My Beautiful Sin

by Heidi Lowe

  There was no point telling her that Jean wasn't that old, or that thus far she had never bitten me. April was where I had been two months ago – loathing all vampires and unable to see a distinction between them. I didn't blame her, really. She had a lot of anger, a lot of hate. Even with the new, wealthy, loving family, the good education, the frequent trips abroad, some wounds refused to heal.

  “I'm gonna be safe, I promise,” was all I could say, and that came out weakly.

  “My minutes are running out. I have to go. We'll talk soon.” She hung up before I could say goodbye.

  For several minutes I sat on the edge of the bed, stunned, my eyes sore, my nose runny. That certainly wasn't how I imagined the conversation progressing. Granted, I didn't expect April to welcome Jean with open arms. But that reaction? My care-free, easy-going sister's prejudices had warped her into someone unrecognizable.

  I slumped out of the room and downstairs, my thoughts making my steps heavy. Sandra was dusting the ornaments in the living-room, the television playing in the background.

  “Everything all right, Lissa?” she asked in her singsong, Deep South trill.

  “I'm fine, Sandra,” I said, sounding anything but. I slumped onto the couch.

  “Did you hear? They found one of those boys that went missing a few weeks ago. Well, I say found, but he just strolled in off the street one day, ragged and smelly, looking like he'd just come back from the dead.”

  No sooner had she spoken than the breaking news story segment came on the screen. The return of Tommy Vogel. Missing for seven weeks. Wandered in two nights ago in the same clothes he'd last been seen in, severely malnourished. Details had emerged that he and Zack Lindley were being held by a couple of men, their purpose unknown, at an unidentifiable location. Zack Lindley was still missing, now presumed dead.

  I gawked at the screen long after the story had ended, not sure what to make of everything, but knowing that there was more to it than the media, or indeed Tommy, was prepared to say. Something didn't add up. Many things didn't add up, in fact. How convenient was it that a couple of men had captured the very same men who had tried to rape me? Too convenient.

  “I bet his family is overjoyed,” Sandra said, though I wasn't really listening.

  Jean was behind it, she had to be. I'd only asked her if she'd killed them. She'd told me she hadn't, which, if she was behind this, was true. At least for one of them. But where was Zack Lindley? And, more importantly, why wasn't Tommy talking? He had to have known who had really kept them prisoner.

  Jean had some explaining to do.

  I'd worked myself into a frenzy worrying about how I would approach the subject, how I would subtly accuse her of kidnapping two men. I wanted to make it clear that I wasn't mad, that it didn't make me love her any less. If anything, it made me love her more because of her limitless devotion in protecting me and doing that in a non-lethal manner, which was probably contrary to her nature. She could have killed those guys and no one would ever have been able to find their bodies, or point fingers at her, but instead she'd kept Tommy alive. I didn't doubt her good intentions.

  I was waiting for her outside her basement hideaway, the reinforced steel door shut tight, keeping me away. When she opened the door I ran into her arms before she could even say hello. If I was going to start pointing fingers, I had to show her how much I loved her first. It was only right.

  “What a pleasant surprise,” she said, once we were no longer lip-locked.

  “I think I get more impatient to see you the closer it gets to sunset.” My gaze landed on the walls of the room, where almost every painting I'd sold hung. This was the first time I'd seen the room. I took a little stroll around it, checking out the place where my lover spent half of her days. It was warm and much darker than the rest of the house, even with the light on. It had a calming ambiance that instantly made me sleepy and relaxed. There was a floor-to-ceiling glass window through which I saw her en-suite bathroom. On the back wall of the room was an embedded hatch, which I gathered was her sleeping chamber. I didn't want to look inside because that would have made it all too real.

  “So the first and last thing you see when you go to sleep and wake up are my awful paintings,” I said, giggling.

  “I adore your paintings. They light up the room.”

  “Who do you allow in here?”

