by ML Michaels
Lancer smiled.
“By God you’re amazing,” he praised his lover, adding as he gathered her once again into his arms, “You’re probably wondering, though, as to how the members of Night Serenade became the lords of the night. Well as it turns out, the four of us met long ago at a European music conservatory. Aspiring young musicians the lot of us, we shared a love for classical music, and later for jazz and rock—and, for that matter, for the women who came to watch us play. One of our biggest fans, an enchantress named Emilie, showed us her appreciation by giving us the gift of eternal life. She turned us all into creatures of the night—but she did not make us murderers in the process.” He paused here, adding as he looked her straight in the eyes, “The men of Night Serenade do not eat flesh or drink blood. We are incubus vampires, meaning that we derive our soulful nourishment from the sensual energies of women.”
Amie blinked. Hard.
“So in other words,” she told him, “The better that I feel….”
The better that I feel,” Lancer supplied with a wicked grin. “Care for another demonstration of my prowess?”
Soon the couple collapsed once again in the softness of Lancer’s bed their arms and legs entangling between them as her breasts crushed his chest.
Their tongues and fingers entwined at once as their lips collided in a binding kiss, their bodies writhing against each other as their souls also merged in the form of a timeless union.
Cradling his lover to him with strong but loving arms, Lancer covered her body with his as he continued to kiss her senseless; an animal growl escaping his lips as his hard massive cock flew upward between them.
“I can’t get enough of you,” he gasped out, proving his words moments later as he fully and finally joined them as one; his erect shaft gliding with no uncertain passion into the wet warmth of her feminine garden.
Their lips moved together in a heated clench as their tongues entwined, their kiss intensifying as he probed and penetrated her.
Amie thrilled moments later as her phantom lover bowed his head to her neck, gently grazing his fangs against her skin as she gasped with pleasure.
Pulling her lover closer to her, Amie ran her fingernails light down the plane of his back as she braced her legs around his trim waist inviting him deeper inside as—with a long hard stroke—he sent them hurtling across the bounds of an incredible shared orgasm.
“Mind if I grab my camera?” Amie whispered, adding as she pulled her lover closer than close, “You just have to be the most beautiful blasted thing I’ve ever seen.”
The End
*****
Protecting Hope: A Vampire BBW Military Bodyguard Romance
By: Bess Hart
For just a few moments, she found freedom in the water.
Immersing herself in the soothing aquiline streams of ebullient Crystal Bay, the body of water that formed a gentle southern border to her Florida home, Clarissa Hope left all care and concern behind her as she swam free in a shelter of crystal waves; her psyche soothed by the vision of gold and lavender coral and the welcome camaraderie of rainbow-patterned guppies and the occasional diamond hued dolphin.
Just a few months ago, she mused, Clarissa would have considered this swim a welcome respite from the everyday pressures of a glamorous and very demanding career. As a bestselling author of romantic fiction, she faced the constant creative challenge of conjuring new and innovative storylines and fresh approaches to a time-honored craft. She faced constant scrutiny from critics and stiff competition from other authors; all of whom seemed locked in eternal conflict to see who could come up with the steamiest love scene, the most outrageous story line. Even her fans added additional pressure, as they demanded fresh and bolder content on a regular basis.
“I remember back to the good ol’ days, when job stress was my biggest problem,” she recalled with a wistful smile, emerging now from the beloved waters that—while always serving to relax and refresh her—could do nothing to protect her from the far greater threat that loomed constant in her heart and mind.
Making her way up the shores of the bronze sanded beach that fronted the waters of Crystal Bay, Clarissa wrung reams of errant water from the strands of her shoulder length golden hair; the rays of the sun searing her fair skin as her sleek ebony one piece clung to her rubenesque curves.
A thick coat of sunblock, she reasoned, would protect her skin from the harshness of the golden beacon that loomed just overhead. Nothing could protect her from him.
Roger Kelly, at one point, had himself seemed like something of a beacon who had served to bring light and laughter to her life; an amiable gent who had wined and dined her, much in the fashion of one of her heroes.
Yet on those occasions when he himself had consumed too much wine, Roger managed to morph from hero to villain in a matter of minutes; screaming at her, criticizing everything from her cooking to her writing, and constantly maligning her full figured form—more than insinuating that she should spend less time writing and more time exercising.
“Well perhaps it would help if I lost 200 pounds of insensitive boyfriend,” she countered, pinning her lover with a rueful smile.
A smile he wiped off her face with a single savage slap.
Immediately leaving what suddenly had morphed into a tension wrought, outright abusive home, Clarissa settled herself in a charming beachfront villa that fronted the waters of Crystal Bay; a sun soaked Florida town that supplied endless inspiration for her romantic tones.
The waters of the bay, meanwhile, served to soothe and heal her physical and emotional bruises. She felt free and rejuvenated, the specter of her abuser dissolving from her mind as she embarked on a more peaceful and infinitely productive life.
This peace was shattered early one morning last week, as she received a cryptic e-mail message from a most unwanted source.
