Bloodlust Denied

by Phillips, Christina

  Air hissed between his clenched teeth as she caught her erect nipple between finger and thumb and rubbed the rosy tip. Her other hand raked back her long black hair and she tipped her head to one side, exposing the length of her naked neck and shoulder and breast for his uninterrupted viewing pleasure.

  “Do you mean to torture me all night?” The words seared his throat.

  For the fleetest second she hesitated, as if his question was unexpected. Her hand slid from her hair, tangled curls dancing to their own erotic melody.

  “I don’t mean to torture you at all.” She sounded oddly unsure. “Only offer you release.”

  He laughed for the second time that night, perhaps only the second time that century.

  “I accept your offer, most gladly.” He twined her silken locks around his fist and pulled her toward him. The heat of her quim teased his damp slit, sending sharp arrows of lust along his length and into his aching balls. “If you will allow me the same favor in return.”

  Her fingers curled around his shoulders and her eyes were so dark, so filled with passion, he almost believed there was something more, something sacred—something he’d lost forever and had never wanted to recapture in all his decades of wandering this cursed earth.

  But as her breath escaped in a long gasp, as she swayed her hips above his searching cock, the insubstantial moment vanished. All he could see, all he could feel was raw desire emanating from her, as potent and potentially lethal as his own.

  Slowly she lowered herself to him, heightening his desire until the need to impale her, to possess her, to claim her for his own was the only coherent thought pounding through his mind. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, her breath panted against his mouth and then she sank onto him, hot and tight and wet, sheathing him so securely, sanity shattered.

  Chapter Two

  “Yes.” Barely aware he spoke, only aware of how this woman sucked him deep into her velvet embrace. Her pale breast beckoned him and he gripped the curve of her arse through the silk of her gown and suckled her nipple.

  Fingers raked savagely through his hair as she flung back her head and pressed closer against his exploring mouth and tongue and teeth. Gods, his teeth. They ached to take her, to impale her as deeply as his shaft. But still he held back, inexplicably deriving perverted pleasure from his pain, from the hunger, from denial.

  Her pussy flexed as she rose from his groin and in the flickering light, he saw her parted lips, her flushed cheeks, her lust-glazed eyes. She looked wild, alluring; a temptation the sane atom of his brain warned him to resist. But she was irresistible and he had no intention of denying his body this physical satisfaction.

  With a sigh that sounded strangely like defeat, she slid down his erection, taking him deep inside her slick heat. His hand slid the length of her arched back, clasped her neck, and forced her toward him.

  She resisted his pressure, and instead thrust forward her breasts, a clear invitation.

  “Kiss me.” The words were harsh. He could scarcely believe he’d uttered them. When had he ever had to beg such a thing? Even before this twilight existence, women had flocked to his side, eager for his touch. They had craved, in vain, to feel his lips upon them.

  For answer, she tightened her sheath around him. Ripples of pleasure played his cock, a physical counterpoint to the ethereal tremolo of the violin. The trembling notes were all that existed of the outside world; all that existed within this dark, erotic encounter.

  “I don’t kiss.” She looked down at him, her midnight hair enclosing them in a scented haven of sensation. Her pouting lips offered untold sin, belying her words, yet she kept herself out of his reach.

  He thrust his hips, burying his rigid shaft so deep within her that her entire body quivered with need. Her shocked gasp, the clench of her silken slit, the way her nails dug into his scalp all served to escalate the roar in his blood, the want clawing between his thighs.

  “It wasn’t a request.” Damn her, how dare she resist? He could snap her fragile neck like a dried twig if he so desired. She had not the faintest concept how close to death she hovered.

  “I know.” She rose onto her toes, her pussy clinging onto the head of his erection. The caress of her wet sheath around his shaft was torture.

  She pounded onto him, driving forward so his cock penetrated at an angle. Lust burned through his core, tightening his balls with delirious agony. The column of her vulnerable throat filled his vision. Pale, tempting, throbbing with vital life and his fangs tore through his gums, desperate for primitive satisfaction.

