Party Vamps

by Jennifer North

  He felt her wake up just before dawn, sensing her disjointed thoughts, feeling her body shiver. He kissed her until she was warm again and settling her close against his side, he sent her soothing thoughts, encouraging her to nestle her thoughts against his.

  I’m never, ever drinking champagne again. Even on New Year’s. Promise you’ll remind me.

  I promise.

  But I might try the ass-fucking thing again…that wasn’t so bad.

  Mm. He chuckled. But now you should sleep…

  ‘Kay.

  He waited until she was asleep again then showered and went downstairs to make coffee. He was checking his phone messages when the doorbell rang. Who the hell would be up so early? Caro had mentioned a Mrs. Clark, a slightly eccentric neighbor who frequently checked in on her. He opened the door, preparing to charm the woman’s knee-highs off.

  Ah shii-iit, I can’t believe this…

  Three burly demons stood there, looking absurd under the antique porch light, their black, official-looking suits and big-ass weapons surreal against the backdrop of Caro’s white wicker and chintz porch furniture.

  “Alexander King?” The biggest one was almost two feet taller than Alex.

  “What?”

  “By order of the International Immortal Authority, you’re under arrest.”

  He snorted. “Sorry boys, I don’t respect your authority.” He started to shut the door in their faces, his hand already on his cell to dial his lawyer—when he suddenly went limp, hitting the floor as if he’d been coldcocked. It took him only a second to realize they must have zapped him with one of the newfangled energy-sucking weapons, because even though he was prone and immobile, he registered just a minimal amount of pain and his mind was working fine.

  Next thing he knew he was being carried across Caro’s front yard. They opened the back doors to an unmarked van—he saw a board, he saw straps, he saw a few things he was glad he didn’t recognize. Yeah, this was gonna hurt. He turned his face toward the demon who wasn’t holding him. “My bloodmate…she’s in the house. She’ll need protection.” He could barely speak because of the mouth guard they’d shoved over his teeth.

  “She’ll be taken care of, Mr. King.”

  They threw him in the back, started in with the straps.

  Oh shit, shit, shit…

  He called out to her in his mind. Caro-love! Call Lenny. Call my father. Call my attorney… Wake up, princess. I need your help!

  * * * * *

  “A party-off? What the hell is that?” Jack put his hands on his hips. The movement stretched his white shirt across his drool-worthy pecs. If Len squinted, he could see the quarter-sized nipples that topped those muscular monuments to too much time spent at the gym.

  Lenny sighed. He was growing weary of Jack’s coy posing. If the guy wanted it, why didn’t he come out and ask? He’d seen the looks he’d given him while watching him have sex. And yeah, the watching had made the episodes with Merrell even more erotic.

  But now Merrell had moved on, and frankly, Lenny didn’t want to dwell on another failed, hit-and-run-style affair. And Jack’s hot eyes and beefcake muscles were an unwelcome reminder of the weird threesomes they’d had on more than one occasion. Threesomes during which the mortal stood there and watched the vamp dominate the satyr while the mortal stroked his own amazingly long, beautiful schlong until it exploded on the satyr’s hairy ass.

  Lenny shifted his briefcase from his side to his front. “The Immortal Council is famous for their oddball sentences and medieval mediation techniques.” Really, he was glad the Council was laying down the law once and for all on what could have become a drawn-out, convoluted volley of lawsuits and investigations.

  The convention center wanted to sue Alex for damages, not particularly caring if he was mortal or immortal or what company he worked for. Alex wanted to sue Lyra for violating the sacred bond of vamp bloodmates, not particularly caring that the bond wasn’t fully functional at the time of violation. And Lyra wanted to sue Alex and Stoked, not particularly caring if Alex still represented the company or not.

  Lyra was trying to heap as much bad publicity on Stoked as possible. Which is why the Stoked board thought it would be good publicity—and excellent for future immortal product sales—to take the bold step of letting an ancient, immortal legal body decide who would pay damages to whom. And to stand by Alex King, who happened to be the son of one of the most influential and powerful vamps in the country.

  “It’s the most fucked-up way of settling a lawsuit I’ve ever heard of,” Jack said.

