by Ju Dimello
Ecstasy Entwined
Ju Dimello
A siren whose voice can kill and a vampire who strips her fears along with her clothes. Over the phone or with sex toys, this vampire hopes to deliver some fangtastic orgasms.
Elena is lonely, until she meets Gregory. The hot, mysterious vampire shatters the barriers she’s erected around her heart. She sheds her inhibitions, reveling in her sexual surrender. But a true relationship is out of the equation since her voice might kill him.
Gregory has never allowed his lust and need for blood to mingle. The mind-blowing sex with Elena not only strains his control, but also brings out a hidden dark streak. Does he dare hope she can assuage the dangerous need she’s ignited in him?
Ecstasy Entwined
Ju Dimello
Dedication
To everyone who can’t get enough of vampires.
Acknowledgements
Special thanks to Lucinda for pushing me to do my best.
Author Note
Dear Reader,
When the idea of a siren in a contemporary world popped into my head, I admit I was a bit stumped. How can the heroine talk to someone without bringing him under her spell? How can she have a normal relationship when her voice kills? And if she’s living for eternity, wouldn’t she be in constant fear—of her powers and of harming others? Thankfully, modern technology makes it easier for her talk over phone without anyone dropping dead at her feet. Enter the vampire who is powerful enough to resist the siren’s allure while coaxing her to take a chance on him. Will she dare let down her guard? I hope you enjoy reading the story and finding out.
Chapter One
“My voice kills people.” Her sultry voice faded into a whisper as she delivered the truth he’d been waiting for.
Gregory Lathrop covered the mouthpiece with his hand and swore. What were the freaking odds?
Elena.
Her name whispered across his brain and settled in his chest. Intrigue warred with the overflowing, yet inexplicable, emotions she sparked in him.
He leaned back into the chair, hoping to ease his fierce erection. Instead, the movement backfired.
Shit!
The slide of the zipper against his cock, even through his briefs, made him ache as much as her voice did.
She was so controlled and spoke so damn softly that he wondered what it’d take to make her scream. He wanted to be the one who unleashed all her pent-up passion.
Fascination was a mild word for the curiosity she evoked. The shades of beige and brown—colors he’d chosen specifically for their calming properties—decorating his office barely reined in his clashing emotions. An eternal war raged within him, where hope battled caution. Hope persuaded him to take a chance, not let his potential mate slip by him, while caution born out of memories of vampires slaughtered by humans held him back.
Since he’d started the midnight helpline as a cover-up to provide a hope of refuge for preternatural beings, nothing should surprise him much. The vampires he employed to work the night shifts directed any mortals who called in to a different section while working to earn the trust of immortals.
He’d been obsessed with her from the moment she’d called his helpline. The unbidden attraction could fall into either category—good or very bad.
He clutched the phone as tightly as a lifeline and let out a strangled growl. “That’s the secret you’ve been holding out on me for months?”
He sensed her hesitation. Of course she’d be wary. Anyone would be. Inevitably, they came together in the end. Elena was no different. Once she opened up completely, he’d let her know about their underground immortal network and bring her in. Until then, he’d keep up the charade.
Any paranormal calling the nocturnal helpline needed a lot more than a vampire’s thrall to let down their guard. As one of the oldest among his kind, he’d perfected the art of coaxing the information he wanted.
“You can trust me with anything, Lena.”
Her breath hitched. “Yes.”
Even the slightest sound from her lips sent his imagination toppling over the cliff. She stirred his lust and taunted his hunger as if she were born for the sole purpose of tormenting him with fantasies.
Try as he might, he couldn’t prevent the surge of bloodlust, even on the phone. Not even when she’d just admitted who she was, or rather, what she was. Though his life spanned millennia, he’d never encountered a real siren.
Even in the middle of his work night, all he could think of was her—naked and sprawled for his pleasure. Spreading her pale thighs. He’d lick her glistening juices while working his fingers into her tight ass, driving her mindless with frenzy. She’d moan, beg him to fill her, to fuck her. His control would be sorely tested with her mewling cries and throaty demands. He wouldn’t give in, no matter how much he wanted to bury himself in her tightness again and again. He’d hold on until she shattered beneath his sensual onslaught and then he’d start all over. He’d…
He shook his head, clearing the dangerous, yet enticing, images. Over the centuries, he’d never met anyone who could churn such emotions within him. And now, all he could think of was getting her naked. Impossible over the phone, but he hoped she’d give him more details. Eventually.
The vampire in him didn’t want to wait for such formalities, but he held on, exerting every inch of patience he possessed rather than tearing through all of New York, ripping the ends of the earth apart to get to her. The sane, logical part of him warned him to take it slow. She’d come to trust him enough to share her secret. He needed to go one step at a time, hoping for more. Knowing the sensible recourse of his actions wasn’t the issue—controlling himself was. Insidious whispers filled his brain, logic driven away by feral lust.
“Tell me what you’re thinking, Gregory.”
Her words brought him back to the conversation with a wry smile. She never shortened his name, as if she still inhabited an era where using proper names was the trend. He should know, having lived through enough of them to tell the tales. Except, he’d never had anyone to share them with.
