Must Love Vampires

by Heidi Betts

  Eighth, twelfth, two hundred and second . . . He just hadn’t worked up to it yet.

  But it wouldn’t matter. She loved him, and now they were hitched.

  He’d managed to keep his fangs hidden from her—even though simply being near her got him hard as a spike, which brought his fangs out even faster than desperate hunger—as well as his need for liquid sustenance and aversion to sunlight. Not terribly difficult when she worked nights and most of the time they were together was spent horizontally. Or vertically, but also bare-ass naked.

  Other than going for drinks at Dante’s, the Inferno’s most popular on-site cocktail bar, after a show, he didn’t think he’d ever actually taken her out for a meal or to a movie.

  Hmm, he should probably rectify that now that they were man and wife. Men did things with their wives other than boinking twenty-four/seven, didn’t they? He might even have to take her shopping and hold her purse while she tried stuff on.

  Shifting a glance to where Chloe sat beside him, he reached across the Spider’s console to take her hand—her left hand, the one with his rings adorning her slim finger. She lifted her head and offered him a soft smile, and it was all he could do not to pull over, drag her onto his lap, and take her right then and there.

  They were back on The Strip, headed in the opposite direction as to when he’d first picked her up. He zipped past his brother’s casino without a second glance.

  He had a suite of rooms there, just like Sebastian, but had never taken Chloe to them. They were too close to his brother’s, too risky. The last thing he needed while in the middle of an intimate and X-rated seduction was to have his brother burst in, lecturing about what a mistake he was making spending time with a lowly showgirl—and a mortal one, to boot.

  So instead, he was taking her to his other place. He didn’t think Sebastian knew about it, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t find out in the blink of an eye.

  Still, Aidan thought it would be a safe enough spot for them to stay for a while.

  A few minutes later, he steered his Ferrari into the underground parking garage of The Heights, his very own upscale apartment building. His brother might think he was capricious, needing to be taken care of and watched over like a green adolescent, but he wasn’t entirely dependent or without business acumen. He’d learned enough from Sebastian, at least, to put away a little money of his own and actually build this place from the ground up.

  Which was how he’d managed to design an extra-large living space under the underground garage. It was just as luxurious as any of the other apartments the building had to offer—maybe even more so, since he was the one holding the purse strings—but with zero risk of sunlight entering, and special key cards and fingerprint authorization required to get inside.

  Easing into his reserved space, he let go of Chloe’s hand so he could turn off the engine and pocket the keys. Then he went around the rear of the car to open her door and help her out. The wind had blown her long, chestnut hair in all directions, making her look as though she’d just been thoroughly tumbled. It made him want to tumble her, right here in the parking garage.

  He could do it, too. There was no one around. The place was completely deserted, and if anyone did show up, he’d know it long before they got close enough to see anything.

  Moving in, grinning like an idiot, he crowded her, backing her up against the Spider’s front side panel. She leaned away at first, almost nervously, as though trying to avoid him. Then she shook her head and smiled, lifting her hands to his shoulders.

  Bodies pressed together from chest to thigh, he brushed her nose with his, and then settled in for a long, hot, wet kiss. This was the kiss he’d wanted to give her back at the Little Blue Chapel, right after the preacher had told him he could kiss his bride. He’d wanted to sweep her back over his arm and taste her, eat her, devour her. Only their audience of Grampa Elvis and Grandma Priscilla had precluded the consummation of their marriage right then and there.

  But they didn’t have an audience now. They were all alone, with nothing to stop him from taking her the way he wanted.

  Deepening the kiss, he bent her backwards, tugging the hem of her snug black T-shirt from the waistband of her jeans so he could feel the warm, smooth skin of her abdomen. Running his palms up her ribcage, he cupped her breasts through the lacy material of her bra.

  She moaned, and for the first time began to actively kiss him back. Her own hands went to his belt, unbuckling the thin length of expensive leather, but not pulling it free of its loops. Instead, she undid the top of his slacks, her knuckles brushing the tip of his straining erection.

