Bite My Fire: A Biting Love story.

by Mary Hughes

  Moss growled. Bared his teeth, which might or might not have included fangs.

  Dirk and I lit out of there. At this point, the vampire was a safer bet.

  –—

  At home I got rid of my Level Five disaster team. I had just slid between the covers for some well-deserved shut-eye when my cell phone rang yet again.

  “Aw, crap.” I pried an eye open. Who…? Double crap with a side of fried phooey. Captain Titus. I flipped the phone open. “Yes, sir?”

  “O’Rourke!” He did not sound happy. But at least he wasn’t singing soprano. Yet.

  “Um, yes, sir?”

  “What the hell were you doing stripping at a sleazy bar?”

  Uh-oh. “Getting information, sir. It was my night off, sir. And I was, er, undercover.”

  “The significant thing about undercover police, detective, is that they aren’t recognized. Half the city stopped by to tell me about you!”

  “Sir, I can explain—”

  “This is an incredible embarrassment. How could you do that to the department? How the hell could you do that to me?” His voice climbed up the scale as he spoke. Ho-boy. Now he was singing soprano.

  “It was for a case—”

  “A case? At Nieman’s Bar?” Not just soprano. Sopranino. Headed for ball-twisting falsetto. “What the hell case is that?”

  “Um…Napoleon Schrimpf, sir.”

  Titus exploded. “You’re off that case!”

  Oh, fuck. The second time I hadn’t done things by the book. And look what it got me. “I’m only assisting Detective Ruffles—”

  “I don’t want you anywhere near that case, do you hear me? You’re on probation, Officer O’Rourke.” His voice drilled my ear like a piccolo. “As of now.”

  “But sir—”

  “And if I catch you in one more compromising position, officer, you’re fired!” He slammed the phone.

  I collapsed on the bed. Stunned. Busted back to officer.

  My dream of being a detective. Gone. I took a deep, shuddering breath.

  Worse yet…if Titus fired me…God. I’d have to leave Meiers Corners to find another job. Leave my sister, my best friend, everyone and everything I knew.

  It was so painful I couldn’t even cry. Officer. I creaked up, towed on my jeans. I couldn’t face the bra and disgusting pink top, so I dug in my dresser. Uncovered an ancient fleece sweatshirt. Loose, unflattering, but soft against my naked skin. Comfort clothes.

  Then I headed to Bo’s.

  I don’t know what I expected from Bo. Maybe I thought sex would cheer me up.

  Or maybe I had already come to rely on him for some of the basics, like my sanity.

  He appeared the moment I stumbled into his spacious mahogany foyer. He took one look at me and folded me in his arms, carried me someplace warm. Lay with me on a big soft russet-and-indigo comforter. Petted me while I cried.

  When I wound down, he asked me what had happened. That was good for another round of bawling.

  “Shh, Elena.” He stroked my head, smoothing back my unruly hair. “I know. It looks bad now. But that’s because you had such high expectations.”

  “I didn’t have high expectations.” But I had.

  “You’re tired and hungry. Go downstairs. Mrs. Cook is fixing lunch, and she’ll feed you. That will make you feel better.”

  “I was hoping for some sex to make me feel better,” I said in a small voice.

  He chuckled. “After. Go on, now.” He nudged me off the bed.

  “What about you?”

  “I’ll be in the basement. Gathering energy for a bout of mind-blowing sex.”

  “Oh.” I shivered with pleasure. “I’ll go eat then.”

  Mrs. Cook was a rotund, bustling woman with white hair and snapping black eyes. She reminded me of my Grandma Sanchez. I felt immediately at ease with her. She sat me down and gave me cookies and milk while she made lunch. The cookies were fresh-from-the-oven chocolate chip and the milk was frosty cold. I fell in love.

  “These are great,” I said through a mouthful of gooey cookie.

  “Save room for lunch. I’m making cheese-and-onion enchiladas.”

  I moaned. I was in heaven. Grandma Sanchez used to make those, and chiles rellenos that would set your eyelids on fire. Gretchen was a great cook, but she’d never gotten the hang of Grandma Sanchez’s recipes. Though early for lunch, I hadn’t had a decent cheese-and-onion enchilada in forever.

  Bo was right. After finishing my third enchilada and polishing off the rest of my cookies and milk, I was a new woman.

