Vampire Cowboy

by Juliet Chastain

This was different, very different. He felt far more for this pretty American woman than the usual mild tinge of interest. There was something about her—the way she talked and moved and laughed. And there was the way she had cowed a roomful of men. He smiled at the memory. He even found the way she tried to convince him that Haley was a good place to live—when she so obviously did not think so—charming. He hoped she’d lied because she wanted him to stay.

  Could it be that she was awakening passion in him, passion that had lain dormant for two hundred years? Yes, he wanted to feed, yes, he wanted—needed—blood, but he craved the taste of hers. He longed to have sex with her as well and there was something more, something he had not felt for all those centuries. Perhaps not since he’d been a mortal man several lifetimes ago. He was overcome with raw sexual desire mixed with a yearning for her, a longing to be united with her.

  Disconcertingly he realized he could love this woman and might want this woman to love him. It was absurd—and dangerous. She didn’t deserve to become entangled with a monster like him. It would be best for her if he left Haley as quickly as he could.

  He shifted uneasily on the cushion, pushing the chicken around his plate. Best to end this encounter quickly, but what could he say? He had no wish to be discourteous. In fact he wanted to please her, wanted to see her smile the way she had when she felt the softness of the cashmere blanket. He wanted her eyes to light up at the sight of him as they had when he opened the picnic basket and revealed the chicken.

  He wanted to hold her, to kiss her, to caress her delectable body and hold it tight to his own while she looked at him with her own uncompelled desire.

  “More,” she said, holding out her glass. His hand trembled slightly as he poured. He wanted her all right. A lot. He was hard and pushing against the stiff fabric of his new American trousers. His heart was pounding

  She knocked back about half the glass and again set to eating the chicken with considerable gusto. As though she hadn’t eaten in a while. Or she had very bad manners. Or both. Daniel watched, fascinated, as she gobbled one piece of chicken after the other. He found it barbaric and strangely arousing. As if he could be more aroused than he already was. He watched her sink her teeth into the flesh of the chicken, and imagined her biting him in passion, thought of his fangs piercing her firm skin. She flicked her tongue against her lips. He longed to lick where she had, to follow that tongue with his own, into the sweetness of her mouth.

  He pulled himself back firmly. A few more thoughts like that and he’d easily forget his resolve to refrain from compelling her to lust for him. He tried not to stare at her neck where he’d like to kiss and nip and…

  A bit of chicken fell onto the breast of her extremely modest gown. He wanted to pick the piece up with his fingers, touching her there ever so gently, and then put that bit into her inviting mouth. He’d like to leave his fingers there between her lips for a few seconds to feel the slick, warm, softness.

  He hadn’t felt like this for years and this was not the time to start. He didn’t need to be disturbed this way, his carefully controlled emotions and desires unleashed. And he should not upend her life. He would leave Haley just as soon as he could. She looked up at him from what remained of the chicken she’d been eating. She grinned. He smiled back. Nice, friendly woman, he thought, more interested in eating the chicken than she is in me.

  “May I find you another piece?” he inquired. “Or some more champagne perhaps?” He smiled again. “Do you have any idea how lovely you are?”

  As he watched, her eyes changed. They gleamed in the moonlight. She wanted him—after all his long years, he could recognize the signs of a woman’s desire. Surely this was not his will at work. Or could it be that with all his thinking about her, he had unintentionally willed her to want him? She threw the chicken bone she’d been gnawing into the night and leaned toward him.

  He picked up one of Mrs. Timmons’ immaculate white dinner napkins and gently wiped the grease from Eliza’s tantalizing lips while she grimaced. He swiped at the piece of chicken on her breast, but he never knew what happened to it because, leaning all the way across the picnic basket, she brought her face close to his and demanded, “Kiss me.”

  Her lips were warm and demanding. He gave in to their demand gently, yieldingly at first, allowing her take the lead, letting her decide the pressure, parting his lips so her tongue could seek his. The heat of her living, mortal flesh warmed the coldness of his own. When he felt her waver, as though unsure or perhaps inexperienced, he took possession of her lips, and she, sighing, yielded to him.