  His hips arched toward her touch, but before he could make contact a second time, she took her hands away, going to work on the buttons of his shirt. She had it open in a matter of seconds, pushing the sides apart to stroke his bare chest.

  It was all he could do not to whimper. Grasping her waist, he lifted her onto the car’s hood, nudging her knees apart and stepping between them. He pressed his hard-on into the notch of her thighs. Even through the layers of their clothing, he could feel her heat, the pulse of her longing.

  In seconds, he’d pushed her shirt up and over her breasts, dragging the cups of the bra with it, leaving her gloriously bare to his gaze and his hands and his mouth. Her nipples were dark raspberries, tightened with pleasure, and he wasted no time rolling them between his fingertips, snagging them with the pads of his thumbs.

  Her own hands were busy at his crotch, one sliding inside his pants to cup his cock, the other lowering his zipper. She toyed with him through his cotton briefs, squeezing, stroking, running her thumb across the sensitive tip. He sucked in a breath, pressing himself more firmly into her hold.

  He was about to go to work on her pants, pull them down just enough to get inside her, when he heard the hum of an engine, the squeak of tires. They were still far off in the distance, just entering the garage at the other end of the building, but it still wasn’t safe to be here. The last thing he needed was for headlights to whip around and spotlight their carnal activities.

  With a muttered curse, he broke their kiss and reluctantly—so damn reluctantly—pulled Chloe’s hand from his pants. Blinking in confusion, she merely stared at him.

  “Car,” he said by way of apology. “Come on.”

  Not bothering to straighten his own clothes, he tugged her shirt back down to cover her—groan—gorgeous breasts, then took her hand and led her a short distance to his private elevator. Instead of going up to the lobby or other levels of the building where apartments were located, this one went down and led to only one destination—his place.

  Using his personal key card to call the elevator, the doors opened and he guided her inside. His key card got the doors open, but the only way to get the car to move was with a thumbprint. His thumbprint.

  He pressed it to the I.D. panel, making a mental note to update the system with Chloe’s print, as well. After all, she was his wife now, and would be living here with him. He wanted her to be able to come and go as she pleased.

  It took just a few seconds for the car to glide down to the sub-basement level and the doors to open on his private living quarters. Much like Sebastian’s top-floor penthouse, Aidan’s apartment took up the entire lower floor of the building and contained everything he could ever need or want. Gourmet kitchen, large living room area, a handful of bedrooms and bathrooms, an office, home theatre, even a workout room and sauna, though he didn’t use them nearly as often as a human male might.

  The only thing it lacked was windows. There wasn’t a single one in the entire place. Instead, he’d used a number of paintings and pieces of artwork to decorate the walls, and bright colors for the walls to give the illusion of daylight and access to the outdoors.

  “Wow.”

  As he’d hoped, Chloe seemed impressed by what she saw. She was tucked up against him, his arm wrapped snugly around her waist, their clothes still tellingly askew.

  “You like?” he asked,
smiling proudly.

  “It’s . . . great,” she offered slowly, her gaze still taking in the unique construction and expensive décor. “But where are we?”

  “My place. The secret one no one knows about.” Leaning in, he nuzzled her hair and pressed his lips to the side of her throat.

  “Like the Bat Cave.”

  He chuckled. She didn’t know how right she was. And he was inordinately proud that she’d picked up on the fact that they’d come down instead of going up, and that there was no view other than the ones a handful of local art galleries had provided.

  “Something like that.”

  Turning her toward him, he hugged her close, opening his mouth over the pulse of her neck. “Mind if I give you the grand tour later? Right now, I have a few more important things on my mind.”

  Rather than answer, she wound her arms around his neck, driving her fingers into the hair at his nape. Then she pressed herself fully against him from pelvis to breastbone and lifted a leg to hitch over his left hip.