  “Welcome to the immortal business world, Farrell. In a situation like this, immortals want salvaged pride, not bank accounts.”

  “So we have two weeks to prepare a party that’s bigger and better than the one VampedUp is preparing—one that’s big enough and impressive enough to wow the most important immortal big shots in the world?”

  “Yep. So we better get working, right? Alex emailed me some great ideas. I need to check the storage area to make sure the stuff he’s thinking of using is still there. Can you take me down there, or do you trust a shifty little satyr with the keys?”

  Jack settled a hip against his desk and frowned. Lenny moaned silently. Even frowning, this guy looked delectable. Those movie idol features. That body. He was like Montgomery Clift on steroids.

  “Why do you say things like that, Len? Have I ever demonstrated the slightest bit of prejudice toward you?”

  Len sighed. “No. No, you haven’t.” He wanted to say, “But I see the way you look at my horns…and I’ve felt the way you’ve rubbed your cream into the fur on my ass and thighs…”

  Yeah, he’d always be just a freak to pretty-boy humans like Jack Farrell.

  Jack moved around his desk and removed a set of keys from his top drawer. He walked to the door, keeping the keys in his hand. “I’m going with you. Not because I don’t trust you. But because I want to look at the stuff down there too.

  “Fine.” Len strode down the hall toward the elevator. As they stood there and waited for a car, he prayed that the doors would open and reveal a crowd. He really didn’t want to be alone with Jack right now.

  The doors opened. The car was empty. Ah, jeez.

  Jack gestured for Len to get in first. He complied, choosing to stand in the far corner. Jack got in and stuck a set of keys into the slot beneath the numbered buttons. The doors snicked shut but the elevator didn’t move.

  “What are you doing?” Lenny asked.

  Jack glanced at his watch. Len didn’t know which he admired more, the chunky gold cufflinks, the Tiffany watch or the strong-looking wrist sprinkled with silky dark hair. Jack leaned back against the shiny black wall. The dim gold light of the elevator bronzed his skin and darkened his eyes.

  “I’m giving myself five minutes to convince you that my hang-ups about you aren’t about race.” He licked his upper lip.

  Blood and sensation settled into Len’s groin, hardening his cock, rippling his gut with anticipation. “Don’t tease me,” he whispered.

  Jack slowly shook his head, a hint of a smile on his moist lips. He stepped toward him, brushed his knuckles against the back of Len’s hand. One of the hands that was clutching a briefcase in front of a fly-popping erection. Jack gently pried Len’s right hand loose and slowly guided it down to his crotch.

  Len let out a low whistle as he felt the hard ridge of Jack’s one-in-a-million cock. “So it’s like that, is it?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, it is.” Jack took Len’s face into his smooth, cool hands. Bent to brush his mouth with his warm, full lips. He smelled like mint, male and expensive cologne.

  Len held his breath and kept his eyes on Jack’s mouth. Jack stood still. Len’s heartbeat roared in the silence. With slow, deliberate moves, Jack put his hands on the elevator wall, caging Lenny’s shoulders. He thrust his hips forward until his crotch connected with Len’s briefcase, the case he was still hanging on to like a shield, the case he was now wishing would disappear so
he could feel the full impact of Jack’s cock.

  Jack tipped his head and parted his lips, coming closer so intently, so slowly. He paused for a breath—and then went after Len’s mouth like a starving fiend.

  Mashing, biting, sucking with his teeth and lips and then pushing his tongue into the far reaches of Len’s mouth until Len thought he would drown in a sea of passion.

  Jack ripped his mouth away and stared into his eyes, heaving great breaths of air.

  Len smiled. Jack, the genial party-boy business guy, was getting down to some seriously profound behavior. Len took in his flushed face, his swollen lips and his heavy-lidded eyes.

  Jack pushed off the wall and took a step back. Heaved another breath. He went to the elevator controls, turned the key and the elevator started moving. Jack looked back at him. No smile. Eyes a little wild.

  “Do you still want to check out the party items in the storage area?”

  The question was a definite invitation.

  “Yeah,” Len said.