  He moved the basket and pulled her closer to him. She came to her knees and wrapped her arms about his shoulders, once again the aggressor, holding his face, kissing him hard and deep. His hands stroked her tempting body, learning the curves of her back, the sweet dip of her waist, the luscious feel of the shape of her bottom.

  He pulled her onto his lap, cradling her with one arm while his free hand slid along the gentle swell of her belly and up to the generous curves of her bosom. Through the cotton fabric of her gown, her nipples hardened and pushed against his fingers. Heat rose in his groin, lapped at his belly. He wanted—needed—to touch her skin, to feel it under his hand, to caress and kiss it.

  “Open your gown for me, darling.” He growled and watched closely as she complied, slowly opening the first button of the high collar at her neck and then the next. His breathing grew ragged as her throat was exposed. He longed to bite, to taste—but that could wait. He was in no hurry to be sated that way with this woman. With her Daniel wanted more than that—much, much more.

  Now the buttons were opened almost to her waist, and he groaned with excitement seeing that she wore no stays or shift. There was nothing beneath her gown but her white body, the swell of her breasts. He pushed the fabric aside and took one tempting, rosy nipple between his lips, kissing and licking while he stroked and caressed her other breast. Rolling that nipple between his fingers, he sucked hungrily on the first. She gasped and leaned against him, arching to his lips, to his touch, murmuring her pleasure.

  Two centuries of practice at holding back, of refusing to allow himself to be overwhelmed by passion, were lost as desire roared like wildfire through his body, through his mind, through his very being.

  He ripped her gown open all the way, revealing that she wore neither petticoat nor drawers. He sighed, delighted, savoring the sight of her curvaceous body spread across his knees and luminous in the moonlight. His heart pounded heavily, his blood surged thickly through his veins.

  He lifted her and placed her gently upon the blankets. He stood, tearing off his coat, his collar, his shirt, as she looked up at him. He read raw need in her eyes.

  He knelt beside her and bent to kiss her throat. He could smell the blood, hear it calling to him. Not yet, it was not time yet. He ran his lips over her collarbone and down, stopping to kiss and lick each erect nipple, loving the feel of them hard against his tongue, loving the way she writhed and sighed in response. Then slowly, inch-by-inch, he kissed his way to her belly.

  He circled her navel with his tongue. He kissed his way further down, and paused before the dark curls that surrounded her sex. The aroma of her arousal filled the dry air. He would not have thought it possible, yet he felt himself grow harder, his erection painful against the stiff fabric of his trousers.

  Sighing, she yielded when he pushed her legs apart and, kneeling, placed himself between them. He kissed and nipped the inside of her silky thighs. He stroked her mound with his fingers and ran them along the opening. She was wet with wanting him. He could not contain a long groan of pleasure.

  He bent to the soft folds and licked gently. She started and cried out—surprised, he thought, and shocked. Perhaps this was new to her but he did not stop. Holding her legs apart, he slowly, languorously licked and kissed, luxuriating in the smooth, hot feel of her most secret place, reveling in the taste of her. He found the little nub, licked and flicked his tongue back and forth acro
ss it. Her breath came faster, her body writhing and lifting to him. He brought his lips to the nub, swollen now, and sucked until, convulsing, she cried out.

  He slid his finger easily into her hot, slick center, seeking the places he remembered gave women pleasure. He stroked first one and then another until he found the one that pleased her the most. She begged him not to stop, her fingers clawing at him desperately, the pain of the scratches making the fire within him burn higher, hotter until it permeated his head, his heart, his very soul. If a creature such as he had a soul.

  When at last she cried out, her softness contracted around his finger. He thought he might lose control and crescendo with her.

  He stood and pulled off his boots, socks and trousers, breathing a sigh of relief as his member sprang free. He knew that she was watching him, her eyes wide, her breath rough and fast. Kneeling over her, he pushed her knees apart. Slowly, he entered her, her slick wetness welcoming him, her softness tantalizingly encasing him.

