Romance: Menage Romance: The French Quarter Hostages (Paranormal Action Shapeshifter MFM Bear Shifter Romance) (Fantasy BBW Taboo Interracial Love Triangle Werebear Mates Short Stories)

by Jessica Miller

  I park in front of the house and sit there, my hands shaky. This feels bold, more bold than I’m used to. More bold than showing up at Damien’s office unannounced. This is their home, the home I fled from in anger over two weeks ago.

  Finally, I step out of my car. I strut up to the front door and raise my hand to knock, but the door swings open before my knuckles can make contact with its surface.

  Christopher stands there, staring at me with a raised brow. He steps aside after a moment and I tentatively step inside.

  “Fancy seeing you here,” he says quietly, flipping on the hallway light as he closes the door so we’re not trapped in darkness. Visions of our intimacy and the bites he placed on my skin bring a hot flush to my cheeks.

  “I need to speak to you and Damien,” I say shortly, averting my eyes and looking down the hallway in search of Damien’s familiar form. “Please.”

  “Follow me,” Christopher says with a shrug, making his way down the hallway and back to the sitting room I was last in with them. I settle onto the couch it hesitantly while Christopher goes and fetches Damien.

  Finally they are both sitting before me, but suddenly I cannot find my words. I bite my lip and play with the sleeves of my shirt, looking up at them hesitantly.

  Damien’s eyes are trained on my lip, watching how my tooth captures the soft pink flesh. But then as soon as I look at him his eyes dart back up to my own. There’s something dark and wanting in his eyes which I try to ignore.

  “Why did that happen?” I say finally, my voice coming out smaller than I would like. I clear my throat. “At the club you stopped drinking from me well before I was in any danger.” I look pointedly at Damien. “Why didn’t you do that again? Either of you.”

  Damien and Christopher exchange a look, and then Damien sighs deeply. “Sometimes we get carried away, especially when involved in this sort of situation.” He gestures out with his hands towards myself and Christopher. “We both got carried away in the moment. It won’t happen again.”

  I think about his words. They haven’t completely comforted me. “If I were to . . . become one of you, could that happen again?”

  “Yes,” Christopher says seriously. “We are still at danger of running out of blood. Blood still runs through our veins and we still rely on it, we’re much like yourself in that respect. But it’s more difficult for us to get to that dangerous threshold. It’s safer, if you’re one of us. And you bounce back much quicker. Plus, you could probably stop us yourselves at that point.”

  I think about his words, rolling them over and over again in my mind. I’m frightened, I can’t deny it. I’m frightened of what happened, I don’t want it to happen again. But the longer I go without one of their bites, the more it haunts me. I need it again. I need the experience. And I’m willing to go to great lengths to get it.

  “I want to become one of you.”

  My words hang in the air. Damien and Christopher both stare at me with dark and searching eyes, before exchanging a look with one another. Then Christopher cracks a smile.

  “I think she’s ready, Damien,” he says slowly. “You had your doubts. Mine are all gone, personally.”

  “Yes, I agree,” Damien says with a nod. “The fact that you’re so willing for this even after that traumatizing experience, and after taking a few weeks to think about it . . . I’m willing to do it.”

  “How do you do it?” I ask breathlessly. My heart is thumping wildly in my chest. I can’t believe they actually agreed. It was more than I could hope for.

  “It’s simple, really,” Damien explains. “We drink from you until you are near out of blood. And then we allow you to drink from us. It’s a little messy at first, as your teeth won’t be fully formed. But you’ll get the hang of it.”

  They’ll drink from me. Yes. I feel a grin spreading across my face involuntarily.

  “I’m ready,” I say, my voice hardly louder than a whisper.

  Damien gets up suddenly, moving towards me. He sits down beside me and rests a hand on my thigh, sliding his fingers down until they are between wedged between my legs before giving me a squeeze. I gasp and he grins, before drawing aside my hair and baring his teeth against my neck.

