by Brooklyn Ann
Now she was naked before him, except for her stockings and garters. His cock grew harder as he gazed upon the perfection of her breasts. He needed to taste those as well. Vincent lifted Lydia higher, reveling in his unnatural strength, until the beautiful, rounded flesh was level with his face. He covered her breasts with light kisses, teasing her nipples with his tongue, making them rigid.
Lydia squirmed and gasped from his ministrations, but he was merciless, feasting upon her until he had his fill. Slowly lowering her so he could hold her with one arm, he unfastened his trousers.
“No, not yet!” she protested. “Put me down, please.”
Biting back a groan of frustration, Vincent reluctantly complied.
With a smoldering glance under her lashes, Lydia sank to her knees in front of him. “I want to taste you.”
Her pink tongue darted out to lick her lips, and he was almost undone. Impatiently, she yanked down his trousers, freeing his erection.
Gently, she grasped his shaft and touched her tongue to the head. Vincent’s eyes drifted closed at the electrifying pleasure. Lydia slowly took him into her mouth and reached up to caress his sensitive flesh.
Vincent tangled a hand in her ebony tresses and groaned in bliss with her sensuous ministrations. If she kept at it much longer, he would explode.
***
A thrill of sexual power flooded Lydia as she pleasured Vincent with her mouth. His shaft felt like iron as she worked it with her hand. She swirled her tongue around the tip, exploring its fascinating curves and ridges.
“Enough!” Vincent growled, grasping her shoulders and pulling her to her feet.
Lydia’s core flared with heat in anticipation for him to be inside her.
“Grasp the bedpost.” His voice was rough with command.
Her nipples stiffened at his dominance as she obeyed him. Lydia curled her fingers around the round, polished oak, legs quivering as the insides of her thighs grew damp from her arousal. Again, she looked in the mirror. The view of Vincent looming naked behind her, his hard length standing up and pointed at her exposed body, left no doubt as to his intent.
Gently, he seized her hair and moved it over one shoulder as he kissed the other. He pressed his bare chest against her back and ran his hands up her rib cage to cup her breasts. With torturous languor, he kissed and nibbled her neck while squeezing her sensitive flesh and pinching her nipples just enough to bring her to hypnotic heights of pain and pleasure.
“Spread your legs.” His breath was hot against her earlobe, making her shiver. “And do not let go.”
As she planted her feet wide apart, Vincent slid one hand down to toy with her hot arousal. Then, with his magical strength, he slowly lifted her until the tip of his hard length pressed against her wet core.
Lydia whimpered with need and clung to the bedpost.
“Are you ready for my next lesson?” he whispered, stroking her clit with his middle finger.
“Please!” she moaned.
His hard length filled her in one long thrust.
The movement was so sudden and intense that her head nearly slammed into the bedpost. Lydia’s muscles flexed as she gripped the oak tighter and bent her elbows. Her thighs clamped down on Vincent’s hips, adjusting her balance and drawing him yet deeper inside her.
Like a wicked dance, his cock slid in and out of her slowly as his fingers squeezed and teased her swollen clit and labia. The exquisite, simultaneous motions continued until she bucked and squirmed in his grip.
“I want you to come for me now,” he commanded roughly.
As if enslaved to his words, her body became electric as the climax shattered her being. He continued his teasing caresses and long, deep strokes until she was reduced to mindless thrashing.
“Vincent…” she moaned desperately.
As the orgasm faded to a thrumming pulse, he grasped her hips with both hands.
“I like the sound of my name when you’re in the throes of pleasure,” Vincent murmured in a low, wicked voice. “Now let’s see if I can make you scream it this time.”
With that, he thrust into her hard and fast, gripping her hips with brutal force. The bedpost creaked in protest. The feel and sound of his flesh slapping against hers brought her back to that bewitching realm where pleasure teased the edges of pain.
Lydia threw her head back and cried out in rapture. Her core began to throb once more as the intensity began to peak.
