by Tina Folsom
“Yes, my love, slide a second finger into me.” He paused and smiled. “Take the ache away,” he repeated her words from a few days earlier.
Raphael moaned when she complied. And she couldn’t help but find what she did to him exciting. He was at her mercy, a vampire wild with desire, yet chained by straps he couldn’t break. She’d never felt the kind of power she felt now: the power a woman had over a man. The power he gave her.
“I love you,” Isabella whispered and slid her fingers back and forth inside him, thrusting in and out of his dark passage as he gripped her tightly. His moans filled her room, drowning out everything else in her mind. She was driving him to ecstasy and giving him what he needed.
When he chanted her name, his body bathed in sweat, she added a third finger and pressed harder. His muscles clamped onto her and contracted as his entire body convulsed.
She felt his orgasm to the last cell of her body, and it was the purest feeling she’d every experienced from another person.
As he stilled, she pulled herself up to him and kissed his lips. He breathed heavily, his eyes closed. “Isabella,” was all he said, but she knew what he wanted to say. He loved her.
She planted another kiss on his mouth.
“You whore! That’s how you drag my cousin’s name through the mud! If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I would have never believed it!”
Isabella’s heart stopped at the menacing voice she recognized instantly.
Chapter Nineteen
His body exhausted from multiple orgasms, shock coursed through Raphael as his head snapped to the intruder: Massimo. This was the worst possible scenario he could have ever imagined. He’d been too lust-drugged for his senses to register his enemy before it was too late.
Now Massimo stood near the door, a gun pointed at him. And considering he was a Guardian and knew how to kill a vampire, Raphael was sure it was loaded with silver bullets.
From the corner of his eye, he saw how Isabella had snatched the bed sheet and pressed it against her naked breasts. His own modesty was the least of his concerns now. He calmed his mind and tried to think the situation through. If he could stall Massimo long enough, either his brother or one of his friends would show up. If they’d continued tailing him like they’d done the nights before, they would be here soon. Very soon.
“Massimo! What are you—?” Isabella’s question was a mere gasp.
“My love, I think you should know something about your late husband’s dear cousin,” Raphael drawled and glanced at the man. “Would you like to explain it to her or should I?”
“Please do,” Massimo replied with an evil grin. “It’ll be the last time you speak to your whore, so enjoy.”
“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t call her a whore. She’s my wife.”
Massimo only snorted.
“Isabella,” Raphael addressed her, “Massimo is here to kill me. I suspect he already tried a few days ago by pushing me into the canal.”
“Alas, I can’t take credit for that. One of the other Guardians deserves that praise.”
“What Guardians?” Isabella interrupted, her voice high pitched.
Raphael kept his voice calm as he answered her, knowing her nerves were at breaking point. “Massimo is part of a group of men who hunt vampires and kill them. Just like your late husband was.”
Isabella gave him a shocked stare. “Giovanni? No! That can’t be. Giovanni was a good man. He wouldn’t kill anybody.”
“Yes, he was a good man, that’s why he was one of us. A protector of the human race, a Guardian. Until they made him one of them. Until they turned him against his will.” Massimo’s voice was full of hatred. His jaw clenched tightly when he continued, “He came to me and told me what you monsters did to him, how one of you bit him and fed him vampire blood. He told me he’d continue fighting against your kind, but it wasn’t possible, of course.”
“Oh God!” Isabella gasped. “Not Giovanni. Please, say it’s not true.”
Raphael saw the tears building in her eyes as she looked at him. Would she hate him now for what his kind had done to the man she’d once loved? He searched her eyes for a sign that would tell him whether she would remain his. But her tears made it impossible to see beyond her immediate grief.
“Yes,” Massimo droned. “He did that to you. He made you a widow.” He pointed at Raphael. “He took the man we loved.”
“I did no such thing,” Raphael protested. “Yes, a vampire turned him, but it wasn’t me, and it was certainly none of our kind who killed him.” He took the gamble. If he was right in his assessment of Massimo, the man wouldn’t be able to resist the bait.
“Killed?” Isabella echoed. “But he drowned.”
Raphael nodded. “Yes, he drowned because he was vampire, and vampires don’t have any natural buoyancy. They can’t keep themselves above water. Just like I couldn’t.”
“Yes, and Giovanni knew that,” Massimo interrupted. “He knew when I pushed him into the canal that he wouldn’t survive. He looked at me. He couldn’t believe that I’d done it, but he should have. He of all people should have known that I couldn’t let him live. He’d become a creature so vile, there was only one thing to do. He should have understood. I loved him like a brother. I did it for him.”
A sob tore from Isabella’s chest. Raphael looked at her, but she turned away from him and let herself fall face down into the sheets, facing away from him. Had he lost her? Was this what this meant, that she would hate him now for what one of his brethren had done?
“Isabella. I’m sorry.”
She didn’t respond.
“Well, it appears all has been said.” Just as Massimo cocked his gun, Raphael’s sensitive hearing picked up the sound of the front door opening.
“Wait.” He had to stall him just a few more seconds until help arrived. “At least tell me how you figured me out. I deserve that much, don’t you think?”
