I'm the Vampire, That's Why

by Michele Bardsley

  "I want to please you," he said.

  I don't think I'd ever heard anyone say that to me before. I want to please you. My head spun with the possibilities of that phrase. Of what it meant to hear Patrick say it… and mean it.

  "You are pleasing me," I managed. My voice sounded shaky. "I like what you're doing."

  "I like what I'm doing, too." He rose up a little and met my gaze. "But I want to make you come. I want to taste you. I want to feel you. I want to give you pleasure, love. Tell me how."

  "Keep talking like that and you won't need to do another thing." Sweat pearled my skin. I felt hot, so damned hot, and it was because Patrick could stoke my fire just by talking. It might've been stupid to fall for such slick, too-pretty words, but I was happily doing it. Falling for the words. For the man.

  Patrick leaned forward and traced a lazy line to my knob. He flicked it repeatedly.

  "Oooh. Um… yeah, good. Definite thumbs-up on that move."

  "Would you like me to do it again?"

  "Yeah. And do it a lot."

  "As you wish." Patrick took my hands and guided them to my pubic area. "Open for me."

  I did. Oh hell, did I ever. I slid my fingers along my vulva, my breath catching at the intimacy of such an act, and parted myself for him.

  His mouth descended… and devoured.

  Raw pleasure jolted through me as his tongue did wondrous, unimaginable things. As that wicked, gorgeous mouth created a maelstrom of sensations, my fingers trailed up to his temples, caught in his hair. Rational thought evaporated. Joyfully, I matched his rhythm with tiny movements of my own.

  Everything turned to heat and to ecstasy.

  The rapturous feeling built, rising, and I reached for it, wanting it… I arched, moans echoing, and bless his lustful heart, Patrick nipped and licked and suckled.

  I burst into a thousand, white-hot stars.

  Vaguely, I heard Patrick groan, felt his tongue lap at me, but I was floating in beauty, in light.

  It was quite possible I had left my body altogether. I hadn't responded this way to making love for a very, very long time. I had to admit that not even Rich had brought me this kind of all-encompassing, mind-losing bliss.

  When I regained my senses, Patrick had risen to his knees, one hand fisted against his thigh, the other wrapped around his hard cock.

  He was trembling, my handsome lover, and I nearly wept at the sight of his desire.

  "A thaisce."

  I opened my arms, beckoning him, and he slid on top of me. He nuzzled my breasts, his tongue swiping each puckered nipple. "So beautiful," he murmured, drawing one taut bud into his mouth. He released it, grazed the tip. "Jessica. My Jessica. If I lived another thousand years, I could never pay enough homage to your breasts."

  "But you'll try, right?"

  "Yes." He grinned, scraping his jaw along my collarbone then catching my chin between his teeth. His silver eyes sparkled. (I know, I know, you're thinking enough with the silver eyes, but if you had a lover who had eyes like Patrick's, you'd go on and on, too… so there.) "Is there something else you would like?"

  "Yes," I said, "I would like very much if you would… oh, I dunno… fuck me."

  He drew in a sharp breath, his gaze darkening. He said nothing else. He didn't have to now, did he? Instead, he wrapped his hands under my shoulders and positioned himself above me.

  The first warm, hard slide of his cock tested our compatibility. I nearly swallowed my tongue at the amazing feel of his penetration. He kept his movements slow and careful and I met each of his thrusts, bumping my still-humming clit against him.

  His head dropped to my shoulder, his uneven breath skittering against my neck.

  I wrapped my legs around his waist and tilted up my hips. I knew Patrick was capable of bringing me to another orgasm and by golly, I wanted it. My nails dug into his back as I encouraged him to pick up the pace.

  "You're killing me," he whispered. "I don't want to hurt you."

  "It's a dream," I reminded him. "You can't hurt me. I want you, Patrick. More than anyone I've wanted ever."

  He lifted his head so that he could look into my eyes to see the truth of my words. "You mean that, don't you?"

  "Yes. I've never felt this way. How could I?"

  He kissed me, his tongue thrusting into my mouth. It was a possessive kiss, and maybe a hint of the way he really wanted to take me. I shuddered to think of how much he was holding back, of how well he protected me from the full force of his passion.

  "I want you to come again," he said. "I want you to come on my cock and scream my name."