“Hi Honey,” the note began. “I sure have been missing you and would love to see you again. That’s why I plan to come and visit you very soon. Be ready for me. Fondly, Roger.”
Immediately hitting the reply button, Clarissa informed Roger in no uncertain terms that she had no wish to see him. She advised him to steer clear of her, to forget about her and go on with his life.
Within minutes she received an answer. Roger let her know in no uncertain terms that she would be very sorry if she didn’t agree to see him.
Subsequent messages held even more dire threats, implying and saying outright that any attempts to ignore him could result in the loss of her life.
Immediately she phoned the police, who told her that—while she was free to file a restraining order—more serious action could not be taken ‘unless and until the guy did something.’
“I don’t need a piece of paper,” she told them, cringing as she recalled the force of his hands and the menace inherent in his written words. “I need some serious protection.”
With that in mind she searched the classified ads section of the local newspaper for some form of alternative; finding it in the form of an advertisement published under the heading of ‘protection and security services.’
“Ex-Marine available to provide premium protection services to those who need it,” the ad read. “Let me be your protector.”
Immediately sending a message of interest to the e-mail listed at the bottom of the ad, Clarissa arranged to meet the security agent—who identified himself as one Carver Daniel—this morning on the beach.
“I only hope this guy lives up to the lofty promises offered in his ad,” she thought, now approaching a pearl pink beach bag that lay beneath the emerald fronds of a statuesque palm tree.
Reaching into the bag to retrieve and don a lush ivory white kaftan that flattered her full figured curves, she next reached for a comb to drag through the soaking wet strands of her smooth golden blonde hair.
She froze as she found herself quite unable to perform this simple task, this owing to the trembling of her hands and the frantic pounding o
f her rebellious heart.
Dropping the comb with little ceremony to the softness of the sands beneath her, she used these same hands to cover her face as she let loose with an anguished sob.
She froze again seconds later, as a pair of strong but nurturing hands touched her broad quaking shoulders.
“It’s all right, Clarissa. I’m here now.”
Immediately the sound of a deep sonorous voice served to ease her addled senses, bringing her head up to behold and identify its captivating source.
And never had she seen anyone more beautiful.
Before her in the sand stood a statuesque man whose golden muscles and sea blue eyes glimmered bright in the sun above them, supplying a pleasing contrast to the thick curtain of shoulder length midnight black hair that framed a chiseled face; a gorgeous visage that came complete with chiseled cheekbones, a cleft chin and full moist lips.
Lips that now issued forth the words she most needed to hear.
“You’re safe now,” the stranger spoke, gracing her shoulders with a gentle squeeze. “I’m here.”
***
For the first time in more than a week, Clarissa felt a sense of warmth and security that lent succor to her soul.
Maintaining his gentle hold on her broad quaking shoulders, the man who identified himself as Carver Daniel encouraged her to take a seat beneath the emerald fronds of a tall sheltering palm; soon joining her on the whisper soft rainbow-patterned beach blanket she’d spread just beneath the tree.
“I’m really embarrassed to be greeting you in this state,” she admitted, sitting away from him on the blanket as she regarded him with apologetic eyes. “I’m usually so strong and in control….”
Silencing her words with the gentle lift of a strong, sturdy hand, Carver shook his head from side to side in response to her words.
“Don’t even think of apologizing to me, Ms. Hope. In the last few days you have been abused and threatened, have seen your life turned upside down and even endangered,” he insisted, adding with the slight upturn of his full moist lips, “It would be more strange if you were seen turning somersaults across the beach, letting loose with a rousing chorus of ‘Don’t Worry, Be Happy’.”
For the first time in seven days, Clarissa Hope laughed. And hard.
“As my teen-aged niece would say, ‘True this,’” she acknowledged, adding as she shook her head from side to side, “Aside from being frightened right out of my wits, I must admit that I’m more than a little stunned by this whole situation.” She paused here, adding with a thoughtful frown, “This may be difficult to believe, Mr. Daniel, but the Roger Kelly that I first met had to rank among the sweetest, most considerate of gentleman. He treated me like a princess, buying me gifts and taking me out for expensive meals. I honestly thought that I had found my prince—the type of man I write about in my books.”
Carver nodded.
“What he did, Miss Hope, was present you with a carefully cultivated portrait of the perfect gentleman. He, like many abusers, played a role to lure you in,” he explained, adding in a lighter tone, “Oh, and speaking of your books; may I say that I’m a huge fan of yours? I only wish that I was meeting the amazing Clarissa Hope under better circumstances.”
Clarissa blinked.
“Really?” she asked, inclining her head sharp in the direction of her apparent admirer, “I mean, I thank you very much for the compliment. It’s just that I’m not accustomed to my fans being so….” She paused here, waving her arm in the direction of his ridiculous masculine perfection, “Male.”
Pitching his bronzed head back in a leonine fashion, Carver let loose with a low melodic laugh that soothed and eased her rattled nerves.
