The Nightlife London
Published by Travis Luedke
Copyright 2013 by Travis Luedke
Book Cover Art by Ida Jansson, Amygdaladesign.net
http://www.amygdaladesign.net/
FIRST EDITION
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Adult Reading Material (17+)
Contains scenes of graphic sex and violence
unsuitable for underage readers
Publications by Travis Luedke
The Nightlife Series:
I The Nightlife: New York
II The Nightlife: Las Vegas
III The Nightlife: Paris
IV The Nightlife: London
BLOOD SLAVE
V The Nightlife: Moscow 2014
Young Adult novels by TW Luedke (Travis Luedke)
the shepherd
PARENTAL GUIDANCE 2014
Vampires Aaron and Michelle prowl the dark, gritty, strip clubs and back alleys of London on the hunt for Michael Jamison, the man who stole Michelle's blood and left her for dead. To assist them, Aaron’s new master, Urvashi, calls in favors from her friends, Russian mercenary werewolves.
Wolves Katya and Ivan, hunters adept at killing rogue vampires, set aside their animosity for Aaron and Michelle to stop Jamison from murdering another woman – he already has one bloodless victim lying in the morgue.
Jamison, ex-special forces, feels his enemies closing in, but he won’t go down without a fight – and like Aaron and Michelle, he also has powerful friends.
Experience the violent, sensual underbelly of Nightlife London, as Aaron and Michelle mix up a wicked blend of sex, chaos, mayhem, and vengeance.
Chapter 1
“Fifty quid for a blow, a hundred for a fuck, but for one-twenty I'll take it in the bum.” The topless dancer shimmied up onto his lap and pushed her warm, full breasts in Aaron’s face. He remembered reading somewhere that British girls supposedly have larger than average breasts. This girl lent some credibility to the theory.
Seated near the raised platform and stripper pole in The Rocking Horse strip club in Soho, London, Aaron was truly enjoying his evening. Then she got serious, planting her hot crotch on the lump in his pants and grinding like a curved chalk atop a pool cue stick.
It had been too long since his last feeding. Her blood-filled flesh awoke the hunger he had denied for three nights straight. His mouth filled with razor-edged teeth, aching to be buried in her lush, generous breasts. She pressed her left breast to his lips, serving herself up, a hot ready meal.
His tongue flickered out and pulled her nipple in between his waiting teeth. Her quickening pulse pounded through the warm flesh in his mouth as her nipple grew rigid.
God, I want to bite her. It’ll hurt for only a few seconds.
His teeth dug into her sensitive flesh, deep enough to draw blood. Luckily, her DD tits were one hundred percent real, no silicone. Never knew for sure without a taste test.
The strength of his grip on her ass, and the wondrous euphoria of his venom coursing through her blood stream, prevented her from pulling away from the sting of his needle-sharp teeth. “Bloody hell! That hurts!” She squirmed, but tugging only hurt more, and he wasn’t letting go.
Her complaints turned to moans of pleasure. Her fingers curled into his hair and sealed his mouth tight against her chest. She ground her crotch on his leg, humping and groaning through her peak.
As she quivered in orgasm on his lap, he released his bite. One minute precisely, not a second more. “Shit and butter me muffin.” She humped on him for a few more seconds, wetting the crotch of his black wool slacks with her juices.
Michelle slid up beside them and slipped her arms around Aaron. She purred into his ear. “Information. Remember? We need information.”
Impatient brat. “It’s been three nights. I have to feed.” Michelle let go and Aaron stood with the stripper in his arms, his hands clamped possessively around her firm ass.
The curvy woman trapped in his arms, clad in nothing more than fishing line panties, complained. “I’m not a bloody steak! You owe me twenty. Unless you want a suckoff?”
Aaron eyed her warily, but decided to play her game. “Twenty? For five minutes?”
She nodded with a glazed, warm smile.
He squeezed her ass and whispered in her ear. “I’ll make it fifty if you answer some questions.”
“Is that all you need?” She leaned up against him and whispered, “Don’t know whatcha missin’. I’ll swallow yer tackle whole.”
Michelle glanced towards the strip club security guards then back at him, a look of warning in her eyes. “Better be quick. We are gathering attention.”
“Let’s take it in the back.” Aaron nodded towards the hallway leading to a shadowy area with a series of curtained-off dancing rooms.
“Fifty pounds. But no more than a few questions, maybe a suck-off. And no more biting!” The stripper pointed towards the back hallway like a cop directing traffic.
Far stronger than he looked, Aaron carried her in his arms without so much as a grunt. She waved the security guards off, and a couple guys seated near the hallway hooted encouragement as Aaron walked past. “Give her the business! Get your money’s worth.”
He knew the woman in his arms would gladly give him all the business he wanted. The scent of her arousal flooded his nostrils. As he flowed through her thoughts with his telepathic probe, he found her aroused and eager. She was one argument away from giving it up for free and offering to let him stay in her room overnight. Some of these London strip clubs doubled as whore-houses.
Cock painfully hard, stripper in a G-string humping on the crotch of his pants as he carried her into the shadowy bowels of the club, his priorities began to shift around.