  "Well, then… let's give it a whirl, shall we?"

  He let go then. Just gave in to primal urges. It was the difference, I found, between making love and mating.

  The ability to think once again deserted me.

  Teeth nipped, nails scratched, and flesh slapped against flesh. He brought me to another breath-stealing climax and as the pleasure rolled through me, I sure-as-hell screamed his name.

  As I convulsed around him, he thrust hard, deep… he buried himself inside me, filled me completely. Then his big body tightened over mine, his eyes went blind, and the last word he uttered was, "Jessica."

  When I awoke, I was alone. I stretched, feeling replete after the va-va-voom dream.

  Patrick had slipped out of bed and out of the room entirely. I would've known if he was near, and he wasn't. Sniffle. I wanted to cuddle. My hand swept across his pillow and knocked something off it. I rolled onto my side and reached for the object.

  Honeysuckle.

  He'd picked me several flowers and left them next to where I'd been sleeping. A reminder then… and maybe, a promise. I pressed the petals to my nose and took in the sweetness of the scent and of his gesture.

  Patrick?

  Hello, love.

  Thank you for the honeysuckle.

  A chuckle rippled. I look forward to a demonstration of your honey-licking techniques.

  You'll be surprised what I can do with a long, hard stem.

  Too bad I don't have a stem. What can you do with a big thick limb?

  I rolled my eyes. Patrick was such a guy. Where are you?

  With Damian and Stan. They think the same creature that killed Emily also killed Sharon.

  Maybe I've watched too many episodes of CSI, but if it was Lor going freakazoid… why would he change his method of killing? He didn't claw me or any of the others that first night. Why such destruction of the torso without any sign of feeding?

  It's a good question, love.

  I have another one. What or who has Lorćan been feeding on for the last two weeks?

  Maybe if you can connect mentally with him again, you can ask him. By the way, the Consortium will meet at the high school gym in two hours. See you there?

  Oh yeah. I love hanging out with the Panel of Doom. They're a laugh a minute.

  I felt the stroke of fingers along my jaw. Until then, céadsearc.

  I followed my mental connection to my kids to check in on 'em. They were awake, ensconced on the new couch in their jammies, and watching Cartoon Network. They were eating big bowls of Count Chocula cereal. Oh, ha ha. I wondered which jokester had purchased that sugar-coated junk and served it to Bry and Jenny for breakfast.

  I took a quick shower, put on a pair of shorts and a tank top, and shoved my feet into a pair of flip-flops. It was nice to see my pedicure had held up. I also put on my new belt and swords. I really needed some sexy pants to go with the swords, too. Wearing the gold blades with jean shorts seemed silly somehow, but I had promised Patrick to always wear the weapons. Silly or not, I wanted the protection.

  Hunger tightened my stomach. Uh-oh. No Patrick. No donor. My fangs extended and I poked at the incisors with my tongue. Well, shit. I couldn't go into the living room looking like the creature on my kids' cereal box. Hmmm. Okay. I was a mom. I was a vampire. I could improvise.

  By the time I'd gotten to the stairs, I still hadn't a clue about a way to
find vamp food. I sat on the top step, hoping inspiration would strike. Um, Patrick?

  Sorry, love. We're moving Sharon to another location. Can you wait?

  Yeah. Sure. See you soon.

  "Hi."

  The deep baritone startled me. I jolted to my feet, my hands against the swords, and whirled around. A man lounged against the wall behind me, looking tough and bored, like Sodapop Curtis from The Outsiders. Only this guy was much better-looking than Rob Lowe, and quite frankly, that shouldn't be possible.

  "Uh… hi there," I said. "Who the hell are you?"

  "Johnny Angelo."

  Oh. Well, that said it all, apparently. I knew that he wouldn't be standing in my house unless he was Patrick-approved, so I wasn't afraid of him. Besides, he didn't put out "evil guy" vibes.

  He wore jeans, a white T-shirt, and a black leather jacket. His Converse sneakers were black and scuffed. He had dark blond hair, sad blue eyes fanned by thick lashes, and pouty red lips. Why did he look so familiar?

  Gawd. He was impossibly handsome. The kind of handsome that defined a GQ model, or a royal prince, or a movie star. Movie star. Whoa. That was it. But… oh, no way.

