by Mary Hughes
I skimmed over my list. Twelve bands. “If everyone does preset before they come in? Three, maybe four hours.”
“Mind if I watch?”
Did I mind? Did I mind that Julian was sitting so close I could feel his sexual heat beating like radioactive fallout through my body? Hell, yes, I minded. I leaned in. “I don’t know if I’ll get any work done that way. Don’t you have meetings, or something?”
“Not right now. The opposition is conferring. I’m all yours for the next four hours.” Julian bent in close too, so close his lips were a breath away from mine. “Any way you want me.”
Whoo-hoo. Fan me with a bellows. Any way I wanted? I could think of a lot of ways…if there were a bed nearby, which there wasn’t. Not that no bed would stop Julian. I remembered a couple incidents while standing… Did I say bellows? Fan me with a jet engine. “Working,” I managed to grit out.
“No problem.” Julian sat back, casually stretched one arm around my chair. His arm was hot as coals. When his fingers began to trace curlicues on my neck, I nearly shot into orbit.
“Working,” I reminded him with a squeak.
“You’re not actually working right now, Nixie,” Dirk pointed out oh-so-helpfully from my other side. “You’re waiting for the next band to start.”
“Thanks, Dirk.” Couldn’t they tune any faster?
In fact, Julian had drawn the Mona Lisa on my neck before the band was ready to play. His fingers obligingly dropped away on the first beat. Perversely, I missed them.
Just as the band finished I felt a really warm hand slide under the bottom of my hoodie. Fingers landed unerringly on the naked skin between my top and my low-cut jeans. “Julian.”
“What?” He was all innocent-like. The fingers caressed lightly along my spine, down to the dimples in my hips. I squirmed. They stroked down under the band of my low-riders. When they started rubbing my tailbone I nearly shrieked.
“Hey, Nixie! What’s up?” a honeyed contralto said.
“Rocky!” I jumped. Not all of it was surprise at seeing her. Julian’s hand took advantage of my momentary rise to slip between the cheeks. “Argh!”
“Nice makeup.” Rocky took off her glasses and polished them. “Is that a new shade of blusher?”
“Uh, maybe.”
“Well, it’s really a good color for you.” She put her glasses back on, adjusted them some. “Looks real natural.” She stopped, and frowned. Her eyes followed the curve of Julian’s arm around my shoulders. Went down. Stopped.
“OMG.” She turned bright red. “OMG.” She covered her mouth. “OMG,” she said again, sort of muffled.
“Rocky, it’s not what you think.”
“Yes it is,” Julian said.
“OMG,” Rocky squeaked, turning flame red. I felt just as red. As I extracted Julian’s hand from my posterior, Rocky spun away. She fled to the other end of the room, where the second band was packing up. She was bright red as she hooked up her karaoke machine. Bright red as she played what thankfully turned out to be decent rock and roll, although it was kind of weird hearing the Mozart Concerto in G for flute and garage band. And as she packed up and left, I thought I heard her say “OMG” another four or five times.
Seven more bands followed in the next three hours. They ranged from okay to pretty good to absolutely top of the food chain. I was relieved not to have to turn any of them down. Most I gave the standard contract—$500, free food and beer, and all the CDs they could sell. Two I gave $1000, and I was still under budget.
In between each band Julian caressed some portion of my anatomy. After the scare with Rocky he started back at the top. But he was an industrious boy and he busily worked his way back down. By the second-to-last group he’d snuck his hand into the sweet spot of my low-rider jeans. After three hours of foreplay I was practically crawling the ceiling.
The second-to-last group took the stage while my eyes were screwed shut and I was concentrating really really hard on not rocking my hips in time to Julian’s fingers in my slit. Dirk was normally clueless, but even he would notice me having an orgasm right next to him. Probably.
So I didn’t see the band until the first dirgy downbeat. My eyes snapped open. At first I thought my eyelids were still closed because I saw nothing but black. Black instruments, black horned glasses, cascades of black hair, black eyeshadow and jewelry. Then the black resolved into five metrosexual morticians.
Moaning about the futility of love, life, and the universe.
Ugh. Emo.
I hate emo. They’re at the opposite end of the spectrum from Guns and Polkas. We sing about the stupidity of love, life, and the universe. Totally different.