  “Robyn and Sandra. No one else needs to be down here.” She sauntered over to me, wrapping her arms around me from behind, and laid little kisses on my neck. “Of course, you can come down here any time you want.”

  Just the feel of her mouth on my neck filled me with fear and arousal. I wondered when she would bite me; whether she would ask, or go in for the kill and then ask if I was okay with it. The thrill of not knowing made those kisses even more delicious. I rolled my neck to one side, closed my eyes and let her mouth work that sensitive area, almost forgetting why I'd come to meet her in the first place.

  I let her pepper my flesh with her confident kisses a little longer before I said, “One of the boys who attacked me came home.”

  As soon as she stopped kissing me I knew I was right about her. She'd been involved.

  “Is that so?”

  I turned round to face her, watching her like a hawk. “Yep. Said a couple of guys were holding them, and he didn't know why.”

  “Well, if that's what he said...”

  “What do you say?”

  “Lissa, do you really want me to answer these questions? Because we both know you already know the answers,” she said, combing a hand through her hair, flustered.

  “I just want the truth. I'm not judging you, I swear,” I pleaded.

  “But you will. A part of you will look at me as the monster who locked up two boys for six weeks in a dank cellar, giving them just enough to keep them alive.”

  There it was, her confession.

  “You couldn't be more wrong. What I see – all I see – is a woman who refused to kill two monsters, even though they deserved it.” I drew her close, wrapping my arms around her waist. “I find it admirable that you care so much about me, that you would do that for me.”

  “I would do anything for you,” she said, her expression serious.

  “Tell me the truth, then. Tell me what happened.”

  “I didn't know what to do with them. It was a knee-jerk reaction, and before I knew it weeks had gone by and they were still in the cellar. I knew that if I let them go they would tell everyone that I was responsible.”

  “But Tommy didn't tell anyone. How did you get him to cooperate?”

  “I didn't have to threaten him, not really. He regretted what he did to you, and felt ashamed. He didn't ever want it getting out. But the other one, the mayor's son, he escaped and left his friend behind.” She must have seen the fear on my face at the idea that there was someone out there who could implicate her, because she added quickly, “He won't be talking. The fool fell off a cliff. He was dead by the time I got to him.”

  I let out a breath of relief, and in doing so felt my soul darken a little. I was relieved that someone was dead, and had died fleeing from my lover, who had kept him hostage for weeks. Was this how it was to date a vampire?

  “So you're in the clear.” I rubbed my nose against hers, and kissed her lightly on the lips. “And we're both down here.” I kissed her again. “And we're both queer...”

  Her laugh at my poor excuse for a rhyme was smoky and sexy. “You should definitely stick to painting, honey. That poetry is pretty bad.”

  Our tongues were interlocked as I led her backwards to her armchair, and shoved her down onto it. I looked down at her with relish, loving the apprehensive look in her eyes. She never knew what I had planned for her.

  I sank to my knees in front of her. I fumbled to get her buttons unfastened while painting her chest with my wet kisses.

  “Have you ever done it in this chair?” I asked between kisses and her quiet moans.

  “No,” was her response, shrouded in a m
urmur.

  “Great.”

  I snaked my tongue along the tops of her breasts once her blouse was open; I teased, promising that I would release her mounds from their cups and give them a similar treatment. But I didn't; instead I wrestled with the button and zipper of her jeans, before tugging them off over her pallid thighs.

  I buried my head between her legs, kissing the fabric of her black panties, smelling the goodness contained within. I was trying to work her into a sexual frenzy by never going far enough, but really I was driving myself crazy. I held out as long as I could before I wrested off the one thing keeping me from paradise.

  My teasing had produced the right effect, if her moistness was anything to go by. She was ready for me. I gripped onto her thighs as my tongue devoured her tasty, addictive nectar. The sound of her whimpers and the scratching of the leather as her fingers dug into the arms of her chair only encouraged me to attack more strenuously.

  I had to pull myself away for fear of losing my tongue to my addiction and never being able to stop.