  "You seen Lucifer?" he asked. "She's missing."

  "The ruler of hell? That Lucifer?"

  "My cat," he clarified, "though it's likely she's also the ruler of hell."

  Something about his voice finally clicked. "You're Johnny Angelo?"

  "Said so, didn't I?"

  "The 1950s movie star… oh my God! My mother loves you. I can't tell you how many times she made me sit through Rebel's Cause. She told me the story fifty-million times about how you disappeared after filming West of the Garden Divine."

  His lips hitched into a half-grin. "Won a posthumous Oscar for that one."

  "You got turned into a vampire?"

  "Yeah." He looked at me, those blue eyes taking me in. "Haven't fed yet?"

  "Uh, no."

  He tilted his neck and tapped the vein. "Don't mind offering."

  I hesitated. What was the etiquette for drinking from other vampires? Especially vampires of the opposite gender when one was, like it or not, attached to a particular male? Crud. I was starving, but I didn't want to accidentally do something against policy or tradition. Again. Worse, I didn't want another lecture from Stan or Patrick.

  "Only drink vintage?" he asked.

  "Vintage?"

  "Jessica Matthews. Pat's girl, right? He's vintage. You picky like that?"

  It took a second to interpret his meaning. "I'm not a blood snob," I said. "I'm new to the vampire thing and I've already flubbed up."

  He grinned and tapped his neck again. "C'mon, Jess. Drink."

  "Fine. But only a little. And if Patrick kills you because my fangs were in your neck, it's not my fault."

  "Whatever."

  Well, he was one of my mother's favorite film stars. Mom was on another cruise—to Alaska, this time—and I wasn't looking forward to saying, "Hey, Mai Guess what? I'm dead!" when she returned. But as soon as she'd recovered from fainting, I was soooo telling her that I noshed on Johnny Angelo's neck. Maybe I should ask him for his autograph. I bet that would make a fortune on eBay.

  He waited, patient. Or bored. Maybe both.

  "You've fed, right? Because if you don't have enough to share, really, I'll be okay."

  "Drink."

  I stood in front of Johnny and gazed longingly at his neck. I stalled the urge to gouge and gnaw, but it was a hard-fought battle. Since I'd only snacked on two people, I wasn't exactly versed in vampire table manners.

  "What?" asked Mr. Verbose.

  I did a quick mental check on Jenny and Bryan. They were watching an old episode of Dexter's Lab. Good. They would stay occupied a few minutes more. I licked Johnny's neck. He shuddered then adjusted his position so that there was more space between us. I didn't feel any sensual tension, though. Patrick seemed to be the only guy in my lust zone.

  Johnny's hands crept around my waist. His fingers stabbed my hips, but he wasn't getting fresh, just anchoring himself. Though I recognized how good-looking Johnny was, I really didn't feel any sexual attraction for him. Still, we were in an intimate position and I'd just licked the man's skin… and I felt guilty. Like I was cheating on Patrick.

  "Ready?" he asked.

  I pressed my fangs into his neck. A quick stab then… nirvana. Oh man, I was starved. I gulped Johnny's delicious, warm blood until my hunger pains faded. Finally, I felt sated enough to release him.

  "You taste really good," I said, wiping off my mouth in a very unladylike way. "Thanks."

  "No prob." Johnny unhooked himself from me. I felt like I'd had sixteen cups of coffee. Woo-hoo! Nothing like some breakfast to rev you up for the day… er, night.

  "Oh sorry. Got some blood trickling." I reached out to swipe away the residue of my sloppy eating, but Johnny slapped a hand on his neck.

  "Got it, Jess. Thanks."

  My back hit something solid at the same time I saw the direction of Johnny's gaze. Arms slid around my waist and yanked me backward against a rock-hard chest. I looked up and saw the stern jaw of Patrick. He glared at Johnny as if he was considering the most painful way to make him implode.

  "Hey honey," I said weakly. "Johnny… uh, let me snack on him."

  "That's why I'm here. To offer what you've already taken from him."

  The tone of his voice made the hair rise on my neck. I had never heard him sound that pissed off before. And I had given him plenty of reasons to get mad in the last two weeks.

  "She is claimed," Patrick said. "You know what that means."