  I see Christopher approaching out of the corner of my eye. I feel his fingertips on my shoulder, sliding down my back until he reaches the hem of my shirt. He tugs it upwards, causing Damien to pause in his ravishing of my neck as my shirt goes over my head. I reach towards Christopher, fumbling on the button of his pants but eventually managing to get it. He growls deep in his throat before grabbing my chin and wrenching my face towards his, capturing my mouth in a kiss.

  Damien sinks his teeth into my skin and I gasp against Christopher’s mouth as his tongue probes into mine. I lightly bite at his tongue and he lets out a growl.

  With my hands I reach down and take hold of him, feeling him grow instantly hard in my grip, and begin to work my hand up and down the length of him. Damien’s hand moves down the flat of my stomach and down my thigh until it reaches the hem of my skirt. He flips up my skirt and I shudder as he places a hand against my bare crotch.

  As Damien drains blood from my neck Christopher kisses me with a passion like nothing I have ever experienced before. This time is even better than the last. As I stroke Christopher he pulls off his shirt and leans into me. I can feel his hard body against my own as he takes one of my nipples in his mouth. I shudder and let out a moan as he works his tongue in circles.

  Damien moves in front of me and frees himself from his pants. He enters me as Christopher takes his tongue and runs it up my neck. I lean into him in anticipation of his bite and when it finally comes I gasp in ecstasy. I can feel my blood being drained by both men as Damien makes love to me and I have never felt anything like this before. My orgasm slams through my body causing my back to arch and every muscle in my body to go taut. Damien lets go of my neck and thrust into me with abandon his tight, muscular body glistening with sweat as he moves. I run my hands over the contours of his shoulders and down his tight abdomen. I wrap my arms around his waist. Gripping his buttocks with both hands, I force him to thrust even faster.

  Christopher continues to drink from me as Damien begins to moan with pleasure. I can tell he is near climax, but right now I want nothing more than for him to stay inside of me. As his orgasm comes, he latches onto my neck and drinks deep of my blood. Pure ecstasy shoots from my tips of my toes and nearly blows the top of my head off.

  I am panting like a racehorse as Damien moves aside and Christopher steps between my legs. Unlike Damien, he never releases my neck. As he enters me my body once more shudders with pleasure. With both of them draining the blood from my body I feel ecstasy like I have never felt before. I moan and throw my head back as Christopher reaches his climax. Christopher’s hard body presses up against mine as he thrusts on final time, but something is different. My vision is beginning to fade a little around the edges and my breath is much harder to catch. Still the pleasure of both men drinking from me at the same time is so intense that I don’t want them to stop. My breath comes in shallow, ragged gasps. Like before my body is covered in a sheen of cold, clammy sweat and it is getting harder and harder to think. I know that I am getting close to how weak I was last time when they nearly killed me, but I want more.

  I feel the familiar weakness setting in. I moan aloud, feeling the slick, hard bodies of Damien and Christopher against me. But suddenly Damien stops, and then Christopher follows suit.

  Damien crouches down beside me, cupping my face in his hand and turning me so I look at him. I grin at him lazily.

  “Why did you stop?” my voice is breathy and weak.

  “Because it’s time,” Damien purrs. He holds up something in the light, it shines silver. A knife? I watch in my lazy stupor as he brings the blade towards his skin and slashes across his collarbone. A thin line of red bubbles to the surface.

  He places a hand on the back of my head and guides my face towards his chest.

>   “Drink.”

  My lips press against the red stain on his skin. I tentatively open my mouth, my tongue flicking out against him. It tastes strange . . . metallic. But I’m curious. And the more I drink, the better it tastes. That familiar euphoric sensation is washing over me. And with it comes this incredible sense of power. Something feels strange in my mouth. I can’t pinpoint it, but all of a sudden I can bite him. I press my teeth down and they break through the skin easily, effortlessly. Blood trickles into my mouth at a steadier pace and I let out a moan of ecstasy.

  “It’s working.” Damien’s voice drifts to my ears slowly and languidly, as if through a haze. I feel Christopher leaning over my shoulder, his lips against my skin again. And then he’s biting down and he is drinking from me as I drink from Damien. My entire body is trembling. My skin is on fire but in the best way.