Information. Concentrate on information.
Beyond the curtain, the black lights cast an eerie pallor on the black upholstered bench in the booth. She tugged the fabric closed and tied it off for the illusion of privacy. Secure in their burgundy velvet curtained chamber, Aaron sat down and held her spread eagle on his lap. “Okay, listen. I’m looking for a man who might have been here in the past three weeks.”
“Sorry to disappoint, but I don’t have the parts yer lookin’ for.” She rubbed her parts on his spiked erection, hitting his point while demonstrating hers.
“I’m not looking for your lovely parts.” He licked a spot of blood off her breast and suppressed the temptation to bite the other one. That would be dangerous. Overfeeding led to certain … complications. “I need to pick your brain.”
He pulled a photo from his jacket pocket and showed her. “Have you seen him before? He’s an American, goes by the name of Mike or Michael or even Jamison.”
Three weeks they had been looking for Michael Jamison, the man who stole Michelle’s blood and left her for dead.
Having ingested her blood, he survived a changed man, no
w a vampire.
While the stripper glanced at Jamison’s photo, she ground her wet mound back and forth over the tip of his tented crotch, an agonizing semicircular massage. “Nope. Don’t know him. Wish I could be of more help.” She worked herself back up to another orgasm.
He crept through her mind, adept at hiding his presence in her thoughts. The key to this game was asking the right questions to bring forth the answers he needed. Janette was her name. Janette didn’t recognize the photo. The man who flashed through her mind was one of her Albanian bosses, Reza. He had bragged to her of a stupid Yank who recently bought an Uzi. The Yank’s name was Mick or perhaps Mike.
Aaron grinned as Janette worked him over. “Ah, but you have been helpful.” He wondered why a man with black market dealings worthy of a prison sentence would tell this woman his secrets.
Janette shuddered with another wet orgasm, humping through her finish. She smiled wide and then slid off his lap between his legs. “Let me serve yer right quick. It’s only fair.” Though he needed to know more, he couldn’t bring himself to interrupt her when she unzipped him. “Bollocks – I haven't seen a prick that big in ages!” She appreciated his size with a smile, and then skillfully swallowed his cock whole.
Aaron threw his head back. The girl knew her business.
Lips, tongue, hard suction, and a then a little nibbling on the very tip of his cock – she had him going. Stroking, pumping her hand up and down his shaft, she sucked hard, and then went all the way to his balls, deep throat. In a shuddering moan, he unloaded into her hot suction. She earned her money, coaxing every drop she could take.
And she swallowed, a true fellatio artisan.
She wiped her mouth off with an absorbent towel conveniently placed atop the back of the seat, and then cleaned him and zipped him up tidy. “There you go, pipes cleaned.” She smiled her lips wet-swollen, and held out her hand for her money.
With a sigh and a lazy groan, he held her gaze. “But what about Reza? We need to talk about him for a minute.”
“How did you –” She gasped and tried to stand, but he shoved her back down to her knees, her face in his crotch.
“Wait a minute, Janette, we’re not finished. You like your clients to leave happy, don’t you?”
“Are you with ruddy Interpol? How’d you know my name? What’d that wanker tell yer?” Her mind exploded with possibilities, zinging off in all directions. She knew of Reza’s illicit dealings in drugs and guns. His whole family was involved, trading back and forth from Albania to all parts of Europe and right here in London.
“Calm down, I don’t work for the police. I just need to know about Mike, the Yank. I need to know everything Reza told you about the Yank.”
“Lord, ye’ll have me killed. You don’t wanna mess with ‘em, not a pretty boy like you.” A common mistake people made. Aaron’s young, pale skin belied a nasty truth. Few suspected that this slim, dark-haired, mild-mannered man disguised a lethal killer capable of slaughter.
But Aaron chose not to be defined by the monster within – most of the time.
“I promise I will not tell a soul. I just need to know.” His words sparked a repeat of the same cocaine-hazy recollection in Janette’s mind: Reza bragging about selling an over-priced fully automatic Uzi. Nothing new.
Shit. Have to talk to Reza directly.
“I told ya, it’s just Reza’s mouth flappin’. He loves to talk while I’m on me knees. He took the Yank for a ride. Charged him two thousand smackers, triple what the gun was worth.”
The fear in her eyes reflected Janette’s grisly thoughts of what Reza might do to her if he found out she’d spoken of him.
“I understand.” He hugged her close. “But you know where Reza lives, don’t you?”
She started to shake in his arms. “I can’t …”
“Shush. It’s alright. You don’t have to say it.” She had already said enough in her unspoken fears. Reza was one of many bosses who frequented her bed, part of the family that owned the club. It was all one big tangled mess of prostitution, drugs, and gun running.
She stood up, avoiding his eyes. “I’ll take me pay now.”
He handed her a fifty pound note and followed her out to the front. Michelle approached looking hopeful. She slid under his arm and whispered, “Une bonne nouvelle?”
“Yes, I have good news. We need to talk to Urvashi.”