  “Do you seek release?” Her erratic breath whispered across his mouth and he kept his lips pressed together, unable to answer, unable to think. All he could feel was the rhythmic pulse of her tight cunt around him. Smell the scent of roses in the heated air. Feel the throb of the violin in the marrow of his bones.

  Savagely he wound her hair around his fist and pulled her toward him. With agonizing restraint, he grazed his aching teeth across her fragrant skin. Her rich blood called to him, inviting him to taste and take and indulge his lust. Red ribbons of fire cascaded through his mind and obliterated his vision.

  Blood filled his mouth, but it was his blood, fangs embedded in his tongue. A poor substitute for the lush crimson sustenance he craved.

  Fingernails, sharp as blades, raked along his neck and warm liquid bathed his skin as the stench of corruption tainted the air. She grasped his throat, stroked her palms upward over his jaw, smearing his blood across his flesh. Taunting him, driving him insane. But her eyes captivated him, dark, fathomless, daring him to respond.

  “Witch.” It was the only word he could articulate and it was a guttural sound, forced through gritted teeth and paralyzed lips.

  Long eyelashes flickered, strangely vulnerable, and her lips parted as if she was about to reply. But then a shudder coursed along her spine, vibrating through their joined bodies. Her nails gouged into his face, sharp pain, intensely arousing.

  He growled, a primal sound, and tightened his brutal grip on her hair. She gasped, tried to pull free and failed. Through her silken gown, he grasped her delectable arse more securely, his fingers sliding into her crease and probing her anus.

  She gave a strangled scream and her hot cleft convulsed around him, squeezing his shaft. Her fingers tangled in his hair, her nails dug into his head and her bare breast tormented him. His balls drew up tight as she rode him with mindless abandon.

  Her pussy clutched, tight as a glove, demanding his surrender. The musky scent of sex drifted around them like an opium cloud. His orgasm exploded along his shaft and he held her immobilized, savagely thrusting into her, fucking her as he had not fucked a woman in millennia.

  He latched onto her throat and sucked her flesh. Tasting her sweetness and ravishing her flawless skin with his lips and his tongue; branding her for all time.

  He dragged his mouth from her before he pierced her skin and drank in the sight of her lust-dazed face. He pumped into her quivering cleft and reveled in the sensation of her tight wetness milking him. Of the hot gasps issuing from her parted lips and the startled expression in her dark, exotic eyes.

  Bone-trembling satisfaction claimed him. Gods, she’d drained him. He tightened his grip on her as she fell onto his chest, her heart thundering, her breath erratic. Her body trembled as if it had been too long for her, also, since she’d been so sexually sated.

  He loosened his grip on her and wrapped his arms around her waist, savoring her warmth and softness. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d held a woman in his arms this way. Couldn’t recall the last time he’d wanted to.

  Lies.

  He could remember. He chose not to. Because remembering brought nothing but futile fury and impotent heartache and he was beyond that now. It no longer mattered.

  More lies.

  Yet still he held her, the contact oddly satisfying despite the rabid hunger rampaging through his veins, clamoring at the gates of his resistance. His head dropped and he bu
ried his face into her soft hair, relishing its silky fineness, its fresh fragrance.

  Her blood would surely be the sweetest in creation. He closed his eyes against temptation, but temptation throbbed in every beat of her heart, every rise and fall of her breasts.

  A thought strayed into his sex-soaked mind. Perhaps he would keep this woman for a while, enjoy her lush body. Use her until she no longer amused him and only then claim his bloodlust.

  Could he possibly exercise such restraint? When had he ever denied himself?

  It had been an eternity since he’d set himself a challenge, and what greater challenge could there be but to deny himself the orgasmic oblivion drinking her blood promised?

  His cock, still buried in her wet heat, stirred. There was time for another quick fuck before he clouded her mind and sequestered her at his country estate.