  With a groan, he cupped her ass with both hands and scooped her up, taking her mouth as he turned for the master bedroom. He didn’t need lights or even open eyes to navigate his apartment. If his vampire super-senses hadn’t been enough to guide him, his familiarity with the floor plan and every stick of furniture would be.

  Tongues tangled and sparred as he carried her to his bed. The crux of her thighs rode him the same way he hoped she would ride him when he had her naked and writhing above him.

  His bed was king size and low to the ground, covered in a plain beige coverlet. He dropped her to the center of it, following her down, sending the mattress bouncing.

  Picking up where they’d left off on the hood of his car, he began stripping her of her clothes. Too many of them. Too many arm holes, neck holes, leg holes, buttons, and zippers, all working against him to keep her dressed when he desperately wanted her undressed. He yanked her shirt up and over her head, and she lifted her arms to help him, dark hair spilling out around her as she fell back against the bed.

  Next he dealt with her bra, unsnapping the hooks at the back and drawing the straps down her arms. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen her bare breasts; not by a long shot. But still the sight of them had his diaphragm clenching, his gums throbbing around his already rapidly descending fangs.

  Careful not to let her see his razor-sharp incisors, he said, “Have I ever told you how much I love your tits?”

  Her nose wrinkled. She hated that word, which was why he enjoyed teasing her with it. And she knew he meant it in the most reverent of ways.

  “You, and every guy who’s ever walked into Lust during one of my shows.”

  “Yes, but I’m the only one who gets to see them in all their naked glory,” he told her, cupping them in his hands and pressing them together. “Or feel them. Or taste them. Ever again.”

  With that, he lowered his head and took one of the plump, ripe points into his mouth. She had beautiful breasts, big enough to fill a man’s hands, but not so big that she looked like she was about to topple over. They were also full and pert, sitting high on her chest in a way that usually required plastic surgery.

  He suckled one nipple, tracing the tight flesh of her areola and rolling the gumdrop tip with the flat of his tongue. When she arched beneath him, her breath growing choppy, he moved to the other and gave it equal treatment.

  “Aidan,” she panted, tugging at his hair. But he didn’t stop, so she decided to fight dirty.

  Releasing his head, she put her hands at his waist and started tugging at his slacks. This time, as she pushed them down, the briefs went with them. She released his cock and balls, left his ass bare, and then used her feet to wiggle the pants lower so her hands would be left free. She used them to grip him, tug him, drive him crazy.

  With a gasp, he abandoned her breast and glanced between their bodies to see her long, nimble fingers playing him like a flute. He would have called foul, but it felt too damn good. Besides, he intended to play foul soon enough, too.

  Kicking off his shoes, he shrugged out of his already unbuttoned shirt, then his pants and underwear before going to work on hers. He flipped open the front snap of her jeans and lowered the zipper, hooking his fingers into the waistband to drag them off.

  Her shoes took some time to deal with. Normally, she wore heels, the strappier and sexier, the better. The kind that slipped right off. But since she’d dressed like her sister tonight, not only were her clothes less revealing, her shoes were of the pedestrian variety. Plain white tennis shoes that took a bit of hard-won dexterity to untie.

  Once they were gone, it was easier to peel away the denim and scrap of material that made up her thong underwear.

  And then she was naked.

  They were both naked.

  Three

  Grasping her elbows, he tugged her up, reveling in the feel of her bare breasts pressed to his bare chest; her soft, bare stomach pressed to his hard bare abdomen; her bare (really bare—waxed to glossy perfection) mound pressed to the length of his rigid, almost painful erection.

  He kissed her lightly, smoothed a hand down the line of her delicate spine into the cleft of her buttocks. She shivered at his touch, and he wasn’t far behind.

  “Turn around,” he murmured, pleased when she did so immediately, without a word, without trepidation.

  Climbing onto the mattress behind her, he knee-walked them closer to the center of the bed to give them more room to maneuver, then tugged her back against him once more. With one hand, he cupped her breast, the other hand trailing down the center of her slim torso.