“Gregory? You still there?”
His name, spilling from her in that soft breathy voice, only heightened the lust fogging his brain. Crossing his legs didn’t ease the incessant throbbing down south. He let out a pent-up breath of frustration. “Sweetheart, if I don’t hear from you again, it might just kill me.”
There. Let her handle the truth!
“You sure know how to make a woman feel better.” Her broken laugh sounded suspiciously like a sob.
His instincts clamored to reach out to her, to protect her. “Elena, are you all right?”
“I suppose I am. I’m not sure.”
“What the hell—on earth—do you mean?” He attempted, but failed, to quell his concerned growl. What was she unleashing in him?
“I wonder why I’m living anymore.”
Concern washed over his undead heart, tension coiling in his guts. This wasn’t about him or about the darkness threatening to consume him whole. The one female he cared about was losing it and all he could think of was himself and his crazy urges?
Get your shit together, Lathrop.
Cursing silently, he sat up straighter. She’d trusted him enough to reveal the truth. He could very well deliver the practiced speech, give her the required information necessary to hook up with other immortals and be done with it. Done with her.
Even the thought of letting her go made him want to roar his denial.
“There’s always a purpose to life,” he started, and gritted his teeth. He sounded as if he was a freaking philosopher and, hoping he made sense, he spat out the rest. “Even if we aren’t aware of it right now.”
Hopefully she wouldn’t ask him what he meant or exp
ect further explanations. The thrall in his voice could calm her down and he wasn’t above using a little of his powers where, or for whom, it counted the most.
“Tell me what happened.”
She sighed. “I slept with one—a man.”
Fury crashed, mingling into his system as though a potent poison. Did the man hurt her? If he’d even laid a finger on her, Greg wouldn’t hesitate to tear him apart limb from limb.
“The sex was fun. Even refreshing,” she continued, seemingly unaware of the fear, for her, rampaging through him.
His voice went low, dangerous to his own ears. “But?”
Her sniffles turned into hiccups as she obviously controlled her urge to bawl and his heart squeezed. So brave, his little warrior, and so alone. Just like him.
“He died.”
“What? How?” He bellowed right into her ears and regretted his shout the moment the line went silent. She needed his assurance, not his outburst. Her confusion, and the identity crisis that had propelled her to seek assistance from his helpline, seeped through the barrier around his heart, urging him to battle on her behalf.
“What exactly happened?” he asked. “And when?”
“Umm—a couple of years ago.”
Decades, he surmised by the hesitation in her voice, but waited for her to open up and spill her guts. He’d never been so affected by another’s plight to date. Sleeping with women, yes. Embroiled in their emotions, no, never.
Not since the fateful day he became a vampire. “Speak to me, love.”
Her tears washed away the momentary panic that arose with his use of the L-word. Each sob tore at him through the distance separating them. She hiccupped again. “One moment everything seemed fine. I think I cried out and then…”
“Go on.”
“Then he twitched a bit and went still. I immediately called the cops. The coroner pronounced him dead of a cardiac arrest. But I—I know it was my voice. I killed him, Gregory.”
Survival of a vampire depended on listening to the unsaid and watching out for the unseen. He’d long ago learned to trust his instincts and they now screamed to get to her, to ease her pain and keep her demons at bay.
What would her blood taste like?
He’d heard whispers, of course, of the one woman capable of taunting his lust and igniting a rampant need for blood. He’d sneered at those rumors, chalking them up to old wives’ tales. Fucking was for pleasure and blood necessary for survival. He’d never let either mingle or get out of hand—his cock and fangs, literally. The hunger searing through him threatened to shatter his illusions to pieces.
She needed him; she just didn’t know it yet.
Thankful he’d had the foresight or plain common sense to install soundproofing in his office, he readied himself to explore the unparalleled fascination he seemed to have developed for her over the past few months. Time to up the stakes.
“Sweetheart, I have a sure-fire way to help you forget. You up for it?”
For a moment, he was afraid she didn’t hear him, wouldn’t respond to the verbal thrall he’d put her under.
A terse few seconds passed before a small sound came from her end. “Maybe.”
Battling his relief at her acquiescence and the increasing onslaught of lust settling in his groin, he took a deep breath and let his control slip more than a bit. “Focus on me, Lena.”
“Gregory…?”
Her soft hesitation spread as if it was a wildfire, heating his bloodstream. The hiss of the air conditioner was the only sound in his office before he cleared his throat and began his seduction.
“What are you wearing tonight?”
After ages of holding back, Elena Niles welcomed the role reversal—she hung on his every word instead of being other way around. The fact thrilled her, terrified her and loosened both her tongue and inhibitions.
The anonymity made her feel safe. She’d bared her soul to Gregory, told him things she hadn’t voiced to anyone in her endless life. And she hadn’t repulsed him.