  She levered herself upright, folded arms braced against his chest as she stared at him. Confused disbelief mingled with remnants of desire flickered across her face.

  He shifted, silently cursing the rough stone wall that dug into his buttocks. On second thought, he’d take her directly back to his country home. Comfort was always a bonus.

  “That was unexpected.” Her breathless whisper drew him back to the present.

  Amusement bubbled deep in his chest at her obvious surprise.

  “Have you always faked fulfillment until now?” He knew her orgasm had been genuine. Women had no need to pretend with him. The danger he exuded subconsciously enhanced their arousal. Besides, the second he sank his fangs into their trembling flesh the mingling fluids ensured climax was inevitable.

  But he hadn’t sunk his fangs into this woman’s flesh.

  “No.” A swift frown marred her flawless brow. “But I didn’t expect it with you.”

  Shock stabbed through him, an emotion he’d long since thought himself incapable of experiencing.

  “Should I be offended?” His thickening erection certainly wasn’t.

  If she noticed his increasing arousal—and how could she not?—she chose to ignore it.

  “If you wish.” She sounded indifferent to his feelings.

  He didn’t possess feelings. Except, strangely, her indifference intrigued him.

  “I didn’t expect such pleasure either.” He offered her a smile, which never failed to melt the most frigid of women. And this woman was far from frigid.

  Her eyes glittered. She didn’t smile back.

  “I didn’t say I found pleasure in this coupling.” Disgust tinged her words. “It was simply physical release.”

  His cock jerked with renewed need and her jaw clenched. She obviously resented his continued intrusion. He angled his hips so she felt his swollen length invade her farther.

  “You excel in your profession.” He tilted his head in mock respect. “You delivered and I willingly pay your price.”

  The tip of her tongue slid between her lips, an oddly innocent gesture that inexplicably entranced him.

  “I doubt that.” Her voice was low, husky, and her lashes fluttered over her eyes concealing their expression.

  “Try me.” His whisper promised her delights she could scarcely imagine. His wealth, accrued over centuries, could buy her whatever she desired for as long as she continued to entertain him with her contradictory tongue.

  “I have tried you.” Her gaze clashed with his. “And I find you wanting.”

  Silence shivered in the warm night air as he stared into her defiant eyes. An odd sensation snaked through his chest. Incredulity, disbelief, amazement at her sheer audacity for daring to suggest his technique was somehow lacking.

  It even dampened the keening bloodlust. But enhanced the need to ride her again, to show her more surely than words ever could how miserably she lied.

  “You have a unique way of interacting with your clients. Aren’t you concerned one of them might object to your,” he paused for a telling moment, “candid manner?”

  “I’m not afraid of you.”

  Strange, yet he believed her. And it served to heighten his intention to keep her for his own. Until he tired of her and finished this encounter the way he finished all his nameless encounters.

  Holding her securely against his groin with one arm, he brushed damp curls from her cheek and then traced the outline of her face with his finger. He knew she objected to his touch by the way she clenched her jaw and thinned her lips, but she didn’t protest verbally or by trying to pull away.

  “What’s your name?” The question was idle. Yet it was a question he rarely asked of his victims. Why did he care what they called themselves? He would never use their name.

  But he would call this one’s name.

  For a moment, he didn’t think she was going to respond. Disappointment flickered through him. He didn’t want to inflict his powers of persuasion upon her. Somehow it wouldn’t be the same, although he wasn’t sure why he believed that.

  She puffed out an impatient breath. “Morana.”

  “Morana.” He tasted her name and found it pleasing. “I have a proposition for you, Morana.”

  She unfolded her arms and shoved at his shoulders. It got her nowhere. “I don’t want to hear your proposition.”

  He twirled an errant curl around his finger. “I haven’t given you the choice.”

  Her naked breast rose and fell, her erect nipple a succulent temptation. Reluctant curiosity gleamed in her eyes and her pussy rippled around his length, a lover’s caress.