Massimo chuckled, but it wasn’t a friendly sound. “Nothing easier than that. A servant told me that you nearly drowned in the canal. So I made inquires and found out that one of my fellow Guardians had pushed a vampire into the water that same night. It was easy to figure out from there that it was you. You might have escaped death once, but now, vampire, you’ll die.”
A shot rang out the moment the door burst open. Raphael closed his eyes and steeled himself against the pain the silver bullet would inflict on him seconds before his life force would drain from his body.
“I love you, Isabella,” he whispered his goodbyes as the shouts of his brother and Lorenzo filled the room.
“What in hell?” Dante cried out.
“Raphael!” Lorenzo called to him. “Are you alright?”
Raphael opened his eyes. He felt no pain. “I don’t know.” Then his eyes searched for Isabella. She sat up, the sheet that had covered her breasts pooling in her lap, his gun in her hand, still pointing toward where Massimo had stood.
“He’s dead,” Dante said. “Massimo’s dead.”
“Isabella?” Raphael tried to get her attention. Finally she turned to him and ran a long look over his body.
“I thought I was too late.” Then she threw herself into his arms—or rather, against his chest, since he couldn’t embrace her with his wrists still tied.
“You saved me.”
A clearing of throats made him snap his head toward his brother and Lorenzo. He gave them a scolding look. “And what took you guys so long? I thought you were following him.”
“We were, but the crafty fellow tricked us with a decoy dressed just like him. We lost him. When we noticed, we had a hunch he’d go for either you or Isabella. And since we didn’t find either of you at Isabella’s house, we instantly came here,” Lorenzo replied.
“And now that that’s cleared up, would you care to explain why you’re tied up in your own bed?” Dante grinned.
“That’s between me and my wife.”
Isabella raised her head, then pulled on the bed sheet to cover her naked tor
so.
“Would you like me to untie you?” Dante offered.
Raphael looked at Isabella and smiled. “That’s for Isabella to decide.”
The sparkle was back in her eyes, the tears forgotten. Without turning to Dante, she answered, “I’m not done with him.”
His heart skipped a beat at the underlying promise in her voice. “You heard my wife, Dante. So, if you would be so kind as to leave our bedchamber and take the body with you. My lovely wife and I have things to discuss.”
Dante shook his head. “As I said before: a fool in love. A very lucky fool.”
When the door closed behind Dante and Lorenzo, it was quiet again. All he could hear was Isabella’s breathing. “My angel, this is the second time you’ve saved me. I hope you realize that now my life belongs to you.”
“And your body?” she negotiated.
“My body was already yours long before that.” He kissed her gently. “Now untie me so I can hold you in my arms and thank you properly.”
“Not yet. I want to ask you something first.”
“Then ask.”
“Does it hurt?”
“Does what hurt?”
“Your bite.”
A hot flame shot through his body. Was she contemplating what he thought she was? “When I feed from a human? No, it doesn’t hurt. My fangs are coated with a substance that dulls the pain to a point where there’s none.”
“The nights you left our bed, did you go out to feed from humans?”
“Not every night. I only need to feed every three days. Why do you want to know all this?”
“Do you want to feed from me?”
His heartbeat doubled in an instant. “Oh, God, Isabella! I can’t think of anything I want more, except to make love to you. But you know you don’t have to do this.”
“I want to.”
Could he be so lucky? And if she allowed him this, would she one day allow him to turn her into a vampire so she wouldn’t age or die? So they could spend eternity together? His heart filled with hope for a happy future. Pulling on his restraints, he whispered, “Then get me out of these chains.”
Isabella sat up, and suddenly her breasts dangled right in front of him. His mouth closed over one nipple and sucked on it. Isabella’s moan echoed in the room. He let the nipple pop from his mouth.
“Quickly, my love.”
As soon as she’d untied him, Raphael ripped her breeches from her body and brought her underneath him. She was slick with her arousal, a scent that teased his nostrils. “Thank you.” He slid into her with one smooth glide, seating himself balls deep in her tight sheath.
Isabella tilted her head to the side in invitation. “Feed from me, my love.”
His gaze drifted lower, away from the vein on her neck, down to her gorgeous tits. He hesitated. Then he sensed her watch him.
“You want to feed from my breast?” she asked with surprise in her voice.
“Only if you allow it.” He looked up and locked eyes with her. “Your tits are so perfect, so full and ripe, I can’t think of anything better than having my face buried in them when I take your blood inside of me.” He licked over her nipple. It stiffened in response.
“Then do it. Nothing is taboo between us,” she repeated his own words from earlier.
Slowly, his fangs descended, and he grazed her skin with them. He felt a shiver go through her body. At the same time as he pulled back his hips and pumped into her pussy, he sank his fangs into her plump flesh and sucked. The rich liquid coated his tongue, the taste and scent of it nearly making him delirious.
As he fucked in and out of her warm and moist channel, he took her essence into his body. There would never be any other taste he wanted for the rest of his life than Isabella’s sweet blood.
The End
Venice Vampyr: Final Affair (#2)
Chapter One
Venice, Italy - early 1800s
At first, she’d thought her physician had made a mistake.