  Their eyes met as he moved back and forth, adoring the feel of her around him. The sweetness of it was almost intolerable, he lost himself in her and in her gaze. He wanted nothing but this.

  The luscious sensation built until he thought he might die of it, yet he continued, faster, then slower, then faster again, lost in the moment, lost in her. She closed her eyes and murmured her pleasure, turning her head from side to side. The blood coursing through her neck, her throat called to him, demanding he partake of it. As her climax began, he leaned forward, fangs out, and pierced her skin, drinking of her as he released joyously into her.

  And then he was lying beside her, spent and content, with his arms around her, licking gently at the little wound on her neck until the blood stopped completely. It saddened him to know he must make her forget that he had fed from her. She must never remember that he was a blood-drinking monster.

  Chapter Three

  “Good heavens,” Eliza said, stretching. “I feel absolutely wonderful. That was so nice. No, glorious is the right word.” She hugged herself. She’d had the most wonderful time last night.

  Daniel had driven her home in the buggy a couple hours before dawn.

  Most of the way she’d rested her head on his shoulder, his one arm around her while his other hand held the reins. Smiling to herself like a fool, she’d thought that she had done exactly what she wanted and Daniel had responded so wonderfully, giving her much more than what she’d asked for, more, in fact, than she’d ever known about—or even imagined. Maybe she was falling in love with him. As long as he stayed in Haley, living here wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

  “That was the best picnic ever,” she’d said.

  “Yes, I’ve never attended a better.” And he’d held her a little more tightly.

  A couple miles from her place, he’d said, “Spread your legs.” She had and her gown, which he’d torn from waist to hem, hid nothing. Without stopping the horse and without touching her anywhere else, he’d slipped a finger inside of her and rubbed. Somehow the rubbing, the rocking of the buggy, the starry night…she hugged herself, her cheeks hot just from thinking about it.

  Such delicious feelings and just from his finger. Better than what she could do for herself. Not that she’d ever admit to anyone that she did what she did to herself.

  Then he’d stopped the horse, opened his fly and pulled her onto his erect member, and helped her move up and down on it. Their breathing, rough and harsh at first, had turned into cries of ecstasy. As they’d gone on and on, their cries growing louder, the exquisite sensations overwhelmed her until she thought she could stand it no longer and yet it continued until suddenly she’d flown into a million pieces that scattered into the starry sky. And from far away among the stars she’d heard his harsh groans and felt him release within her.

  She hadn’t known such pleasure existed.

  When they’d gotten home, he’d leaped down from the buggy and come around to her side to help her get down. When she’d turned toward him he had buried his head between her legs and driven his tongue deep inside her. Remembering this now, she brought her fingers down to lightly caress where he had entered her.

  When he’d stood he’d lifted her from the buggy as though she weighed nothing. He’d taken her in his arms and they’d shared a long, languorous kiss that tasted of her.

  When at last she’d come up for air, she had said, “Would you have dinner with me tomorrow night?”

  “I would be most honored to dine with you.”

  “Well that would be lovely,” she had said, thinking already of the lascivious things they might do once dinner was done.

  “Would half past nine suit you?”

  “I will have dinner ready for you at nine thirty.” Late, but romantic.

  “It’s been a long time since I had a meal cooked at home,” he’d said and she felt pleased that she had offered.

  Sitting at her kitchen table, she thought about that, about Daniel kissing her deeply down below and then kissing her mouth. At first she’d thought it perverse. But then she had liked the fact that his mouth tasted like her secret place. There was a stirring there now as she thought about this, and her breasts ached, her nipples grew taut. All those things they’d done—he’d done. Her face burned. She’d liked them. All of them. A lot.

  She scratched the place on her neck that itched. Daniel had bitten her there and he had drunk her blood, right when she’d been nearly out of her mind with the most intense and delicious feelings she’d ever had. That bite had driven her over the edge. Way over the edge.

