Romance with a Bite

by Tamsin Baker

  I had to stop handing him my power on a goddam silver platter.

  Maybe that’s why he kept coming back. He fed on my fear like a werewolf feeds on the flesh of its victims.

  “Hey.” Gideon’s palm cupped my elbow, a mere touch, a caress almost, warming, calming the gallop of my heart. “I know, it’s a lot to take in. Are you still okay with this?”

  Was I?

  Distance kept my heart intact and my head on track. It was my go-to protection mechanism. And it had worked well the past three years, till Gideon. If he broached that distance, if we got to know each other, what did that mean for distance? For keeping my head and heart out of the equation?

  Questions for later. For now, I’d go with the promise of safety and sex. The foundations of my decision.

  But there was one thing I needed to clarify first.

  “I won’t fall in love with you.”

  His gaze shuttered. “I won’t expect you to.”

  “Good.” Why did the twinge in my gut mismatch my words? I pushed the feeling and every thought that made me question my discontent at his response. He was making it easy. Wasn’t that a good thing? “I’ll let you know if and when I have a problem.”

  “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

  The situation was surreal. We were discussing our upcoming mating much the same way we’d discuss a date. Or a dinner menu.

  He topped up my drink, then we moved from the kitchen, down a dark, cornice-edged hall and into a living area adorned with rich, red rugs, heavy velvet drapes and a roaring fire. I dropped into a large, voluminous couch and he dropped down beside me. “Tell me about Richard.”

  “We aren’t about him.”

  “Perhaps. But “truth and honor abound” means we need to be open with one another.”

  I huffed, not wholly as bothered as the huff suggested. “It was so much easier when we were all about sex.”

  “Oh, we’re still about sex. But we’re about more, too.”

  Funny. The more didn’t chill half as much as it had in the past.

  I sighed. “Soon after I graduated from University of Washington, I landed a job with a large pharmaceutical company. Richard was my boss.” I hugged my mug to my chest, the warmth seeping through my clothes not strong enough to warm my blood. “Most of my friends were scattered far and wide, so I knew no one local. Richard seemed nice, so when he asked me out, I accepted. Soon, my only friends were his friends, any and all social life revolved around him. He isolated me and I never even saw it. We dated, I fell in love, then I moved in.”

  Gideon nodded and sipped his drink sans comment. I was thankful for that. I didn’t need any judgements to reinforce what a trusting fool I’d been back then.

  “A week later, I arrived home late from a hair appointment. The first blow struck me on the side of the head and took me totally by surprise.” I swallowed, the bitter taste of blood from that first strike still fresh on my tongue. “My head spun so fast, I didn’t have the wherewithal to react. So, he punched me, this time in the stomach. He spat words at me. Whore. Cheat. Liar. Then he hit me again, then three times more, until I curled up on the floor at his feet, a quivering, quaking, blubbering mess. Then he dropped to his knees, kissed my bruised face and swore he’d never do it again.” I inhaled, my lungs so constricted my vision turned to stars. “That was the first time I believed his lies.”

  The cool touch of Gideon’s hand warmed me. I didn’t need anyone, but it was nice to have someone all the same.

  “How long did you stay?”

  “It took me a year to realize that no matter how much he apologized and no matter how much I trusted, the Richard I knew in the beginning was never coming back.”

  “Probably because he never existed.”

  “I know that now. It just took me twelve months of stupidity to find out.”

  “Not stupidity. Strength. It takes an amazing person to put up with that kind of crap. And an amazing person to realize she deserves more.” He squeezed my hand, and it was like he squeezed my heart. “Everyone deserves to trust without fear.”

  Emotion welled in my throat, making it difficult to breathe, but I managed two words all the same. “Thank you.”

  “What for?”

  I swallowed. “For not asking why I stayed so long. For not telling me I should have left sooner.”

  He shrugged, acting as if his blameless response were the norm. “Why would I judge? I wasn’t there.”

  “That’s never stopped people in the past.”

  “I’m not ‘people.’”

