then to Roarke, “And will that be all, sir?”

  “Yes, thank you, Michael.” With that, the lanky man left the room, shutting the door behind him.

  Ripping the tape from the package, Roarke pulled a stack of papers and photos from the large manila envelope. The picture on top floated to the comforter. I gasped and grabbed it, screaming, “Vanessa!”

  Looking over my shoulder, I could feel Roarke’s rage as he stared at the photo of my best friend, tied to a chair, her face beaten and bleeding with the barrel of a gun at her temple. Grabbing his phone and pressing a single button, he roared, “What the fuck is this, Monroe? And where the hell did it come from?”

  Chapter Nine

  “It was left at the front desk of the Adolphus then delivered to Madame de Beaufort, who called me because she knew I’d be talking to you while you were out of town.” Monroe cleared his throat and for the first time since I’d met him, looked a little nervous. “I knew you weren’t telling many people your plans had changed so I went and picked it up. After I saw what it was, I had a courier bring it here.” He was nodding like a child looking for approval as he added, “Just as protocol demands.”

  And the here Monroe was talking about just happened to be Roarke’s estate in Preston Hollow, just outside of Dallas, not the alternative location—damned fortress from all I could see—of Plan X. I was kind of surprised Roarke wasn’t telling our true location to his attorney, but he had earlier explained that the fewer people who knew, the easier it would be to find the traitor amongst his own ranks. It made sense, but I still felt bad for him. I could see how much it bothered him that someone he trusted had sold him out and to the worst of his own kind.

  It had taken me a long time to get calmed down. I yelled and screamed then cried and sobbed then yelled some more, until my throat was hoarse and my eyes so swollen that I looked like I’d gone a few rounds with Tyson. All the while Roarke assured me that he would find Vanessa, bring her home to me, and see that those responsible for laying a finger on my best friend would pay with their lives.

  His words helped, but it didn’t take away my guilt. Seeing Vanessa in that state and knowing it was because of me was almost unbearable. The dam of emotions I’d been holding at bay since being caught stealing, losing my job, finding my apartment ransacked, and being in a gunfight, burst. I was filled with uncontrollable rage and spine-chilling fear, with a huge cloud of good old fashioned guilt covering it all. Staring at those pictures, seeing the terror in her eyes and the gun to her head, broke something in me. I literally saw red. For the first time in my life I knew beyond all shadow of doubt that I was capable of committing murder. I could wrap my hands around the neck of those responsible for hurting Vanessa and squeeze with all my might until the life simply drained from their eyes. I wanted those bastards dead and I wanted it to happen sooner rather than later.

  Monroe’s voice pulled me back to the present. I found him looking at me then back to Roarke as he asked, “Are the children okay? I was told Jase moved them and told the guards I had arranged to go home. Did you send another team to their new location?”

  Ignoring the attorney’s question, Roarke turned his desk chair around and looked out the large picture window onto his perfectly manicured yard. I could feel him thinking, feel his fury simmering just below his perfectly veneered surface, and was amazed at his control. When he spoke, it was without turning around and his voice held the tiniest hint of suspicion. “And you have no news from Jose or any of his contacts in the police department?”

  “No, but I’m to speak to him again in about an hour.”

  “And the interrogations of our own people?”

  “Well…th-that is taking a bit longer.” Sweat dotted Monroe’s upper lip as he stuttered his answer then quickly added, “But Sampson assures me they will be completed by the end of the day.”

  Moving faster than my eyes could track, Roarke spun around in his chair, flew across the room, and had Monroe backed against the wall of his office with his hands around the attorney’s neck while seething through gritted teeth, “What aren’t you telling me, Monroe?” He leaned forward, pressing his thumb against the lawyer’s Adam’s apple, and spat, “What are you hiding?” Roarke leaned even closer, the tip of his nose touching the tip of the attorney’s and sniffed. “I can smell your fear, the reek of deceit, see that your hiding something in the depths of your soulless eyes.”

  A door at the back of the room, one I hadn’t seen, burst open and in walked the biggest man I had ever seen, dressed in a tight black T-shirt, faded jeans, and looking like he was ready to rip anyone who stood in his way into pieces. He had to have been six-foot-ten with bulging muscles, long blonde hair, and wicked blue eyes. His voice was so deep it sounded like a growl as he addressed Roarke. “Sir?”