  “Your tongue is amazing,” she breathed, lifting her head to look at me, her face flushed.

  “It has great material to work with,” I said, sitting up on my knees. Although I came off smug and self-assured, I was over the moon at the compliment, especially coming from a woman as experienced as Jean. That had always been a daunting thought, how I would stack up against her other lovers.

  “I want you,” she said as we kissed passionately. It was a distraction. While my tongue was down her throat, a stealthy hand crept between her legs. I entered her and as soon as I did, she gasped, squeezing her eyes shut in a slight grimace. Something didn't feel right.

  I quickly withdrew. “Was I too rough?” I questioned, worried that I'd hurt her. I hadn't gone in hard, but maybe it was too much for her.

  “No, don't stop, it's fine.”

  I studied her closely, not knowing exactly how to phrase my next statement. Something definitely wasn't right. “I didn't think... I thought you would be... it would be less... new... down there.”

  “You know how our wounds heal within minutes?”

  “Yeah.” It took a while for me to understand, then, “Oh. Oh...”

  “Yes, it's like my first time every time.”

  “So every time you do this you become a virgin again?” It hadn't even occurred to me that all wounds would heal. That was why she could only wear clip-on earrings – no piercings stuck.

  “Basically, yes.”

  “That must get annoying. How do you deal with it?”

  “Most of my lovers have been women, and they tend to be gentle. I've had a long time to get used to it. Besides, it's only uncomfortable in the beginning.” She stroked my cheek, smiling. “Honey, don't look so worried. It's fine, honestly.”

  “I hate the thought that I'm hurting you,” I said. How could I continue knowing it felt like her first time, which was never pleasant?

  “It's a good pain,” she said, trying her hardest to reassure me.

  “Okay, but only if you're sure.”

  She nodded. “I am. I want you inside me.”

  That was where I wanted to be. It wouldn't have been very polite of me not to give the lady what she wanted. So I kissed her and resumed, this time a lot gentler. She threw her head back and took it. Only when I was sure that she could handle it, did I charge harder and faster. Her moans and my strokes occurred simultaneously.

  “Baby, look at me,” I purred. I wanted to see what I was doing to her, to know I was doing a good job, though her whimpers were proof enough.

  She did as she was told. The frenzy was written all over her face – in her eyes, in her blush, in her panting.

  I was biting her lip softly when she finally reached her peak.

  She took my head in her hands, planting a slow, sensual kiss on my lips, her eyes drowsy. My fingers were perfectly snug where they were and I never wanted to withdraw them.

  “That was beautiful.” She sounded exhausted, just the way I hoped she would.

  “You're sure I didn't hurt you?”

  “You didn't hurt me. I feel wonderful.” She rested her forehead on mine, smiling tiredly. “I love you, you know that?”

  I'd heard it from two of my exes – Hilarie and the woman before her – yet those words had never meant anything to me. And even though I'd said it back, I'd never meant it. Whenever Jean said it, I felt reborn. Such simple words could affect me like that. Well, it wasn't really the words but the person saying them, and the way she looked at me as they escaped her mouth. I didn't care what Robyn, or Petr, or April said about her; being loved this way was addictive and I had no desire to give it up.

  “I love you, too.”

  “Glad to hear it,” she said. “We should probably get up now, though.” She laughed and I laughed with her, thinking just how great real happiness felt.

  NINETEEN

  I held up some scanty negligee against my body and turned to Petr as we stood in Lox Ridge's only lingerie shop. The place was run by a very odd-looking couple, who were currently eying us salaciously behind the counter. Lingerie-shopping hadn't been on the agenda, but Petr had talked me into it.

  He scrutinized the outfit – a transparent black sheer top with black and white panties and bra – then shook his head. “You wanna leave something to the imagination, Lissa, not everything! What about this one?”

  He held out a barely there piece of lingerie, which looked like a white sling, and grinned from ear to ear.