  I am a vampire, and nothing has every felt so good.

  THE END

  Bonus Story 7 of 20

  Taken by the SEALs

  Samantha Fry knew that Jack was returning tomorrow. Jack Plainview was the boy she had known all through her childhood, the boy who had always been picking up sticks and pretending they were guns, the boy with whom she had lost her virginity, the boy with whom she had smoked her first cigarette, the boy with whom she had first stopped being a Good Girl. She didn’t know this because he had contacted her. They had stopped talking about five years ago. They had just drifted apart in that inexorable way that happens between childhood friends who choose different paths. No, she knew because Barkton was a small town and in small towns news traveled fast.

  She had been in the store buying some milk and eggs when Miss Hag (her real name was Miss Hobson, but Samantha thought Hag worked better) sidled up to Samantha with a witch-like grimace and shoved a pointy stick-thin finger in her face. “That boy is coming home from the war tomorrow,” she barked. “That Jack Plainview what went off to the war some three years ago? He’s coming back. I remember you two as little kiddies, thick as thieves. You’ll be giving him quite the welcome?” The Hag licked her lips in a sickening caricature of feminine lust. “I bet you will.”

  Samantha had restrained the surprisingly strong urge to punch the Miss Hag in the nose. Now, home from her exciting, exhilarating, and massively fulfilling job of waiting tables at The Spatula, she lay on her bed in her one-bedroom apartment and looked up at the ceiling. She found herself wishing her parents were here. Her father had died four years ago, when she was twenty-four, and her mother had died a year after that. That her mother had died of cancer and her father in a car crash so soon afterward was a cruel punishment which Samantha didn’t feel deserving of. But it had happened and there was no point bemoaning it.

  She traced the pattern on her ceiling lazily with her eyes, wondering how changed Jack would be. She didn’t know why they had stopped talking. It had just sort of happened. He had gone off to the SEALs and she had never bothered to contact him and he had never bothered to contact her. And now most of her friends had moved out of Barkton to bigger and better things, and were so changed by their new lives that Samantha barely recognized them. The cities had taken them and warped them into pretentious cocktail-drinkers.

  Only Fiona had remained, her high-school friend with big bazooka breasts. Samantha thought about calling her up and going out for a drink but she didn’t have the energy, nor the inclination. She wanted, she realized, to see Jack. It was an urge within her that she barely comprehended. She had been fine, all this time, without seeing him. She had barely thought about him, unless in passing when someone at work had mentioned him. She hadn’t even seen a picture of him since he joined the SEALs.

  But he had always been strong. She remembered when, as a silly girl with dreams of being a mermaid, she had waded into the river that bordered the west side of the town. The current had been furious with her, and had whipped around her in an effort to dislodge her. She had screamed and cried and been as incapable as any eight-year-old girl caught in the grips of a natural disaster. But Jack, just as young, just as scared, had jumped into the water and, with amazing strength waded through the strong current, grabbed her, and tugged her to the shore.

  She remembered looking up at his young, excited face, framed by the sun. “Sammy,” he’d said. “Are you okay, Sammy?”

  She must’ve been intoxicated with excitement. She’d reached up and touched his cheek. “Thank you,” she said, and he’d blushed so fiercely she’d laughed.

  As she poured herself a small glass of wine, she wondered if he ever thought of these childhood memories. She took a sip, and then she realized how selfish her thought was. He’d been at war. He’d had more important things to worry about. She sighed heavily and then tipped her head back and drained the last of her wine. Head a tad dizzy, steps a tad tipsy, she returned to bed and climbed beneath the sheets. Outside, snow fell in tiny crystals.

  Samantha watched the night turn white and glittery until she fell asleep.

  *

  Samantha’s first thought, upon awaking to the sound of her apartment buzzer screeching through the place, was that her boss had decided to interrupt her day off. He sometimes did this, despite the fact that she always refused and had only worked a day off once, and only then for triple pay. She wasn’t overly happy with her job but the fact was she was a good waitress, one of the only ones who had stuck around, and was able to demand more than the average employee.