  At the sight of the man, Monroe froze, his eyes bulging and his mouth hanging open. “Want to tell me again about Sampson doing the interrogations?” Roarke snarled.

  Getting better at filling in the blanks as Monroe hung like a rag doll against the wall, I figured out that the blondie was Sampson, Monroe had lied and there were more hits coming. Leaning back, his eyes glued to Monroe’s, Roarke pulled his cell phone from his pocket, pressed a single digit, and put it to his ear.

  The ringing and then a man answering filled the tense silence as an evil smile spread across Roarke’s face and he spoke into the phone, sounding as if it was a normal day and he wasn’t holding a man by the neck. “Jose? It’s Roarke. Yes, I’m fine. I wanted to see if Monroe had contacted you yet with my request for information.”

  Two seconds of silence in which the smile on Roarke’s face turned from evil to downright scary. “Is that right? Haven’t heard from him for at least three weeks?”

  Another second of Roarke listening to Jose speak and Monroe snapped out of his stupor and began to claw at the hand holding him hostage before Roarke signed off by saying, “I’ll be in touch soon.”

  Tossing his phone to the side, the room was filled with the sound of cracking wood and breaking plastic as the device hit the oak paneling and millions of pieces of phone fell like confetti onto the wooden floor. Leaning farther back but increasing the pressure on Monroe’s neck, Roarke asked, “Want to tell me again about the phone call you’re expecting from Jose?”

  “I…I c-can…expla…” Monroe struggled to speak but Roarke only increased the pressure on his neck and added a punch to the stomach as he growled, “Explain?” Another punch. “What would you like to explain?” Two more punches.

  I knew as a nurse and a pretty decent human being that I should have felt bad for Monroe, but as I watched Roarke attempt to beat the answers out of one of the men responsible for Vanessa’s abduction, I admit to feeling nothing at all. Somewhere in my mind I rationalized that he was a vampire and would heal anyway, and that in the scheme of cosmic justice, he deserved everything he was getting. Mrs. Simpson, my third-grade Sunday School teacher, may not agree, but then again, she would’ve never believed in vampires either.

  Getting nothing but wheezed pleas for mercy, Roarke flung the attorney into a chair I hadn’t seen Sampson retrieve from the far side of the room and stalked toward him like a lion tra
cking his prey. I could feel just how much he wanted to rip Monroe’s head from his body, feel his need for violence and vengeance mixing with what I could only describe as bloodlust as he took one step after another, staring down at the man who dared to betray him.

  “Roarke…please…listen…you don’t understand,” Monroe begged.

  Rolling up the sleeves of his shirt as he stood in front of the attorney who was being held at the shoulders by Sampson, Roarke shrugged, “What exactly do I not understand?”

  The sound of a hand slap echoed through the room a split second before Monroe cried out and a huge red handprint appeared across the left side of his face. Roarke had literally moved faster than I could see.

  “I had no choice,” the attorney wailed as another smack rang out and another handprint appeared on the other side of his face.

  Sobbing, Monroe begged, “Please…listen…I can help.”

  “You can help?” Roarke grabbed him by the collar and punched him in the stomach before asking, “How can you help?

  Coughing and gagging with tears running down his face, Monroe croaked, “I-I’m the only one who knows where they’re keeping her. I can take you there.”

  Tightening the grip he had on Monroe’s collar and pulling the attorney toward him as Sampson held tightly to his shoulders, Roarke growled, “You can take me there?” just before the sound of joints popping filled the room and the attorney howled in pain.

  Shoving the bawling man against the back of the chair, Roarke closed the distance between them, squeezed the attorney’s face between his thumb and forefinger until he looked like a weeping clown, and snarled, “You won’t be going anywhere, you worthless piece of shit. Now,” he squeezed harder, forcing a strangled shriek from Monroe’s lips before adding, “tell me where they are or I will rip you limb from limb, slowly and deliberately letting you live until all that is left is a pile of flesh and bones and then I will set it on fire and dance in the ashes.”