  It surprised her that it had healed so fast. She was sure he’d actually been drinking, and she’d seen him licking blood off his lips, yet it had hardly hurt and there was no big wound, just a couple little bumps that itched. If she bit him enough to draw blood, his skin would be all torn up and it would have hurt him like heck. And she’d have made a big ol’ mess of his neck. How had he done it so neatly?

  She hoped that after dinner he’d do all those delicious things he’d done last night all over again—the blood sucking and especially those lovely things he did down there. She’d want him to kiss her there and use his tongue and—

  She sat bolt upright. Dinner! She’d invited Daniel to dinner! He was coming tonight. She had no food except the green beans growing plentifully outside. A few pitifully small tomatoes were, at best, almost ripe. She only had enough flour and shortening for one big biscuit—or two tiny ones. What had she been thinking?

  Must have been the champagne. She’d felt all dazed and happy and—oh lordy, but she’d wanted to see that man again, wanted him to do those things, wanted him…but she couldn’t waste time thinking about all that. She’d forgotten all about having no food and not a penny to buy any. What was she going to do?

  She did have a few chickens left. If Seth or one of the neighborhood cowboys happened to be passing by she could ask him to kill one of them. Naked, she got up and looked out each of the windows to see if there was a cloud of dust, which meant someone was coming her way. The sun was hovering just above the horizon. She had slept all day. There wasn’t a speck of dust on the horizon in any direction, which meant there was no one around. If she wanted a chicken for dinner, she’d have to kill it herself.

  Eliza got up and put on the gown she’d worn last night, the front of the skirt gaped open—no one was around so it didn’t matter that she was indecent. Before he left Daniel had said he’d buy her a whole bunch of new ones. Enough thinking about that. She had one other gown and she was saving that to wear tonight. She got the ax and went determinedly out to the chicken coop.

  Eliza entered the wire enclosure and was greeted by some very excited hens. She’d forgotten all about feeding them last night. She reached out for one, and it flew into the air squawking and flapping its wings. Tried for another. Same thing. Soon the coop was a mass of squawking, flapping creatures, feathers flying, claws scratching, beaks pecking furiously. She tried to protect her eyes with one hand and grab a neck with
the other and got pecked repeatedly on her arm. And on her fingers. A claw tore at her thigh, and then a vicious peck on the other. This was not a good idea with her skirt like this and her legs exposed. In fact, this was not a good idea at all. Holding her hands in front of her face she backed out of the coop.

  Nasty, ungrateful wretches, she thought as she washed the blood off at the well. I’d enjoy chopping off your heads—all your heads. But she wasn’t about to go into that coop again tonight. What was she going to serve for dinner if she couldn’t cook a chicken?

  Well, she’d just have to pretend that green beans, two little not-quite-ripe tomatoes and a couple of even smaller biscuits with no gravy were a fine supper. She was so hungry that she salivated at the thought of them, but she’d pretend she wasn’t and he could have them both. She thought lovingly of Mrs. Timmons’ chicken at the picnic the night before. She’d eaten her fill and more, but there’d actually been one roll left.

  “Why didn’t I take that roll with me? I could be eating it right now.” She sighed. Truth is I wasn’t thinking straight. All I could think about was that man and how I wanted to see him again. Soon.

  Well, she had time to bathe and wash her hair and put on the good gown. Maybe I’ll leave the top button undone. Maybe the top two? She’d noticed that Miss Susan over at the saloon often had a few buttons undone. Miss Susan’s dresses didn’t go up as high on the neck as her own did. She’d have to leave quite a few open to reveal as much of her chest as Miss Susan did. She didn’t want to appear excessively bold. Or maybe she did.

  * * * * *

  A few hours later, a huge pile of green beans and the biscuits were warming in the oven. The aroma of the biscuits was driving her to distraction. Even thinking about Daniel taking her in his arms, kissing and caressing her, didn’t interfere with her desire to open the oven, pull out those two plain, pitifully small biscuits, even though they weren’t fully baked, and devour them. The two unripe tomatoes lying on the table ready to decorate the top of the pile of beans looked appealing as well.