Michelle squinted at him. Though Michelle and Urvashi weren’t trying to kill each other – yet – the ladies hadn’t meshed together well.
Aaron had once allowed himself to believe he was untouchable, that no human could best him. As a telepath, faster and stronger than any man, who could possibly threaten him? A man with a gun, that’s who. His overconfidence led to mayhem and chaos in Las Vegas. His foolish pride led to the death and mutilation of his newly wed wife, Anastasia. And yet again, in Paris, a man with a gun had turned his world inside out and upside down.
Michelle was lucky to be standing. She should have died. She had died.
Mistakes. Aaron had made a lot of mistakes in the short time he’d been a vampire. But biting Urvashi, a fallen angel, was perhaps the most ridiculous thing he’d ever done.
The full consequences were still unfolding, and Michelle had grown increasingly agitated over the situation.
“We don’t need her for anything.” she spat venomously. She hated the fact that Aaron had to answer to Urvashi.
His eyes slanted to the shadows. Two Albanian thugs were watching them. Definitely time to go. Aaron ushered Michelle out the door.
“Look, this is another one of those Vegas situations. It’s messy, complicated.” He wished he still had his intimate psychic bond to Michelle. It would simplify the complexities of this moment. Sadly, that link had been broken in Paris. “We need Urvashi’s connections here. But, the good news is, we have our first lead.”
* * * *
Chapter 2
Fear is an unimaginably powerful device. Some people spend their entire lives twisted by fear, driven to all kinds of insanity, only to justify it through fear. Aaron recognized that Janette lived with a good measure of fear of her bosses. With good reason. He doubted the prostitution racket had any real separation from the gun-running and drug dealing side of the family business. Janette was knee-deep in the hoopla. This was not the US of A, where gang bangers walked around packing pistols in public. In London, where all handguns are illegal, they were the big ticket black market item.
Back in their deluxe suite at the Knightsbridge Hotel, Aaron hashed out the situation with Michelle. “The dancer is deathly afraid of this guy Reza. When we talk to him, he’ll know where we got our information.” Aaron loathed getting involved with this mess. But he needed more info.
Michelle slipped off her Louboutin designer heels and faced him. “In Albania, the mafia deal in slaves. Here, they are merde, pimps and thugs, but the habit is hard to break. They own this woman, like a commodity.”
Aaron wondered how Michelle knew so much about Albanians.
“Mon amour, you are tense.” Michelle unbuttoned his dress shirt, her eyes smoldering with desire. “Let me help.”
She slid off his shirt, unzipped his pants, and he stepped out of his boxer shorts. He loved it when she pampered him like this. And he loved the feel of her silky smooth, pale limbs wrapped around him.
He had found her again just three weeks ago in Paris. When she died in his arms, her body plugged full of 9mm rounds by Jamison, their bond broken, Aaron felt as if he’d lost part of his soul. Discovering she had survived, resuscitated by Parisian medics, had been the best night of his life. Like getting a second chance. He could never get enough of Michelle. If it wasn’t for this damn vampire hunt, he’d never let her out of the bedroom.
He unzipped the back of her blue dress and pulled it from her shoulders to watch it fall to the floor. Nothing but smooth, flawless skin. No bra, no panties, just the love of his life, in her delicious birthday suit. Every night with this pale goddess
in his arms felt like a stolen moment. Death cheated one more time.
He pinned her against the wall, his cock already hard with need for her. “I’ll work away both our tensions, until you can’t walk.”
She growled low and gripped his cock firmly. “A bold promise. But I will hold you to it.”
He loved hearing that feminine growl of hers. He’d learned everything he knew about how to please a woman in her bed with her growling beneath him. She could fuck until his cock hurt and still take more. His balls ached with an endless need for her and she fed that need, stroking him with a smooth, squeezing glide.
Her hands knew his cock better than he did.
He ran his fingers deep into her hair, encircling her head, pulling her into a kiss. He had to have her, be inside of her, his tongue, his cock, his fingers. Lips crushed, fangs bared, he devoured her mouth. Still pinned to the wall, she wrapped a slender leg around his waist and slid his cock between her inner thighs.
Slick with arousal, she ground her hot, wet slit along the top of his shaft and pulled on him, trying to slip it in. She growled into his kiss, struggling to mount him, but the angle was wrong, sandwiched between him and the wall. He let her fight her slippery wet battle, almost sliding in then slipping back out again. He grinned into their kiss, chuckling as she grunted in frustration.
Finally he stepped back. She took full advantage of this opportunity and jumped on him, legs spread wide. She guided him into her sopping wet heat with a satisfied moan. Then he slammed her back against the wall, and ground up into her hard and fast.
“Je t’aime Aaron! Je t’aime!”
The more she cried out her love in lyrical French, the harder he pounded her, using all his preternatural strength to hammer her insides like the piston of an engine. When she came, inhuman vocal tones screamed his name. She bit down into his shoulder, sinking her fangs in almost to the bone. Her venom punched him full of endorphins, and he came hard, buried all the way inside her.
The Nightlife: London (Urban Fantasy Romance) (The Nightlife Series) Page 1