Hope warmed her heart even as his low growl washed over her, firing places long frozen. Excitement jolted her out of the brooding mood she’d slipped into. A tingle started at her breasts, traced a path to her abdomen, spiraling to the juncture between her thighs. She squirmed, cradling the phone closer. As if he were there with her in the room. As if he were touching her…
Her breath hitched as her senses awakened. Her vibrators were no match for a real man, his voice hoarse while he filled her with cock. Sirens gave and took pleasure, and she’d denied herself the bittersweet temptation for eons. No more.
Just like that, his question of what she wore lifted the weight of the world from her shoulders. A watery chuckle escaped. She wiped her tears, balled the handkerchief and threw it across her room.
Glancing down, she grimaced. “Trust me. You don’t want to know that.”
“Trust me. I want to know every damn thing about you.” His tone was a sensuous rasp. “Now, tell me.”
She tried to imagine what he’d like and opened her mouth, intending to tell him something kinky. “I’m in my old T-shirt, which comes to my thighs. My usual night gear.”
“Something satiny with laces might’ve been good. But this is better.”
Did she hear a trace of an accent in his voice? She couldn’t be sure.
“Underneath?”
She blushed. “No. Nothing.”
His harsh intake of breath spiked her temperature up a notch or two. “A woman after my own heart.”
“What are you wearing?” she asked, plucking some courage out of thin air. She prayed he wouldn’t consider her too brazen, but an illicit thrill coursed through her at her own words.
“I’m wearing the same attire I wear to the office every day. Dark slacks, paired with a light blue shirt, a blazer. And at this moment, I’m pulling down my zipper, inch by inch, and my erection is about to spring free.”
This time, her breath caught. “Where are you?”
“Worried, my sweet? I’m in my office and I’ve locked the door. Since I’m the boss, no one would dare disturb me. Now remove your tee and lie on the bed.”
She toyed with the hem of her frayed garment and followed his command. Her core clenched while want made her wet between her thighs. Petrified by her own easy arousal, she stood at the edge of the bed, wavering.
She closed her eyes, swiping at the last of her tears while her mind drifted. She hadn’t allowed herself to connect with anyone in a long, long time. Her voice attracted humans—men and women alike—and if she’d dared to have sex with them, they’d inevitably died. As an immortal, she’d resigned herself to living alone, with only her battery-operated boyfriends for company.
Until him. She hadn’t really thought she’d find him when she called the helpline. This man, Gregory, managed to slip into her guarded life, one phone call at a time.
She’d tried to resist his charm, his smooth talking ways and the ability to make her smile. He’d bantered with her, argued with her and, most of all, made her feel cherished. Valuable. A friend.
In time, she’d given up her resistance and simply enjoyed talking to him, basked in his wit and allowed herself to fantasize. He’d invaded her nights, her dreams, until she waited for the times she allowed herself to call him. Not like he’d prevented her from calling daily, but she’d controlled herself from forming a dangerous, yet alluring habit. Her unbidden addiction to him.
How far was she willing to take this? Could something over the phone be called a relationship? She hoped not. She didn’t do relationships. Period. Not that she didn’t want to…
Any remaining thoughts vanished as fresh want pulsed in her belly and drenched her pussy. She didn’t want to lose Gregory as a friend, but she didn’t want to miss out on this new experience either. Caught in the confusing mix of lust and trepidation, she almost missed his impatient question.
“Done?”
Biting her lip, she slid into bed, the slide of cool covers providing a
n erotic contrast to her heated skin. “Yes.”
“My cock is stiff. I’m wrapping my hand around the head, imagining the slick feel of your mouth. I need to be inside you.”
The eagerness in his voice, the confidence and the raw passion in his words, increased the tempo of her heartbeat. She spread her legs and squirmed, a buzz of arousal gnawing at her, pulling her in, drowning her. Sweat beaded on her upper lip as her thighs trembled with need. He’d barely started. “Oh!”
“But not so soon. I first need you to touch yourself.”
No. She needed his words, the rasp of his breath and his low growls to chase away her lingering nightmares. She could pleasure herself anytime, even though her hands and toys barely did the trick anymore. “I don’t—”
“I want you to cup those gorgeous tits for me.”
Unable to stop herself from obeying his command, she trailed a hand over her chest. Her breasts weren’t large, and she skimmed their sides. Goose bumps erupted on her skin. He’d be able to cup them easily in his palms. Would his hands be rough and calloused? Or manicured? A faint shiver racked her frame.
“Can you feel how soft the skin is? Like velvet, topped with juicy raisins.”
Her nipples puckered, resembling his description. She ran her palm over them and they hardened further. They’d never been this sensitive before. Wow. “Yes.”
He grunted. “Hell! I wish I were there, suckling them, pinching them, until you climaxed with just my mouth on your tits. I’m so hard, I’d likely explode out of my own skin with the merest touch.”
She gave a shaky nod, barely able to focus, let alone realize he couldn’t see her through the phone. His body would be sleek, muscled and rippling with his harsh breaths. His eyes, probably the color of melted chocolate, would be heavy-lidded with need. His erection would rest against his belly, a steel rod under deliciously smooth skin.
“I’m rolling a dusky nipple between my thumb and forefinger and running my tongue along your other breast. The scent of your arousal is driving me mad, beckoning me below.”