  When I ascended the stairs, I found him waiting for me in his bedroom.

  “I have a surprise for you.”

  “A surprise? Good surprise or a bad surprise?”

  “Good.” He felt under the pillow. “Ta-da!”

  Dangling from his big hands were two skimpy pieces of lace. Intrigued, I floated closer to see. He held a lavender thong and a matching smooth-cup bra. I took the bra and found the tag. Size Near-B.

  “Oh, Bo.” I flung myself into his arms. “I love you!”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Immediately I pulled back. I hadn’t meant to say that.

  His smile softened. He drew me into his arms and caressed my hair. “Like you love enchiladas, Detective?”

  “Uh, yeah. Sort of like.”

  Only it wasn’t like that. Not love like I loved enchiladas, or lattes, or even chocolate. Something deeper. More profound.

  What I felt for Bo might be the real deal.

  But if it was love, it wasn’t anything I ever read in a magazine. “He’ll Adore You in Your New ’Do”? Bo could touch my impossible hair without puking. “Guys Want ’Em Big, How to Buy ’Em”? He liked my near-Bs. “Daytime Boss, Nighttime Vixen”? He even fit in with my graveyard career (if you’ll pardon the pun). And the biggie. “Poles Apart: Three Steps to Becoming His Opposite Attraction”? Bo was a fighter for justice, just like I was.

  If this was love, it wasn’t anything that followed the rules.

  But it felt good. No, more. Right. Me. Not by the book, maybe. But by Elena.

  I smiled into Bo’s warm blue eyes and planted a kiss on his lips. Working open the top few buttons of his shirt, I slipped my hand inside. Hot, hard muscle flexed under my palm. “I want to show you my thanks.”

  “For the underwear?”

  “That too.” I pushed him toward the bed. He went willingly.

  There was an instant when I had mist under my palms. And then I was pushing smooth, naked male flesh onto the mattress.

  I could get used to this vampire thing. I crawled on top.

  His hands slipped under my sweatshirt. Warm fingers met naked breasts. His eyes widened, then deepened to sapphire blue. “No bra, Detective?”

  “Level Six.” I didn’t bother to explain.

  Little explosions of desire lit as his fingers played with my nipples. His thumbs rasped over the sensitive skin, sending tiny shocks through the mounds. Heat from his palms highlighted the lightning bug sensations.

  I leaned into his hands. He captured nipples between thumb and forefinger, milked me with small rhythmic pinches. Bright sparks lit desire though my entire body.

  But this wasn’t for me, much as I loved it. I put my hands over his, stopping him. “Hey, buster. I’m showing my thanks.” I pulled his clever fingers from under my shirt.

  Lacing my fingers through his, I planted our joined hands next to his head. Then I lowered my mouth until it was a breath from his. “This is for you.”

  The tips of his fangs peeked out. “For me. Oh, yeah.”

  I kissed him, taking my time. Tasted the full curve of his lower lip. Savored the chiseled perfection of the upper. I tongued each corner of his mouth, slowly. Licked the seam between. His lips parted and I slipped in, explored his masculine heat.

  My tongue brushed against his teeth. It startled a groan out of him. So I did it again. He rolled under me, abs rippling.

  So of course I did i
t again. In passing, I licked one elegant fang.

  His whole body jerked.

  Well, well, I thought. What have we here? Deliberately, I flicked my tongue against the other canine.

  He bellowed and arched, hard. His body undulated between my legs. The sensation of hot movement against my bottom was a sweet shock.

  I licked again. He gasped and arched harder. His powerful belly hit like a hot iron against my crotch. Desire rushed to dew my labia. I wondered how that surge of muscles would feel without clothes. Just his silky skin against my pussy.

  Yeah. Pure electricity.

  I jumped from the bed and started stripping off my shirt.

  Bo’s eyes riveted on me, started glowing red. So I slowed, took my time raising the sweatshirt’s hem, put a little wow-chicka-wow-wow into it. Gave my breasts a shake while I slipped off my gun, set it aside. Turned with a smile, and bent over and wiggled as I peeled down my jeans.

  His Viking horn jacked up another size.

  Everything felt different with a sexy guy watching. My breasts felt fuller, heavier. My clothes rubbed coming off, rasping against my skin.