  And then the cursed violinist intruded, the urgent vibrato hammering through his brain, shattering the moment. Morana blinked rapidly as though awakening from a dream.

  “Unhand me.” Her demand was a sultry whisper, and her now gentle hands caressed his jaw. “And I will listen to your proposition.”

  A smile tugged his lips. She knew as well as he, she had no option but to hear him, whether he released her or not. He held her unflinching gaze long enough to convey that knowledge before slowly relaxing his hold.

  It didn’t matter if she ran. She could never escape him.

  She braced her weight on his shoulders and flicked him a barely concealed glance of resentment for her inability to rise from their embrace without support. He offered her a sardonic smile in return, and a shudder of dark pleasure ripped through his groin as she lifted herself from his erection.

  He wrapped his hand around his shaft, wet from her juices and his come. His eyes never left her as she sensuously arched her back, black hair cascading to the filth-strewn gutter. And then she writhed, arms above her head, hips undulating, and her fluidity was mesmeric, unearthly. As if she was a part of the haunting notes that filled the air and obliterated all sensation save that of the need to possess her once again.

  Faster she swirled, her silken gown molded to her waist and hips and legs. Her naked breast taunted him, her luscious nipple a dark invitation. Yet she appeared unaware of her state of dishabille, unaware of her surroundings. Unaware of anything but the sensual manipulation of her body as a physical counterpoint to the haunting strains of the cursed violin.

  Blood thudded in his temples, thudded along his thickening cock. He should halt this exhibition instantly, eliminate the pimp and take Morana back to his estate. But he couldn’t tear his gaze from her, couldn’t summon the will to rise to his feet and wring the virtuoso’s scrawny neck.

  Harder he pumped his slick cock. Imagined it was Morana’s small hand holding him. He gripped his balls, squeezed his sac. Pressure built from the base of his spine and arrowed through his root. He tried to hold back, tried to prevent the inevitable but for once, his control eluded him. His thigh muscles tensed and with a guttural roar, he came, violently, inexcusably, his body convulsing, his mind screaming denial.

  Panting, he glared through the gathering blackness. The lantern had gone out, the music ceased and Morana had vanished.

  Concealed in her carriage Morana stared blindly into the night as the faceless driver negotiated the dark streets. Her heart still pounded
against her breasts and it had little to do with her dance and everything to do with the dark stranger she’d just inexplicably fucked.

  “Interesting.” Thanatos, her only companion for years without number, sounded intrigued. She looked at him, watched him tenderly smooth one pale hand over his beloved violin before returning her gaze. “We’ve never miscalculated before, Morana.”

  She tugged her bodice more securely over her breast. Her flesh was raw from where the stranger had manhandled her. Heat flooded her cheeks and pooled between her thighs as she recalled how his lips had felt as he tasted her throat and suckled her nipple.

  “There’s a first time for everything.” The trite words hung heavy in the carriage, as a thread of terror wound through her heart, chilling her blood with unsavory possibilities.

  She had mistaken a mortal for a vampire. Did that mean her perception was clouding?

  Thanatos took her hand, brushed her knuckles briefly across his lips. His touch was as comforting as that of the brother she had once loved and lost. “One misjudgment is nothing to concern ourselves with.”

  It concerned her. How could she continue with her crusade if she could no longer trust her judgment?

  “Do you think there’s something that might explain this in the contract?”

  Thanatos’ smile vanished at the thought of the contract they had made with Death.

  “You want to consult the contract?” His tone conveyed how little he relished that thought. “Surely there’s no need for that, Morana. Take tonight for what it was.” His long elegant fingers caressed the gleaming maple of his violin. “You desired the man and decided to take him.” Then he shot her an inappropriate grin. “Thank you for the erotic show. It was fascinating.”

  She gripped her blood-smeared fingers together. “I was merely attempting to get the creature to expose himself.”

  It was the truth. And yet it was another lie because the only reason she had allowed him such liberties with her body was because his touch had incinerated her inhibitions and vaporized her innate repugnance for all his kind.