“Scream my name, Lydia,” Vincent growled. “Do it, and I will bring you over the edge.”
She needed no further urging. “Vincent!”
The moment the scream tore from her throat, Vincent’s fangs plunged into her neck, and his mind locked with hers. Suddenly, it was as if they were one being. Lydia could feel Vincent’s pleasure, feel how her body clenched his hardness. She could feel his mind inside her and experience his awareness of her ecstasy.
The sensations layered, intertwined, and combusted into a furious torrent as her climax roared through her body in tandem with his. Black spots obscured her vision, and the miracle went on, blurring her consciousness until he took them both over the edge of paradise.
Lydia’s awareness faded in and out as Vincent embraced her, his cock still pulsing within. He clung to her as they recovered their breath, then carefully withdrew and gathered her into his arms. As he carried her to the bed, her mouth worked in an effort to speak.
“My God, I had no idea we could use our strength and powers for…for…” Words failed her in dazed awe. Her fingers threaded through his hair, toying with the silver and gold strands. I love you, she mouthed, though he couldn’t see.
Vincent’s heart pounded against her ear, and she felt him tremble as they sank into the soft mattress. He pulled the blanket over them, not releasing her from his embrace.
“I didn’t know either.” He kissed her lips and cheeks and rubbed her back in slow, soothing circles. “Until I met you. Then I couldn’t stop dreaming of trying it.”
He continued to massage Lydia until she fell asleep. Her last waking thought was a prayer: Please, don’t let him die! Her heart clenched in agony.
***
Before dawn, Vincent carefully removed himself from Lydia’s bed, though all of his being cried out in protest. He could not risk discovery in case one of the servants, or worse, Miss Hobson returned to the house.
After dressing quickly, he lingered at the bedside, gazing upon the beautiful woman who had captivated his mind, stolen his heart, and drugged him with her body.
His arms tingled at the memory of last night’s exertions. The realization made his gaze snap back to Lydia’s slumbering form. Had he hurt her? He had been quite rough…
As if in answer, Lydia made a small sound of unmistakable bliss, a sated smile curving her lips. Vincent’s shoulders relaxed, even as he longed to take her again. The urge surprised him. Until Lydia, he’d seen his lust as a minor inconvenience that needed to be assuaged occasionally. Now, carnal visions haunted him constantly. And this night… He closed his eyes as the erotic memories roared over him. Lydia’s passion had been just as fervent.
Her passion… Vincent shook his head in wonder. She was just as passionate in bed as she was out of it. Contrary to his biggest fears, her exuberance for life did not die with the Change. Instead, her vigor seemed to have doubled.
Lydia had asked Vincent to teach her last night. But she had taught him more. The joy of the hunt, the beauty of the night, and the pleasure of a moonlit frolic… Vincent cursed himself for wallowing in misery these last two hundred years. All that wasted time…
Suddenly, he was too tired to think. His muscles became leaden weights. The sun had risen. All of his preternatural instincts could feel it.
Vincent made his way through the dark corridor to the guest chamber the duchess had arranged for him. He admired the clever, windowless setup o
f this floor. A vampire was free to roam the entire lair of the house, safe from the daylight. Of course, if there was a fire during the day, they would all perish. Thankfully, such was not likely in this sandstone house, with its slate roofs. And fire would be even less likely in his castle, with its thick stone walls, buffeted by damp winds from the sea.
Perhaps if he lived to return home, he would abandon his dismal prison-like cell in the castle bowels, wall up his few windows, and reclaim his former sumptuous chamber. And perhaps Lydia would join him and share his bed—which reminded him he would have to get one with stronger bedposts.
Thirty-two
Lydia heaved a sigh to see that she hadn’t missed all of the excitement of the Exhibition. Somerset House was a glowing beacon of festivity. Tables lined the courtyard, heaving with trays of delectable confections, while servants carried trays of wine and cheeses. Musicians played jaunty melodies from a pavilion near the river. People strolled arm in arm, chatting merrily. Lanterns were strung across the grounds, making the place resemble a fantastical paradise.