“Well, let’s just say that—much like yours as of late—my life has seen its own share of dark twists and turns,” he revealed, his thick inky eyelashes dropping low as he made this revelation. “I too have been in need of a little light and fantasy to soothe out the rough spots—and I have to say it, those books of yours sure do the trick.”
With these words those azure eyes flew wide with an appealing flash.
“Hey,” he teased her. “Even a strong hard ex-Marine needs some romance, once in a while.”
Clarissa grinned.
“Well I’d be more than pleased to sign any of my books for you,” she assured him, adding as she sat up straight on the surface of the blanket, “In the meantime, though, I need to sign the contract that will assure me your service, at least for the next few weeks.”
She paused here, adding as she pinned him with a meaningful gaze, “Roger has indicated to me in his e-mails that he has tracked down my new address. And, given his status as a computer programmer, I tend to believe him. I have the feeling that, for the time being at least, I’m going to need around the clock protection.”
She froze as Carver once again touched her shoulder with a warm, nurturing touch.
“We don’t need to worry about any contracts right now,” he assured her, tone soft and gentle. “We need to focus on making a plan that will keep you safe,” he paused here, adding with a dazzling white toothed smile, “And as far as I see it, Miss, this plan will involve me sticking as close as possible to you, 24/7.”
Clarissa thought a moment, then nodded.
“Well although it will be a huge sacrifice on my part,” she deadpanned, using a tone that clearly indicated she didn’t mean a word she was saying, “I do believe we can strike a deal.”
***
As early afternoon descended on the shores of sun soaked Crystal Bay, Clarissa invited her new protector to join her for a spot of lunch at Belle’s Bistro, a beachfront restaurant that bore a suspicious likeness to an oversized tiki hut.
Taking a seat at a grass covered table at the center of the eatery, Clarissa and Carver ordered a hearty lunchtime meal of grilled chicken wraps and sparkling ruby red tropical punch.
Happily clinking together the hollowed out coconuts that apparently qualified as drinking glasses, the couple talked and laughed as Clarissa exhaled for the first time in days—even making a playful gesture in the direction of the wide eyed, broad mouthed tiki statue that hovered tall above the tiki table.
“Well that fella appears just a mite overwhelmed by life in general,” she observed, adding as she rolled her eyes heavenward, “Well believe me Fella, I hear ya.”
Carver guffawed outright.
“It’s so cool to experience firsthand the amazing sense of humor I read in your books,” he observed, gracing her with a playful nudge as he asked, “So what inspired you to become a romance author?”
Clarissa shrugged.
“Well after reading a good deal of romance in college, I felt inspired to make my own contribution to this field,” she revealed, adding through pursed lips, “If inspired is the right word for it. Mainly I felt like a feminist chicksta with an English degree should do a sight better than the poorly written, misogynistic crap that we see on the market today.”
Carver nodded.
“Ain’t it the truth?” he snorted. “As someone who makes a living protecting people from stalkers and ex-spouses, I myself don’t appreciate it when such things are glamorized.”
Clarissa nodded.
“It sure is nice to meet a man who has that viewpoint,” she murmured, just as much to herself as to Carver. “My heroines are strong and self-assured, my heroes are strong but also have good hearts,” she paused here, adding with a flirty smile in the direction of her lunch date, “And as it turns out, the hero of my last book just happened to be a Marine.”
Carver arched his eyebrows.
“I’m more than flattered my dear,” he purred, returning her flirty smile as he added in a reflective tone, “As much as I love the work I’m doing now, at times I wish I could have stayed in the Core.” He paused here, adding in a soft wistful tone, “From the time I first stepped into a kiddie pool at the age of 4, I knew that I was destined to live in the water. The feel of the sea
breeze and the crash of the waves never fail to give me life. So as I saw it, I could either become a Marine—or a merman.”
Clarissa laughed.
“Well, seeing that one of these two entities is a paranormal creature that doesn’t actually exist in real life, that narrowed your choices somewhat,” she reasoned.
The laughter that she expected was replaced by total silence along with an intense, penetrating stare that sent tingles down her spine.
“Now Clarissa,” her lunch date purred, adding as he inclined his head smooth in her direction, “Don’t tell me that a woman of your passion and imagination holds no belief in the paranormal. You would be surprised at how many creatures of fantasy actually exist, somewhere in your very own world.”
Clarissa froze, not sure just how to respond to this rather unusual assertion.
“So,” she said finally, for some reason suddenly eager to change the subject. “Why did you decide to leave the Marines?”
She regretted asking that question seconds later, as the previously cheery Carver bowed his head, his azure gaze colliding with his hand woven placemat as he considered this question.
“Well as it happens,” he began finally, his tone low and grave, “During my time in the service, I came up against an enemy even more dangerous than the ones our country fights in overseas conflicts.” He paused here, adding as his crystalline eyes darkened and his hands clenched into fists on the table beneath them.
“Sometimes Clarissa, the worst enemy confronts you on your own home turf—striking with a rain of friendly fire that changes your life forever. You don’t see it coming; you don’t suspect its impact. But you feel it. By God, you feel it deep.”