Three months—the doctor had given her only three more months to live. During the last two she’d likely be confined to her bed with blinding pain.
It wasn’t possible.
Just days earlier, her governess had warned her that, despite her pretty face and graceful figure, her outspoken manner and outlandish ideas were scaring away potential husbands. Viola hadn’t cared. She’d figured that if a suitor couldn’t stand up to her, then she’d rather not be married at all. Plus, she was barely one and twenty, and while she was still on the shelf when it came to marriage prospects—which was due to her impetuous nature—she had her whole life ahead of her. So she’d thought.
Three months wasn’t a life.
Yet, despite her brain tumor, she’d make the most of it.
At first, she’d thought to prove her physician wrong. She’d already traveled to Switzerland—leaving in the dead of night and without a chaperone—and consulted another expert. But the answer remained the same: she was dying.
That’s why she’d come to Venice. No longer to prove him wrong, but to live.
She hadn’t told her family where she was going: they would have stopped her. They would have called her foolish and scandalous. But she would not be stopped. Viola had accepted that she would die, but there was one thing she wanted to experience before she left this world.
She refused to die a virgin.
But she was also practical: a scandal wouldn’t serve her family. Already, her sudden disappearance would have to be covered up, something her over-eager mother was more than capable of handling. She would simply let everybody know that Viola was staying in the countryside to tend to an elderly relative. There were plenty to choose from.
Viola had decided to go where nobody knew her or any of her relatives, where her scandalous behavior would not have any repercussions for her parents. She had sent them a letter from Switzerland, telling them that her condition had worsened and that she was confined to a hospital bed. She had also told them in no uncertain terms that she wanted to be left alone and be remembered for who she was before her illness had started.
She had threatened to create a scandal in Florence should her wishes not be respected. Her threat would ensure that her mother complied with her wishes and impressed upon Viola’s father not to make any attempts to fetch her. Besides, her mother was probably happy to be rid of her. After all, Viola had never been able to live up to her high expectations. By rejecting the first—and only—suitor who’d ever dared to court her, Viola had extinguished any goodwill her mother had ever felt toward her.
Viola had arranged for her parents to receive a letter in three months, indicating that their daughter had passed away peacefully. Of course, it would be a lie, because she would take her life much earlier. Once she had accomplished what she’d come to Venice for.
Once she was no longer a virgin, she would take the pistol she carried in her bag and end her life before the pain would debilitate her. She had no intention of suffering a long and painful death.
Viola smoothed a hand over her skirts and righted her cloak. Filling her lungs with a deep breath, she pushed the heavy oak door open.
The place she entered was a club of sorts. According to her information, gentlemen who were looking for female companionship frequented the surprisingly clean establishment. While it was not a brothel, many of the women who joined the men at the club to seek carnal pleasures did so for money. However, the man who’d guided her to this club had assured her that on occasion women of the higher classes were seen there to find diversions their respectable husbands wouldn’t indulge their wives in.
She hoped the man had been correct and the story she had rehearsed would be believable. The last thing she wanted to do was to draw attention to herself. It was hard enough to overcome her embarrassment at having to approach a stranger and ask him to bed her. Being sent on her way without achieving her goal would be worse. Because there was one rule the men at the club insisted on despite their debauchery: nobody was to bed a
virgin.
The place smelled of cigars, alcohol, and perfume. Viola took a shallow breath and let the door snap in behind her. A burgundy curtain of heavy velvet separated the foyer from the main rooms behind. Music and laughter drifted to her. She took a step forward when a hand on her arm held her back.
Her breath caught in her throat as she snapped her head to the side.
“There’s a fee, Signora,” the heavy set woman in the richly embroidered dress said. Her breasts spilled over her low-cut gown, and the large baubles around her neck sparkled in the candlelight.
“Of course,” Viola answered and reached into her purse, retrieving a coin. The man who’d told her about the club had prepared her for this. It would not do if she behaved like an innocent who’d never done this before. It would only create suspicion.
The hostess took the coin and made it disappear in the folds of her dress. “Very well then.”
A moment later, she parted the curtain and allowed Viola to step through.
The room was larger than she’d expected. In fact, it was as large as her parents’ ballroom. On the sides, booths had been built to provide a semblance of privacy for anybody who wished it, but in the middle the chaises and sofas as well as their occupants were in plain view. Large chandeliers with blazing candles provided light, and a small string quartet supplied the ambiance.
Servants circulated to supply the guests with beverages and, by the state some of the guests were in, it was clear that alcohol flowed freely. Men lounged on sofas, some fully dressed and perfectly respectable, others with their cravats loosened and their chests partially exposed. Women could be found draped over men’s bodies in more than indecent poses.
Hadn’t her informant said this wasn’t a brothel? Viola felt her heartbeat rise. She was nothing like the women she saw in this place. They seemed unconcerned with modesty or privacy. This was not what she’d expected. Maybe the man had misunderstood her. She’d sought a place to find a man who would bed her in the privacy of a bedchamber and let her experience what it was like to feel a man’s body joined with hers.