Angelica grinned. “Oh, this is so exciting! How does it feel to be realizing your dreams?”
“Terrifying.” Her knees wobbled as they approached the entrance.
Ian laughed. “I don’t think vampires are supposed to be afraid.”
“Don’t worry. Everything will be fine.” Vincent took her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.
“I hope so.” Panic clawed at her throat. What if her exhibit was abandoned?
Her breath caught at the sight of people gathered around the vast array of paintings and sculptures. David Wilkie’s Chelsea Pensioners Reading the Gazette of the Battle of Waterloo had been roped off to protect it from the mob it drew. Sir Thomas Lawrence likely didn’t approve. She’d heard Wilkie was a rival and in line to replace Lawrence as painter in standing to the King.
Glancing at the swarm surrounding the painting, Lydia shivered. She didn’t think she could tolerate garnering that much attention.
She clung to Vincent’s arm, and her eyes scanned the great chamber for her paintings. Hopefully they weren’t tucked away into one of the shadowy corners, now cast into dark obscurity since night had fallen.
Her heart skipped a beat when she saw her exhibit, just barely visible, but only because she was so short. At least a dozen people circled her works. Some raised quizzing glasses to peruse the brushstrokes, while others pointed and exclaimed about the colors.
As she stepped closer, she heard Cassandra’s voice. “Yes, I recently became acquainted with her through the Duchess of Burnrath. A charming young woman, and a brilliant painter.”
The Duchess of Wentworth nodded just before her gaze lit on Vincent and Lydia. “Ah, here is the artist in the flesh, along with her handsome subject! Come, Lydia, meet your new admirers.”
On shaky legs, she joined the throng. Smiles and compliments erupted all around, far surpassing her most fervent dreams.
“Such talent for one so young and lovely,” an older gentleman said kindly.
“You’ve rendered a remarkable likeness of Lord Deveril,” Cassandra told her. “If he weren’t standing before you, I feel he could walk out of the painting!”
The Duchess of Wentworth gave Lydia a mischievous smile before turning to Vincent. “Tell me, Deveril, is that why you requested her hand in marriage?”
“Among other reasons.”
Everyone burst into laughter and offered congratulations.
Lydia turned to smile up at him, but froze in awe when she saw two other paintings on display. Her landscape of Castle Deveril hung beside the sunrise she’d gifted Vincent with before they left Cornwall.
“How did these come to be here? I never showed them to Lawrence.”
“I did, when I delivered them to him the night before last. We decided they needed to be shared as well.”
Grateful tears welled up in her eyes. For a moment, she wished everyone else would vanish so she could throw herself into his arms and cover him with kisses.
Pushing away such an undignified sentiment, she contented herself with squeezing his hand. “Thank you.”
His long fingers caressed her wrist, promising more intimate touches later. He bent down and kissed her cheek. “I am so proud of you,” he whispered in her ear.
Cassandra approached her with an apologetic smile. “I’m afraid I need to depart. I have trouble enduring large gatherings for very long.”
“I understand. Thank you so much for coming.” Lydia embraced her and said low, “Were you able to get the last few things for the phantasmagoria?”
Lady Rosslyn smiled. “All is in readiness on my part. Will you have the slides finished in time?”
“I have four more left.”
“Splendid.”
Ignoring Vincent’s quizzical look, Lydia turned and thanked her admirers. “I must go see my mentor’s exhibit.”
The crowd milling around Sir Thomas Lawrence’s exhibit was far larger than Lydia’s, as she expected. She was also unsurprised to notice Sally and Maria Siddons, faces painted and wearing mouse-brown wigs. They huddled in the shadows behind the masses, glaring daggers at the man.