  She was preparing a firm refusal in her mind. Mr. Adams would just have to find somebody else. Mr. Adams would just have to wait the tables himself. Mr. Adams must be more organized than this. Yes, she would say all that and more. She felt a bit mean, like when she and Jack had pushed that big fat bully Ryan Grate into the ant’s nest. Then they had watched him squirm and scream as half the school looked on. He hadn’t been such a bully the next day.

  She shook her head. Why was the past so ghost-like lately? Then she pressed the apartment buzzer. Oh, how she would give it to Mr. Adams! He wouldn’t know what hit him! He would wish he had never left The Spatula to come here and try and ruin her small time of peace.

  “Yes?” she said, trying to keep her voice chirpy.

  “Samantha?”

  She knew the voice; her hand fell away from the buzzer.

  “Samantha? Are you there? It’s me. It’s Jack.”

  *****

  She tried to convince herself that she wasn’t dreaming, that Jack Plainview was really outside her apartment on an average Sunday morning, but it was hard. She hadn’t spoken to him in over half a decade. But what was she going to do, leave him standing down there? Maybe if she walked down there and saw the ghostly apparition she would wake up and things would go back to normal. She knew he was coming back today, but she hadn’t expected him to come to her apartment personally. They had drifted too far apart for that.

  She ran into her bedroom and threw on some sweat pants and a t-shirt. Then she pressed the buzzer and took a deep breath, lest she mumbled something incoherent and absurd. “Jack?” she said, hating the note of desperation in her voice.

  “Sammy,” Jack said, laughing.

  “I’m coming down now,” Samantha said.

  Her legs were like jelly as she descended the stairs. She gripped the railing and walked down with steady steps. She was slightly embarrassed by her reaction, but mostly she was shocked and thrilled and scared that Jack had come to her door, pushing himself into her normal, boring life. She opened the door with a smile.

  It was snowing outside, and the sky was clouded over in a shield of white. The weather seemed poignant to her, as though it was more important than the very real ghost standing in the weather. Come on, Samantha, just turn from the clouds and look at the ghost. How hard can it be? She forced herself to look down. She knew she probably seemed drunk and weird, but that was okay; Jack had known her long enough to know she was drunk and strange a lot of the time.

  She looked down. She gasped.

  Jack had been a tall, muscular, brown-ha
ired teenager. Now he was an even taller, even more muscular brown-haired man. His face was square and strong, and his eyes were sky-blue, almost white. They were eyes that looked through you and into you at once. He wore a green shirt and khaki pants with cream-colored boots. He stood with a soldier’s stiff back, and a light beard grew on his face, silver and brown.

  And the man beside him—

  He was thinner, but taller, with thick black hair and a savage handsomeness. He wore a thick checkered shirt and faded blue jeans with dark boots. He regarded her coolly with forest-green eyes.

  Jack smiled at her. “Sammy,” he said. “Aren’t you happy to see me? This is Eli Smith, a fellow SEAL.”

  Samantha found herself nodding like a bobble-head. Words seemed things for experts in those moments. She couldn’t grasp them, let alone use them. She looked at the two men mutely for a couple more moments and then she saw herself: a silly, skinny, blonde girl standing there with her mouth open.

  She shook her head. “Of course I am,” she said, and smiled. “I’m just shocked, is all. It’s nice to see you, Jack. It’s nice to meet you, Eli.”

  *

  Sitting in her living room with Jack and this Eli, Samantha felt a distinct feeling of unreality, as though she were watching all this through 3-D glasses. She tried to keep her face clear of her shock. She had regained herself after her initial silliness and had made them all some coffee. She sat on the chair and the two of them sat side by side on the couch. Samantha watched Jack with a sort of animalistic curiosity as he sipped his coffee and looked around the apartment. This man was once the boy who had waded into the river and… it was strange.

  Eli picked up one of her books, a John Steinbeck, regarded it for a few moments and then set it down on the table. Samantha wasn’t a huge reader, but her father had loved John Steinbeck and recently Samantha had decided to read through all his novels as a sort of tribute.