Dirk leaned over. “They’re kind of depressing.”
“They’re emo. That’s their thing.”
“Emo?” Julian asked.
“Yeah. Emotive Hardcore. Though these kids are going for the EZ-bake version—a mushy sort of goth. Depressing, really. Real drama llamas.” I watched them shuffle around, all pale and drawn. White faces, black clothes. Red lipstick. “How vampirey,” I said without thinking.
Julian bent his head, skimmed just the tip of a fang along my neck. “Not really.”
I shuddered with instant lust. Fueled by three hours of intimate touching, but hey. Spark to dry tinder. Enough was enough. I shouted, “Okay, thank you!” The moaning faltered. “Thank you very much.”
Jangled chords petered out. “But…” The lead moaner (or I guess singer) looked at his mates in confusion. Focused on me. “We just started.”
“And I could tell instantly your band is just what we need. Here’s your contract, sign and return.” One more band. One more band to go, and only three of Julian’s four free hours had passed. One more band and I’d have an hour with Julian. With what he could do in five minutes, I wondered if I’d survive a whole hour.
Pachelbel’s Canon sounded discreetly to my right. Julian slid a slim flip phone out of his breast pocket. “Emerson. Yes. Yes, I understand.” He shut the phone. “Nixie. I have to go.”
“I thought you had four hours!”
“They got done early. I’m sorry.” He stood.
I leaped to my feet too, practically threw the paperwork at the band. “Julian, I’ve only got one more group. Can’t you wait a few minutes?” At the front of the room the last band started tuning up. One part of my mind heard the guitarist match the fifth-fret E-string to low A…and miss by about twenty yards. “It won’t take long.”
“Believe me, I wish I could.” He bent and kissed me, all tongue and heat and liquid desire with just the hint of fang. “But Nosferatu himself is there. Negotiations have reached a critical stage.”
“Uh, yeah.” Just Julian’s kiss made me dizzy. Dizzy like he’d shorted me out. “Maybe I can come along?” After all, it was a meeting. If he could rub me to near orgasm while I auditioned bands, maybe I could do a Police Academy on him and blow him under the table.
“Nixie.” Julian grabbed me and kissed me harder. “I’d love for you to come along.”
Oh, yeah. “Dirk, gotta go. Take the last band, will you?”
“But Nixie…” Dirk winced as the group struck their first chord—G major with overtones of F-sharp, B-flat, and the kitchen sink. “I don’t know if I’m qualified.”
“Just give them the last time slot. 2:30 a.m.” I cringed as the band oozed into the next chord. If notes were cars, I think there was a D major under the wreckage. They were worse than the high-school garage band. It sounded like they had only started playing their instruments two days ago. “Maybe 3:00 a.m. would be better.”
“I don’t know, Nixie. I’m not sure they’re what we want.”
I wasn’t sure either, but I was thinking with only one of my wet parts, and it wasn’t my brain. “It’ll be fine. Just give them the standard contract.” The singer started. He sounded like a cat or dog, if they were frozen and cut with a band saw. “On second thought, the minimum will be fine.”
Pachelbel started firing again. “Emerson. Yes,
I’m on my way.” Julian flipped his phone shut and slid it into his breast pocket. “Nixie, I’ve got to go.”
“I’m coming!” I tossed my file at Dirk, who for once was speechless.
As Julian and I got to the outer door a smoky-glassed limo slid to the curb. My hackles raised at the in-your-face wealth until I remembered Julian was a sun-shy vampire. Then the opaque ride became an Opportunity. “How far do we have to drive to this meeting?”
Julian turned to me, his eyes lit with interest. “How far do you need?”
“With this morning’s foreplay? About three minutes.”
“I think we’ll have three minutes.”
To my surprise, Daniel Butler got out of the driver’s seat of the limo. Still dressed in his butler costume, but with a jaunty little cap perched on his silver head. Huh. Maybe he worked as a driver for living. It would explain why he’d done bus-duty on our field trips.
As Daniel opened the limo’s passenger door, Julian smiled at me. “Here we go.” He flowed down the stairs and into the car almost too fast for me to see.