  Jack nodded and turned back to the elevator doors, his shoulders rippling under his thin cotton shirt, his trousers drawn tight over his perfect ass. Len felt his cock jerk as he thought about what was lurking in those trousers. Oh God. He was going to fuck Jack Farrell. Pleasure and anticipation were making him giddy. He tried to take deep, fortifying breaths.

  The elevator door opened and they stepped out into the deserted hall that had been gutted for construction. In the next second Jack had him up against the nearest piece of drywall, throwing his briefcase to the floor, grinding their hips together, going at him with that crazy kissing again.

  “Easy, easy,” whispered Len. “I’ve got to breathe.”

  “I’m so hot for you.” Jack’s blue eyes were burning little licks of flames into Len’s skin. Jesus, they were going to explode right here in the hall. “I don’t know why I’ve held back. Scared I guess. There’s something about you that sends me straight to the edge, but I can never…I just never…”

  “Let’s take some of the edge off, shall we?” He quickly unzipped Jack’s trousers. “How great is the danger that we may be interrupted?”

  Jack didn’t respond. He had his eyes closed. Len reached down his pants and put his hands on the most beautiful piece of flesh he’d ever laid eyes on—Jack Farrell’s cock. Holy Spirit of the Underworld.

  Jack didn’t have the patience for admiration. He put his hand over Len’s, urging him on with a stroking motion. Taking that to mean that interruptions probably weren’t imminent, Len licked his lips at the thought of discovering Jack’s flavor but decided, to be on the safe side, he’d stick with a hand job. He wasn’t going to get caught on his knees today if he could help it.

  He leaned into him for another kiss, gentling him with a few strokes of his tongue when things started to get wild again. His sensitive fingers were in sensory heaven exploring the proud length of the prick in his hands. There was an intriguing little pulse at the base of the glans, fabulous veins and ridges to tease and caress. Jack moaned. “I know what you want,” Len whispered against his mouth. “But you’ve tortured me by making me watch you stroke this beast,” he paused to trace the ridge along the crest, “and now it’s my turn.”

  He used his other hand to find the luscious twin globes that were still hiding in Jack’s silky briefs. He gently pulled them out, all the while watching Jack’s tortured expression of suppressed arousal. The skin of his sac was already taut and swelling and Len guessed that he wouldn’t last long. He added some heavy tongue on his next kiss, thrusting into Jack’s mouth in the same rhythm as the strokes of his hand. Mm, it was ecstasy to finally get what you wanted…to explore the one you’d been lusting after.

  Jack put his arms around his shoulders, holding on as he began to thrust his hips to Len’s rhythm. Len went for more intensity, giving a fast jerk with a little twist as his fist came to the head, loving the little gasps and moans that were coming from Jack’s chest. Smooth, jerk, twist. Smooth, jerk, twist. Ah, gods…this cock was like electricity in his hands…lighting him up with energy and sensation. He stopped to caress the crown in his warm, moist palm, savoring the feel of the seeping, baby-soft skin. Then again back to smooth, jerk and twist. Jack was bucking, gyrating against him, about to come. Len’s own cock was throbbing crazily.

  Jack gave a mighty thrust against Len’s hand and then came with a high-pitched yelp. His body shuddered and shook as his cock spewed globs of semen. Lenny so wanted to lean down to lick…but God, they were in a hallway in broad daylight, so he smoothed and soothed the still-jerking prize in his hand. Some of that good stuff would have to wait ‘til later.

  Jack’s hands were holding on tight, clenching and unclenching on his waist as he tried to catch his breath. Len hurriedly packed Jack’s slippery cock back into his trousers and stuffed his own cum-soaked hand into his coat pocket. With his free hand, he pushed the still quivery Jack down the hall.

  “I’ve got to fuck you before I explode. But I refuse to do it in a hallway. Let’s hope the storeroom has a lock.”

  Jack nodded and looked back at him over his shoulder. “There’s a bed they used for an old advertising display.” His voice had a breathy rasp Len had never heard. “I’m gonna lay you down on it and give you what you’ve been wanting ever since you set those hot satyr eyes on me.”

  Lenny smiled and Jack walked faster.