  The more time I spent with Gideon, the more I had to agree. “No, you’re definitely not ‘people.’” Only dregs remained in my mug. I’d stayed way longer than I’d planned. “I should go.”

  “Stay.”

  My heartbeat stuttered. “For the ceremony?”

  “No. For us.”

  “You mean sex.”

  “No. Just to be together and for whatever follows.”

  I had no idea what that meant, but something in me softened at the suggestion. I didn’t want to be alone, not tonight.

  Realization drifted in on the wings of hope. Because after the ceremony, I never had to be alone again.

  *

  We’d had sex, twice. Hot, heady, mountain-moving sex that had rocked not only my body, but every foundation that gave me strength.

  If before it had moved mountains, this shattered me to the core.

  Wrapped in one of Gideon’s shirts, I crawled into his bed and snuggled into his arms. My heart struck up a staccato beat, but my breathing escaped long and slow. Fresh, woodsy aromas filled my nostrils, earth and pine with a dash of citrus, and undertones of something deeper, something intrinsically male and undeniably Gideon.

  I hadn’t actually slept with a man for three years. I’d fucked and left, but never stayed. Now I was staying without the preamble, and my brain had no idea what to do with that. I lay on my side, my head resting on his shoulder, my ear so close to his mouth I could feel every cool breath as it left his lips.

  Much as he’d urged me to spoon I’d refused. I didn’t turn my back to any man in bed. Some habits were harder to surrender.

  His hand twisted lazily in my hair. “Okay?”

  Was I? Did I even know what okay entailed? I was comfortable. Calm. Drowsily horny, heat seeping through my body in a languorous, lethargic swirl. If that constituted okay, then I guess I had my answer. “Yes.”

  “Good.”

  Light crept in through the partially open door, allowing me to watch the flutter of his lashes as his eyes closed. His breathing deepened. The hand playing with my hair slackened, but not once did it let me go.

  I watched the rise and fall of his chest. The play of shadows on his bedroom wall. Leaving the hall light on had been Gideon’s idea, motivated by his concern that I’d wake and feel disoriented. I knew he’d meant scared, and his concession had sparked a play of moisture to blur my vision.

  I stroked his chest, the skin cold, devoid of blood’s warmth and the throb of a beating heart. Impossible to equate this Gideon with the notion of a vampire. If I hadn’t seen the change in his eyes, the baring of his fangs . . . I was sleeping with a vampire, promising a commitment that went deeper than any wedding ceremony I’d sworn to avoid.

  Once upon a time, I’d have questioned the sense that saw me so willing to fall asleep in a man’s arms. Now I wondered if it was sense that had convinced me to stay.

  Chapter 26

  Gideon

  Three hundred years, and I’d never slept as soundly as I did with Tiff wrapped in my arms.

  I could have said I’d lain there for hours, listening to her breathing, marveling in the wonder of finally finding her. In reality, she’d rested her head in the crook of my arm, and within seconds I’d dozed off, spicy vanilla filling my nostrils, a feeling of peace filling my chest.

  My lifetime of searching was finally over.

  That didn’t stop me from waking with a raging hard-on
and an insatiable need to sink balls-deep into her body. It’s possible this was sparked by the slide of her hand up and down my cock, although I imagine just her close proximity and wearing nothing but my shirt would have done the trick.

  Her gaze glittered with carnal promise and not once did her hand stop its erotic glide. “You’re up nice and early.” She squeezed and my eyes all but rolled back in my head.

  “Fffuck.” The word escaped in an oxygen-starved hiss.

  “My thoughts exactly.” She dipped her head, her lips curving into a sassy, cock-tugging smile. “And if we can’t perform the actual act, I’m sure there are other activities we can enjoy equally.”

  Fuck me if she didn’t slither down my body and draw my cock into her sweet, sultry mouth. I near bucked clear from the bed. My fangs descended as her lips closed tight over my shaft, working tip to balls, milking me towards bursting. Arousal—hers, mine—filled my nostrils, the tang of her thrumming blood taunting my taste buds. Her tongue did this swirly, skating thing up and down my length as she sucked and fucked me until I came deep in her throat.