  "For now." To my astonishment, Johnny's gaze raked me as if I was a choice steak and he was an expert cook. Seconds before, I'd been positive that he had no intention of putting the moves on me, but for some reason he wanted Patrick to think that he desired me.

  "If you don't bind with her, then she'll be up for grabs again." Johnny smiled lasciviously at me. "And I have to tell you, Pat, I sure like the way she bites."

  "Hey!" I protested. "That sounds really smarmy!"

  Patrick released me, then picked me up by the waist and set me aside. He grabbed Johnny, slamming him against the wall. Patrick's hand wrapped around the actor's throat and shoved him upward, holding my mother's idol at least two feet off the floor.

  "What are you doing? Stop that!" I batted at Patrick's arms. "He was teasing. Weren't you, Johnny?"

  "Nope," he wheezed. "If Pat… doesn't… want… you… I do."

  Patrick growled. He actually freaking growled. He pressed so hard on Johnny, the wall cracked as the poor vamp was pushed literally into the paneling.

  "Are you suicidal, you liar?" I yelled.

  "Jessica. Go away." Patrick turned to stare at me, eyes glowing with rage and his fangs bared. I realized, belatedly, that he wasn't exactly feeling rational.

  "Uh… sweetie… put down the moron, okay?"

  "He wishes to claim you. And you are mine!"

  Possessive much. Sheesh. I looked at Johnny, who wasn't struggling. In fact, he seemed content to allow Patrick to choke him. I was fairly sure that since vampires couldn't breathe, Johnny couldn't suffocate. However, it was possible that Patrick had the strength and the desire to squeeze off his head and I didn't want to watch that happen… or clean up the mess.

  "My mother will kill you if you decapitate her favorite film star."

  Patrick frowned. "What? Where is your mother?"

  "Alaska."

  He blinked down at me and the red glow in his eyes dimmed. "Alaska?"

  "You're still choking him," I pointed out. "Maybe you could stop."

  The tormented yowl of a cat followed by vociferous barking echoed through the house. Since we didn't have any pets—not since the Hamster Incident—I wasn't too happy to hear those sounds. Kids always knew when to ratchet up the stress another notch. It's like they enjoyed playing poker with their mother's mental state: She's getting ready to crack, ante up!

  Now, with my lover on t
he verge of murdering the star of Rebel's Cause, my kids had found a way to make the situation worse. Or rather, they'd found a way to introduce a new situation while I was still trying to deal with the first one.

  Ain't motherhood grand?

  The noise increased in volume then I heard clattering, breakage, and children's delighted screams. I didn't have to worry about going to the mess, however, because it came rampaging up the stairs.

  A sleek golden cat zipped past me and tore around the corner toward my bedroom.

  "I found your cat," I said to Johnny.

  He smiled faintly. Patrick had lessened his grip on the guy's throat, but he was still trying to push him through the wall.

  Two huge black-furred mongrels raced up the stairs, their maws snapping and growling. "Are those dogs?" I shouted. "In my house!"

  Jenny and Bryan, shouting and laughing, hurried after the animal chaos. While Bryan hurried into my bedroom, Jenny skidded to a stop and turned around. She put her hands on her hips and looked at me, lips pursed. "Hi Mommy."

  "Hello, monkey britches." I smiled brightly as her gaze took in Patrick and Johnny. Shit. I tried to remember how to work the you-are-not-seeing-this magic, but I drew a blank. Oh, that's right. Nobody had taught me how to do memory-wipes.

  "Hello, Mr. O'Halloran," she said politely. "Are you trying to kill that man?"

  Chapter 19

  Jenny's sweetly delivered question snapped Patrick out of his fury. He let go of Johnny. The actor flopped to the floor like a tossed puppet then leaned against the cracked wall and closed his eyes.

  "I'm sorry, Jenny," said Patrick, his tone formal. He bent down on one knee and gestured to her. "I didn't mean to frighten you."

  "I wasn't scared," she said. She looked at Johnny, and then at Patrick. "Mommy says physical violence is for the weak-minded."

  I flinched. I did say that, but mostly to her and to Bryan after they'd engaged in one of their slap-pinch-hit fights. This was what always happened when your kids listened to you—they tucked away certain tidbits to say when you least wanted to hear them repeated.