  * * * * *

  “Explain to me again. What the hell is a party-off?” Caro asked.

  “It’s an old immortal way of settling differences between opposing factions. Immortals can kill each other off so easily, war got boring,” Alex laughed. “So they had to come up with new ways to compete. The concept is actually based on ancient Greek and Roman tradition. When national pride was based on how big of a party you could throw for an individual god. Luckily there were a lot of gods, so there were a lot of opportunities to play oneupmanship with your neighbors. I was reading about a Greek bacchanal in honor of Dionysis—the Athenian leaders had a two-hundred-forty-foot erect penis made from gold to lead the party’s kick-off parade.”

  Caro leaned back on the skimpy hotel suite couch, cradling the phone against her ear. She’d been sharing Alex’s thoughts since they’d been apart, usually several times an hour. But the phone was awesome because she could hear his voice, detect the nuances of his health and vitality that were constantly on her mind.

  “So what you’re saying is that this party contest between Stoked and VampedUp is really just a way to see which company has bigger balls.”

  Alex chuckled. “Yeah. There are all kinds of dumb jokes you can make about it. Lenny’s made several today alone. By the way, he told me he could still hook us up with a lot of the stuff we ordered for the coliseum idea. It will work for the new concept.”

  Caro sighed, worrying when she didn’t want to be worrying. Because she and Alex had opened up all their lines of communication, he could read all her emotions if he wanted to. And he wanted to constantly, for some reason. Heck, she’d turn herself off if she could. Worry was the thing that made him the most nuts. Well, maybe worry was second to extreme sorrow. But she’d gotten over that when they’d released him from that nasty prison and put him in a cushy protective-custody facility.

  “Don’t worry, princess. This is gonna work. I’ve been wanting to throw a good old-fashioned bacchanal for years. It will knock the old Immortal Council geezers on their asses. They love that ancient shit. Gives them the opportunity to relive their glory days.”

  “Lenny’s spies say that VampedUp is planning something ultra-modern. An outer-space theme.”

  Alex snorted. “Sounds lame.”

  “Oh God, Alex. This whole thing is immortal madness. A party to decide your fate? It’s a fucking outrage, if you ask me.”

  “And I do ask you, my sweet. But the party doesn’t really decide my fate. It decides Stoked’s fate as an immortal business leader. And I’ve gotta tell you, even though most of the Stoked folks are great, the c
ompany’s bottom line isn’t what interests me about this competition.”

  “You just wanna get Lyra Murdoch.”

  “Yep. Get her fair and square in a way that’s fully sanctioned by her beloved Council. Then I’m gonna serve my time and get the hell out of the quagmire of big-time business and politics. Maybe have a sweet life with a sweet wife in…oh, I don’t know. Cleveland maybe?”

  “Oh Alex. Wouldn’t it be nice?”

  “Better than nice. You keep dreamin’ your little dreams, princess. Because I’m working hard to make them all come true. And yeah, I know you’re scared shitless about me going away for a while. But the place isn’t so bad.”

  “It’s just not knowing how long it will be that gets to me.”

  “I know. We’ll find out as soon as the party’s over and the Council hands down their final decision.”

  “Right.” They’d been over all this a dozen times. But she couldn’t stop thinking, worrying, wondering about their future.

  “So…what are you wearing?”

  Caro could hear his grin. “A black merry widow and stockings with garters. Five-inch heels.”

  He laughed. “Liar.”

  “Oh-ho. Read my mind, big guy. See if I’m lying…”

  There was a weighty pause.

  “Jesus, Caro. You aren’t lying.”

  She smoothed a blood-red rosette decoration on one of the garters and smiled. “Nope.”

  “Oh man. You are gonna pay.”

  “Mm.”

  “Describe it to me. Stand in front of the mirror. I want every last detail. Then when you’re done you’re gonna picture me on your bed naked, and you’re gonna think about all the things you’re gonna do to me. And I’ll read your mind. And then we’ll switch.”

  She stood up and went to the mirror.

  “Okay, the merry widow is a little on the tacky side. It has one of those little ties that come up under my breasts. I’m about to pull the right string…”

  Chapter Sixteen