I followed at a clumping run and hopped in after him. “Whew! That was fun.” I glanced at Julian, was surprised to see him slumped in his seat. Intense pain seared his face. “Julian, what’s…wrong?”
I sniffed. Something smelled funny. Smoky, like Sunday grilling out…and I remembered Julian telling me about vampires burning—dying—if they were out too long in the sun. And though it was November, today’s sun was bright and direct.
I swore. “Julian! Are you okay?”
“I…will be. In…a minute.” He passed a hand over his face. He was sweating profusely, and looked sick.
Without thinking, I reached up to touch his face. Instantly I pulled back my fingers. Julian’s skin was hot, almost burning. And not a hundred-and-four-degree fever burning. Burning burning, like an oven. I swore again. “Why didn’t you tell me noon sun would make you burst into flames?!”
“Not…sun. You.” And shockingly, Julian reached for me.
I pulled back. “WTF, Julian! You’re badly injured! I can wait until tonight.”
“May…be…still meeting…then.” Julian spoke slowly, his voice cracking. “May be now…or never.” His fingers closed over my breast.
“Stop that! Sex isn’t important enough to die for, Julian!”
The ghost of a smile crossed his face. “Already…dead. And not flaming. Don’t flame for…ten, fifteen minutes.” His voice was gaining strength.
The squeezing fingers sent little shocks of need through me. “Shit. You’re a pain in the ass, you know that?”
“Just…stubborn. Like you.”
“Not. Stop that, I said! We’ve got three minutes before we get to the meeting place. Concentrate on healing, not sex.”
He leaned over, began to kiss along my ear. “I recover…fast.”
“Yeah? Fast enough to take another serious hit of sun when we get there?” I closed my eyes and without meaning to, leaned into his lips. “I’m guessing those fifteen minutes before you burst into flame include a few minutes of unconsciousness.” I pulled back, although it wasn’t easy. Glared at him. “What if you get halfway to the door and faint? How’m I gonna drag your giant carcass the rest of the way?”
That faint smile. “Butler will help.”
“Oh, goody. I hope he’s brought the asbestos gloves.”
“Asbestos is a…carcinogen. The gloves are canvas.”
I stared at Julian. “Mr. Butler really has a pair of fireproof gloves in the car?”
“No, of course not. Just teasing. No gloves.” Julian pushed himself straighter in his seat. “In the car, that is.”
Meaning Butler did have gloves at home? “You’re a lawyer. You can’t joke.” Especially not about something as serious as bursting into flames.
“At least…the sex will be hot.”
My eyes opened wide. “Another joke? Did the sun fry your brain, Emerson?”
“Maybe,” he murmured, and leaned over to kiss me on the mouth.
His lips were still too hot to be human. They seared me, set me instantly on fire. His tongue pushed into me like a flame. His hand cupped my head, and his palm felt like a fireplace does after you’ve been shoveling snow.
“Julian, this isn’t the best—”
“Quiet now, Nixie,” he muttered against my mouth. His tongue swept lightly over my lips. His hand drifted down to my neckline. He unzipped and unbuttoned until my bra was exposed. It was unlined, softcup. Julian kissed his way to the tip of one breast, where he suckled the nipple through the thin nylon. Hot mouth tugging, I nearly shot into orbit.
I guess he really did recover fast.
A tinny speaker crackled. “We’re almost there, sir.”
“I’m not quite ready, Butler,” Julian said between suckles. “Drive around the block a few times, would you?”
“Yes, sir.”
Kneeling in the seat well, Julian swept away the bra cup and began to feast. His tongue brushed my skin until it was on fire. His fangs bit shocks of electricity. It drove me wild. I clutched his shoulders, my hands grabbing worsted wool. Damn. I wanted to feel him, not his fricking suit.
I plunged under with both hands. Tore back the lapels. His overcoat was open but his suit coat wasn’t. Buttons popped. Neither of us cared.
His mouth returned to mine. His hands were undressing me almost too quickly for me to follow. I shrieked, “You too!” and scrabbled at his shirt.
He fizzed under my frantic hands. It was like the first night when we were attacked. He was solid, then misty, then…OMG, he was beautifully made.