  Even the air felt different. Hot, moving. Currents ran along the curves of my breasts and belly, streamed between my thighs.

  I dropped the last stitch on the floor. Naked, my body felt strange. Nymph-lithe, yet swollen. Bo’s hot regard sparked tingles in my lips, nipples, pussy—everywhere I was pink. Glancing at myself, I amended that. Everywhere I was ruby red.

  I crawled back onto the bed, directly onto Bo. Retaking his hands, I lowered myself onto his hard, hot washboard of a tummy. Bump, bump, bump. Oh, yeah. The friction of his rumblestrip belly burned into fire. Flames licked my soft slit.

  Urgently now, I kissed Bo’s gorgeous lips. Thrust my tongue into his mouth. Swiped the entire length of a fang.

  He reacted like a bronco. His muscles clenched, his body arched up off the mattress, wrenched so hard he nearly threw me. I seized his torso with my thighs to keep from being unseated. He bucked at the tight pressure, his belly rasping hot against me.

  “Mmm. More.” I licked fang again.

  He nearly bent in two. And again. He arched like a wild stallion. “Elena,” he gasped. “You’re killing me, sweetheart.”

  “That’s the idea.” I squirmed on his stomach, slipping in the moisture between us.

  “You’re going to fall off.” He was panting.

  “I’ll just have to find something to grab onto, won’t I?”

  “Please.” His fully erect cock nudged my back.

  “After this.”

  “Elena…!”

  Releasing him, I crawled backwards until I knelt next to his hips. I was face to face—er, head…with his huge erection. And I do mean huge. Chin to hairline, it was satin fire licking my face.

  I nuzzled his sleek Viking longboat. He groaned. He groaned as I placed warm little kisses on his testicles. He groaned as I nibbled along the base of his erection.

  He shouted when I licked his cock like a lollipop.

  “Do you think they’re connected?” I licked again, a broad swipe. “Your fangs and your cock, I mean? They’re both long and hard. They’re both sleek and gorgeous.” I opened my mouth over the head. Sucked him in.

  He yodeled.

  “They both make you yell.”

  He watched me from eyes fevered with arousal, breath rasping.

  I released him. “Actually, I don’t know if they both make you yell. I’ve never sucked on a fang.”

  “That would kill me.” Bo threw back his head, revealing his broad, strong throat. Swallowed hard. “Want to try?”

  “Well, since you’re dead already.” I skimmed back up his body. Straddling him, I lowered my mouth to his.

  “Maybe you should anchor yourself first,” he suggested hoarsely.

  “What a great idea.” I reached behind and pulled up his hot anchor. Raised my hips.

  Planted myself on his long, hard shaft.

  He sucked in a lungful of air. Swallowed several more times. Let his breath out slowly, a long, hissing groan.

  “Ready?” I asked sweetly.

  “Stars above, Elena. I wasn’t ready for that. You’re burning.”

  I flexed my pussy. He shrieked. I smiled. Though I’d been functionally celibate for five years, I hadn’t neglected those all-important pubococcygeus muscles. That article had been well worth it. Kegels did wonders for the woman on top.

  Slowly, I took the tip of a long, luscious fang into my mouth. Sucked lightly.

  Bo roared. His hips drove up, hard enough to impale me to my eyeballs. He nearly bucked me off.

  At the last second his arm wrapped around my waist, seating me. His chest was mottled red. His cock throbbed heavily inside me. His eyes were clamped shut, his nostrils flared. His mouth was wide open in a silent shout of agony—or ecstasy.

  He was ready to come. But I wanted more. I grabbed his ears, bent and licked both fangs. He made a throttled noise, like he was dying. His control, I could tell, was almost gone.

  Almost wasn’t good enough.

  I pulled the whole length of fang into my mouth and suckled.

  Bo screamed. Both thick arms shot around me. With great, muscular strokes, he began to beat up into me, hard.

  I could only hang on for the ride. Clutching at his mighty pectorals, I closed my eyes, loving the feel of his strong hot body undulating between my thighs. “More. Oh, more.”

  With a strangled cry he seized my hips, pulled me down as hard as he was pounding up, doubling the impact, my near-B’s joggling with each thrust. I started to come. He yanked my head down and bit me.