  While his mouth nipped and nibbled at her throat, his fingers dipped into her damp, feminine folds. Chloe sucked in a breath and stiffened against him as he cruised over her tight little clitoris. He held her more firmly and continued his erotic exploration, adding the tweaking of her taut nipple to the mix.

  He loved the feel of her, all warm and supple like pulled taffy, as well as the scent of hot, highly aroused woman. Finding her center, he slowly teased the opening with two rough fingertips, stirring her juices, preparing her for his entry, both now and later.

  Filling her to the first knuckle, he twisted his fingers, enjoying the sound of her hitched breaths and the cushion of her swollen, sensitized flesh. At her neck, he sucked gently, giving her a small hickey of the innocuous human variety.

  What he really wanted, though, was to taste her there. To sink his fangs, which were pulsing in tandem with the throb of his cock, into her skin and the tiny vein lying beneath, pumping all that delicious blood to her heart and through the entire rest of her anatomy.

  He already knew how she would taste. His heightened senses took him well past the sexy floral fragrance of her favorite perfume—lilies and ginger and a touch of honey—to what lay beneath. The way she tasted when they made love—tart and musky and feminine—would carry into her bloodstream, along with that wonderful copper tang.

  He craved it, just as much as he craved being inside her, stroking them both to a quivering, mind-blowing climax. But to have her body and her blood at the same time . . .

  He shuddered, driving his fingers even deeper so that she clenched around him. Now that would be ecstasy.

  Promising himself he wouldn’t bite, wouldn’t even come close, he ran his teeth over her in the direction opposite to what it would take to break the skin. He knew the sharp tips would scratch, but they wouldn’t do any damage, and damn did it feel good.

  Between her legs, he drove his fingers deep, as far as they would go. His thumb rode her clit while he pressed into all that soft, tender tissue, searching for her G-spot and knowing he found it when she gave a sharp cry.

  With his hard cock rubbing into her buttocks, he fucked her with his hand, playing with her breasts, rolling that swollen, overly sensitive nub, and nibbling at her neck like a starving vampire.

  In only seconds, she came with a scream no one but he would ever hear. She arched against him, spasmed around his
fingers, and nearly took him straight over the edge right along with her.

  Drawing his hips away just in time, he managed to hold back. Barely. He waited for her to calm before tipping her head and kissing her sweet, rosy lips.

  “Bend forward,” he commanded, knowing full well she was too loose and wrung out to do anything else once he let go of her.

  Grabbing the pillows from the headboard, he folded one in half and tucked it under her belly. The other he used to cushion her head and chest.

  Poor darling was so sated, she draped herself across both without a word, practically without a breath. And he should know—he only used his lungs out of long habit and to keep from freaking out mortals who might notice his chest hadn’t moved in an hour and a half—but he tended to be very aware of other people’s breathing habits.

  “You aren’t falling asleep on me, are you?” he teased. She rolled her head on the pillow and gave a muffled, “No.”

  He grinned. He didn’t quite believe her, but in a minute, she would once again be wide awake. Guaranteed.

  Staring down at her delectable ass, he grabbed the twin porcelain globes and gave them a squeeze. Chloe made a noise partway between a grunt and a sigh, and his smile got even wider. She really was adorable.

  And sexy as hell.

  He flicked the tip of one fang with his tongue. They were throbbing like the dickens. Fully extended . . . longer than he could ever remember them being.

  The same could be said for his dick. Baseball bats, marble pillars, and railroad spikes all came to mind.

  Taking one hand from her buttocks, he gripped himself, squeezing near the base and then stroking slowly upward. Tempting fate, to be sure. At the same time, he smoothed his fingers through her crease, finding her creamy moisture and running it up and down.

  She was plenty wet. More than ready for him. And he was certainly ready for her.

  Normally, they used a condom. It wasn’t necessary—he could no more give her something than he could catch it from her, and vampires were notoriously disease-free. But she didn’t know that, and since he hadn’t yet told her he was a vampire, there was no other way to convince her that her idea of safe sex was redundant.