Thank heavens Vincent hasn’t seen them. Before he looked in their direction, she pulled him closer to Lawrence’s exhibit.
Seven paintings hung displayed in the best lighting in the chamber, and to her surprise, the portrait Lawrence had done of her numbered among them. The three she’d finished seemed to be garnering the most attention. Lydia felt a twinge of pleasure at the sight.
“Yours are better than the others,” Vincent said as if reading her mind. The twinge became a rush.
The president of the Royal Academy caught sight of them and beckoned them over. “Miss Price! I had given up all hope of you making an appearance! I was overcome with worry that some terrible malady had befallen you.”
Fighting the urge to roll her eyes at his melodrama, she gave him a chiding smile. “I’d told you I would be late.”
“Ah well, I am happy you have arrived.” For a moment, he looked peevish at her reply before he turned to his admirers. “This is one of my pupils, Miss Lydia Price. I painted her portrait and gave her the knowledge she needed to render hers of Lord Deveril. And now they are to be married. Isn’t that the most romantic thing you’ve ever heard?”
As his audience sighed and cooed, Vincent bent to whisper, “He behaves as if he was our matchmaker.”
She muffled her laughter with her fan as Henry Fuseli, one of the Academicians, stepped forward. “Yes, I saw Miss Price’s exhibit. Your influence is abundantly clear in her work. Observe our president’s portrait of the Countess of Blessington.” He gestured at the painting which, all but the outline, Lydia had also painted. “The lines, the shadows, the sublime texture is almost as efficiently utilized in Miss Price’s portrait of Lord Deveril.” He haphazardly gestured in the direction of Lydia’s exhibit. “If she were a man, she would be one of our finest students in the Academy.”
Fury boiled up through her entire being. This was one of the men who had barred her from the school because of her sex, and he was such a fool that he couldn’t recognize two paintings done by the same artist!
“Oh yes.” Another man nodded so vigorously he almost spilled his champagne. Clapping Lawrence on the shoulder, he gushed, “Only an artist as remarkable as you could mold such young and frail talent.” He smiled at Lydia before turning back to the paintings. “And you continue to improve! This is your best yet!”
Lawrence basked in the praise. “I had an exquisite subject and a sudden irrefutable instinct to use darker hues in the composition.” He went on to deliver an unbelievable lump of folderol about brushstrokes, smiling like a cat full of cream, not saying a word about Lydia’s contribution.
Lydia’s fury became an inferno. Gnashing her fangs, she drew away from Lawrence and his fawning ad
mirers for their own safety.
“I cannot believe his nerve!” she hissed once they were out of earshot. “He acts as if he painted it himself!”
Vincent shook his head, eyes rife with sympathy. “Are you really all that surprised? You had an agreement, after all.”
She heaved a bitter sigh. “No, but—”
Ian wended his way through the crowd, his features tight with urgency. He whispered something to Vincent. Immediately, Vincent’s eyes widened, and his lips compressed into a thin frown.
“I have a matter to attend to. I’ll return shortly.” He brushed his lips across the back of her hand and hurried off with Ian.
Alone and despondent with no one to commiserate with, Lydia rose up on her tiptoes, searching for familiar company. Angelica was nowhere to be found, and neither was the Duchess of Wentworth.
Her gaze once more lit on the Siddons sisters. They would understand her vexation. Lifting her chin, she approached them, reasoning that someone should check on them anyway.
Sally greeted her with a bright smile. “Your display was lovely, Miss Price.”
“Better than Lawrence’s,” Maria added. “Except for the paintings of his that you finished.”
Lydia’s ire rose. “He is taking complete credit for them! Look at him strutting about like a peacock and spouting flowery descriptions of the techniques he used.”
Sally gasped in horror. “That blackguard!”
“He completed only a rough outline of Lady Blessington. I all but painted the whole thing.” Taking a deep breath, she vented all of her frustration to them as they nodded and offered sympathy.