  We came together in a flood of heat and stars. His cock, tugging my sex with each spurt, extended my orgasm until I was dizzy. After, I could only brace myself against his chest, trying not to pass out.

  “More,” he rasped, eyes burning.

  “No,” I mumbled. “No more.”

  “That wasn’t a choice.” He pulled me flush with his hot, sweating body. Curled forward. Flipped.

  I gasped, suddenly on my back.

  Bo’s hands landed next to my head. He started pumping, savagely. Pounding into me like a freight train. Wild, uncontrolled, driving himself into me, over and over. He was frenzied, almost wheezing in his need.

  His muscles clenched violently, released, clenched again. Biceps, triceps, pecs were pumped huge. His skin gleamed with extreme exertion.

  I had done this to him. Me, Elena. I had set this wildfire, had started this conflagration. It was sweet. And suddenly I did want more.

  I seized his head, latched onto a fang and suckled.

  He shouted. His cock swelled up inside me. I tugged on the fang, sucking deep, flicking the tip with my tongue. Nicked myself, releasing a tiny drop of salty blood.

  “Elena, your taste…sweet heavens.” He exploded.

  I rotated against him, working his fang with my mouth. He came buckets but kept chugging. He was still hard and showing no sign of flagging. I whimpered, the constant, rhythmic pounding driving me wild.

  He grabbed my hips, raised them so he could pound deeper. I gasped. His fang came out of my mouth.

  Went into my neck.

  My blood sang like current. Bo’s hot breath scorched the skin of my throat. He lapped as he rode me, beating me toward the edge. I grabbed his heavily muscled arms, tilted my hips so that his thick, driving cock skewered every inch of my spasming canal. I was at the top of a rollercoaster, staring at a climax so sweet I’d never be the same.

  Bo’s pummeling slowed. He thrust once, deep. Again. All my muscles contracted into one tight, electrifying knot. I trembled on the precipice of a gigantic climax. Then he drove himself in past my tonsils and burst like a hand grenade.

  I detonated in chain reaction. We came in wave after wave of contraction and release. His, mine, yeah ours. It went on and on.

  Gradually I eased. Little fireflies danced around me as awareness came back. Occasionally my body would go bzzt, as if o
ne had hit a zapper. Bo lay on me, his weight a solid comfort. My sweat cooled except where our bodies pressed warmly together. I was at peace.

  So this was togetherness. This was what my sister had found, why she’d married her high school sweetheart, why she hung onto him even after he was dead.

  This peace. This togetherness that made any trouble insignificant. This knowing that, while all might not be right in the outside world, all was right inside. I smiled to myself. “You know, I thought guys only liked big boobs and well-trained tongues.”

  “I only like you.” He slurred it, half-asleep.

  The words rang in my ears. I only like you. I didn’t have to change to be what he wanted? I was good enough as I was? Damn, was I dreaming?

  At least part of me was. “My leg is asleep.” I nudged Mr. Viking Anvil with my hips.

  “Oh. Sorry.” Bo tried to rolled off. He grunted, tried again. Nothing. He finally managed to ooze off.

  “Haven’t had sex like that in a few hundred years?” I teased.

  Bo turned his head, looked me in the face, abruptly awake and very serious. “Elena, I haven’t had sex like that—ever.”

  “Wha…?” Hit me with a howitzer. “Not ever?”

  “Never.” He raised himself just enough to kiss me tenderly on the lips. “In fact, I wouldn’t call what we did sex. I’d call it making love.”

  Love? Face-smack me. Use a broad shovel, ka-whang. Laugh and point as I reel around with a halo of twittering birdies.

  It was okay for me to think about assigning an officer to investigate the alleged crime of me possibly using the word love. But for him? For Mr. Barbarian Conqueror, Mr. Master Vampire?

  And love in combination with me, undiluted Elena? “Are you sure you’re awake? Maybe you’re dreaming I’m Drusilla or something.”

  “Drusilla?” A frown creased his forehead. “I know things have changed in a few hundred years, but is there something you’re not telling me?”

  “Something…no! I’m not interested in her.”

  “And why would you think I’d be, when I have you?”

  Was he blind? “Well…I haven’t had a boob job, and my hair is impossible, and I never finished reading ‘Eight Steps to Blow Him Right’. And don’t get me started on how I have to ‘Change My Personality to Be His Dream Gal’, and—”