  She drank and swallowed every last drop, then licked her lips as if feasting on some decadent dessert.

  When I found Tiff, I’d not only found salvation, I’d found heaven as well.

  I dragged my mind back to the moment and retracted my fangs. She might know what I was, but she didn’t need the reality shoved in her face. And I didn’t need her rejection of my other self again. Not now.

  She slithered up my body, a cat got the cream grin on her face. “That’s breakfast done.”

  I brushed the hair back from her brow. “You’re wicked, woman.”

  “I was hungry, I ate. What’s so wicked about that?”

  “No complaints here. Any time you’re hungry, just say the word. I’ll be happy to oblige.” I lifted a knee, rolling her onto her back, wedging her body tight between my thighs. “I’ve just realized, I’m a little peckish myself.”

  I scrunched up her shirt, then eased it off, baring her breasts, feasting first on one, then the other. She moaned, squeezing the plump, rounded flesh, peaking her nipples, so tight, so firm against my tongue.

  Sweet, heady musk wafted up from between her thighs, and I wanted its taste on my tongue more than my next breath. Our mating would make this a reality. Its imminence filled my chest. But for now . . .

  She parted her legs as I edged downwards. Her fingers cut through my hair, pushing my face deeper into her sweet, succulent flesh. I licked, ass to clit, and she mewled. I swirled my tongue round that tight knot of nerves and she shuddered. Then I slid my tongue into her pussy before sucking and swirling some more, and she screamed. I pressed one finger inside, then two, and her hips bucked up to meet me. I added another finger, stretching her, separating her labia, opening her further to the ministrations of my tongue.

  Her breath quickened, her racing heartbeat calling to my baser instincts.

  I pumped and sucked and swirled, feeding on her frenzy, on her cries to fuck and suck and push her over the edge of sanity. Her body stretched, then stiffened, her pussy tumbling into contractions that pulled my fingers harder and deeper into her flesh.

  I didn’t stop until her fumbling hands scrabbled at my hair, urging me up.

  Good sex was great, but there was nothing as satisfying as a woman coming against your tongue. The scent, the tang, the texture far surpassed anything I’d encountered over my three-hundred plus years of life.

  I crawled back up her body and covered her parted lips with mine. She kissed me, no holding back, the scent of my cum melding with the lingering scent of hers. I pulled back, gasping, and rolled off, collapsing semi-conscious beside her. “You taste better than any breakfast I’ve experienced.”

  She turned her head and grinned, her chest still rapidly rising and falling, her cheeks dusted in red, her hair tousled and awry about her face. “That’s one helluva wake up call.”

  “I aim to please.”

  “That, you do.”

  I turned onto my side, resting my head on one hand, running the fingers of the other across her warm, live skin. “How are you feeling this morning?”

  “After that orgasm, pretty fucking awesome.”

  I chuckled. “Good to hear. But that’s not quite what I meant.” I circled her nipple with my fingertips, watching it pucker and harden, my cock mimicking its action. One benefit of possessing superhuman strength—it wasn’t solely isolated to muscles above the waist. It wouldn’t take long for me to harden and want her again.

  My breath hitched. Tiff was all about the sexual. Would my mortal self be as able as my vampire to satisfy her? I hadn’t considered what other changes would materialize with mortality. When I traded in my vampire fangs and appetite, would I lose other benefits I’d long since taken for granted?

  Food for thought if I was to hold onto Tiff and keep her happy past our mating.

  I walked my fingers over her ribs, down and around her belly button, reveling in her hitched breath and the tightening of muscles beneath my touch. “I know this whole ‘commit your life and save a vampire’ situation was pretty much thrust upon you. I just want to know that you’re okay with it all.”

  Her body stiffened. “I think so.” She turned, dislodging my hand to mirror my position. “I’m still processing the implications, but with mornings like this, I think I’m more than okay.”

  It was her protection mechanism—using sex as a diversion. Whether it be in conversation or in the act itself.