My hands roved over naked skin smooth as butter. Rich as cream, if cream coated steel. I swept my palms over his chest. Big slabs of pectoral. Down went my hands. Rippling abs, feathered with short, fine hairs. Down, down…I slid my fingers through a tangle of silky hair, and grabbed…his forearm?
I pulled away, and gasped. At least part of him was fully recovered.
Julian pushed me back onto the seat. He grabbed the cloth at my hips and yanked. Jeans, spandex shorts, and lacy boy pants (red this time) came in one pull. Julian’s eyes homed like a violet laser on my pussy. His nostrils flared, his cock jerked in my hand.
He lifted my leg over his shoulder and went down on me.
Julian’s mouth was burning, this time with sexual heat. His tongue licked flames. His fingers played and pressed and thrust. And something long and smooth rubbed deep between my labia—something that felt suspiciously like a fang.
A rumbling filled the car, a thrum of arousal. A male lion’s purr. Only there was no lion, there was only Julian. His eyes flicked up, collided with mine. His pupils, completely dilated, were blood red. Like two hot coals. Like glowing rubies.
Seeing those burning red eyes between my legs, I shrieked and went over. Climaxed in bursts of heat and light. It was powerful, the best I’d had.
Until Julian sank his fangs into my mons.
I screamed. My hips jerked up, thrusting the sharp tips deep. They burned into me like live wires. Julian’s mouth opened, his tongue flaming along my clit. He started licking me like a thirsty dog. Lapping, growling. His hands opened on my hips, fingers digging deep as he held me still for his assault. I jerked in his grasp as wave after wave of contractions hit. It went on and on.
When I finally came to myself, I felt a little dizzy. Julian was licking gently over my mons, tickling the ends of my pubic hair with his tongue. His erection was still hard and pulsing, but his eyes were a soft blue.
“That was…” My voice didn’t work quite right. I tried again. “Where did you learn to…shit. I can’t think straight, much less talk right.”
“Then let me say it for you.” Julian’s voice was dark and growly, just the way I liked it best. “That was terrific, because you taste wonderful. And that wasn’t learning on my part, dear heart. That was inspiration.”
Shit. With sweet-talk like that, how could I resist? “I heard you guys have to be invited ove
r the threshold.” I spread my thighs and patted my pussy. “C’mon in.”
Julian inhaled so sharply I thought he’d choke. His eyes went instantly from cool blue to burning red. His fangs jumped to attention. So did his cock, standing a rigid forty-five degrees from his belly. His balls looked tight enough to burst.
I put my fingers on my labia and spread.
Julian choked. Vaulting onto the seat he grabbed his cock and stuffed the head into me.
The intercom buzzed. “I’ve gone around the block three times, sir. Shall I park now?”
“No!” Julian’s cock pulsed violently in the vestibule of my pussy. “Drive around it again. Drive around the whole fucking city!”
“But sir…the meeting—”
“Fuck the meeting,” Julian snarled, and drove himself into me.
He stuffed me full. I shrieked, and the intercom clicked off with a little squeak.
Between my legs, Julian was sweating. His teeth gritted, he retreated slightly. He thrust again. My eyes popped when he went deeper. He withdrew, and did it again. He hit my womb. I jerked with the twang of pain.
“Fuck, Nixie,” he growled. “You’re so small…so tight. I don’t want to hurt you, sweetheart. Put your hands around me.” He pulled my hands down, against his cock. My fingers wrapped automatically around the tree-trunk width of him.
He was panting now. Sweat rolled off his forehead as he strained into me. He slid himself in as gently as he could, but he was so big he stretched me like a baby’s head. I squeezed his cock with my hands, was rewarded with a groan so deep it could have come from the Grand Canyon. “Ride me, Julian,” I urged him. “I’ll hold on. Ride me hard.”
Julian took one disbelieving look at me. What he saw must have reassured him—or turned him on unbearably. Because his eyes glowed and his fangs grew even longer and he started slowly but worked up to pummeling into me like a steed in full gallop. It was like a wild stallion turned loose between my legs. I could barely hang on, his thick cock pistoning through my fingers. Even with the extra inches of my clenched hands, he filled me completely and deeply on every thrust. He pounded me into the seat, so hard I bounced.
And then he slowed, and his balls tightened up like wire strings.