  I had no clue how to sway her need to safeguard herself with me. The Prophesy spoke of “love and essence.” Whether the word love spoke to the act or the emotion, I hadn’t a clue. I sensed Tiff had moved from animosity to like, but was that enough to fulfil the requirements of our mating ritual?

  Did she wonder at my reticence to bond? I could continue to let her believe I was allowing her the time she needed to adjust. In reality, my motives were less than altruistic. I delayed in the hope that her like would soon slide into love.

  There were no issues on my side. I’d loved her since discovering the idea of her. And the reality of my soulmate far surpassed my imagination. Tiff was sexy and funny and saucy and sweet. She stirred my senses as well as my mind.

  The idea of mating and sharing my life with anyone else was unimaginable.

  I walked my fingers across the pillow, allowing the tips to brush the mark on her neck that made her mine. “Breakfast in bed has always been a favorite activity of mine.” I shot her a grin and took a leap of faith. “What do you have going on at work today?”

  Her expression clouded. It had to be the memory of her douche ex and his gleeful announcement. Damn the bastard for slipping his smarmy existence into our bed.

  I scraped my knuckles up over Tiff’s hips and down over her waist to distract her from her less than savory thoughts. “Let’s do something special today. Wanna be naughty and play hooky?”

  In less than thirty seconds her hesitation turned to decision. “What do you have in mind?” She reached across, swirling her fingertips over my chest, grazing her nails back and forth over my nipple until I felt every scrape deep down in my balls.

  She was distracting again, and fuck me, it was working.

  I dragged my thoughts back to our conversation. “Tell me something you’ve always wanted to do but haven’t had the chance.”

  “I’m glad you asked.” Her fingers grazed downwards, circling my stomach, then lower still to my already straining cock. “I have this fantasy. It involves chocolate caramel sauce, lots of skin, and lots and lots of licking.” She licked her palm, then returned it to my cock, wrapping her fingers round tight, squeezing until I was close to bursting.

  My voice lodged halfway down my throat as her hand began to pump, but I managed a few strained words. “I was thinking activities outside the bedroom.”

  “Honey, you can lick me anywhere you like.”

  She was so fucking hot. And tempting. And freaking insatiable.


  Her blood pumped double time through her veins, the pulse at her neck beckoning for me to taste.

  Not yet.

  It was too soon.

  If she could like me, then there was the possibility she could love me. I had to believe it, not only for The Prophesy, but for me. Because living my one and only mortal life in love with a woman who didn’t love me back would be worse than living an eternity still searching.

  Chapter 27

  Tiffany

  For three years I’d lived in a city dubbed the Sportsman’s Paradise, less than half an hour from Lake Pontchartrain, yet I’d never ventured onto the water.

  Gideon changed that.

  I clung to his leather-clad body, reveling in the glorious play of muscles beneath my palms as he maneuvered his motorcycle towards the lake. We crossed the causeway—another first. He parked, dragged a picnic basket from the bike’s saddle bag, then led me towards the marina and a pretty white houseboat with The Merry Molly inscribed on the side. “What do you think?”

  “Your mother?”

  He nodded.

  “Molly’s Irish, isn’t it?”

  Again he nodded, staring up at the pale blue lattice just below the roofline. “Her family fled Ulster in the early 1700s in search of a better life. She loved the water and wanted to settle in Maryland, but she ended up in Pennsylvania instead. Lucky for me, because that’s where she met and married Dad. They built a life there, worked, had kids, died. They’re buried there too, in a double grave.” He dropped his gaze. “She never did get to the water. I guess this is my way of giving her in death what she never achieved in life.”

  Every word was like fluffy pink cotton candy, filling and feeding my heart. “That’s beautiful, Gideon. If she were here, I’m sure she’d be mega-proud of her son.”

  He swallowed. “I like to think so.” He grabbed my hand. “Come. Let me show you around The Merry Molly.”

  We stepped onto the wraparound veranda, immediately experiencing the roll of the water beneath. My body swayed and I fell against him. He grinned, dropping the basket, wrapping his arm around my waist, pulling me hard against his solid, powerful frame. “Got your sea legs?”