  “I could never get away with that. I don't have the boobs for it.” I shoved it out of my face. “Remind me why we're doing this again?” This was new territory for me, lingerie shopping. I'd never owned anything risque or anything that could be considered sexy – I'd never felt the need to purchase any.

  “Because it's your two month anniversary and you want to do something nice for your girlfriend. Trust me, you'll thank me for it later when she can't keep her hands off you.”

  Two whole months of dating a vampire and they had been the happiest, most exciting eight weeks of my adult life. It was hard to imagine that my prejudice against her race could have prevented the pure bliss I'd experienced the past couple of months. Hence the lingerie shopping. We didn't need it, but I wanted to do something nice for her. I planned to wear it on my upcoming birthday.

  “She can barely keep her hands off me now! I would probably never get any sleep if I wore this,” I joked. It wasn't entirely untrue. Jean's appetite for my body was insatiable. She never held back, kissing and caressing nooks and crannies I didn't even know existed, touching me in places no one had ever touched me before. It was like some dark art the way she worked me over. As I stood in the store under the watchful, lecherous gaze of the creepy owners, a throbbing sensation started in my loins as I recalled the time she'd made me climax by merely sucking on my earlobe. It was as embarrassing now as it was then. But the memory made me want to drop everything, run home, and throw myself at her mercy for a repeat. I hated daylight sometimes!

  “It's a great problem to have,” Petr said, pouting. “It's a rare thing when I envy you, Lissa, but right now I could literally claw your eyes out with envy.”

  I laughed loudly because I knew a part of him was serious. “I didn't say it was a problem. Sometimes I just worry that it won't last. Lesbian bed death is real.”

  “You won't have that problem, not with a vampire.”

  But that was the issue. I wasn't one of them, and I didn't share her appetite. For now, sure, things were working, but would I ever be able to give her enough of me to keep her satisfied?

  “Jesus, have you seen the price on some of these things? You'd expect them to cost less seeing as there's hardly any material here!” I stuffed the outfit I'd picked up back on the rack, disgusted at the extortionate prices. Why did looking sexy have to cost the earth?

  “Speaking of money, now that you know Jean's your anonymous buyer, what will you do for cash? Or do you plan on continuing to sponge off yo
ur sugar mama?”

  I shoved him. “I am not sponging off her! I'm...” I watched him cock his head to the side, smiling sanctimoniously, waiting for my response. “Oh God, I am sponging off her, aren't I? I'm doing it again.” Despite my efforts to avoid it, I'd ended up right back where I'd started, living off my wealthy girlfriend. The only thing that had changed in that equation was the woman.

  “Rent free, bill free, free to do whatever you want during the day... I don't know how you do it, Lis. It must be those big green eyes you've got; gives off that lost little lamb look. Makes people want to take you in and take care of you.”

  I groaned. “I want her to be my lover, not my goddamn mother.”

  “I've known you forever; you want both, let's not kid.”

  “If I don't want this relationship, or whatever it is, to go the same way as the others, I need to be independent,” I said, ignoring his very accurate insinuation. “And I don't need lingerie for that.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I'm going to get a job. A real one.”

  By the time I got back home, Jean was already awake and in her study, in a heated debate with someone from one of her overseas companies. It worked out great, what with the different time zones. Every now and then after sex, she would ask me to excuse her for half an hour, disappear into her study and conduct a board meeting through video conferencing, my scent and sweat still on her. Then she would return to our room, remove her clothes again, climb back into bed and resume where we'd left off.

  “Just say the word and I'll postpone the meeting,” she would say. I never did, though it pleased me knowing that I could.

  The look of discontent vanished from her face as soon as she saw me. She subsequently ended her call in a haste.

  “Sometimes I wonder how I survived a night without you,” she said, letting out a long sigh, shooting the phone a murderous look. “Why do people have to be so incompetent?”

  I prowled across the room to her waiting arms, positioning myself on her desk in front of her. She slid her chair forward and nestled her head on my stomach as I cradled her, like the doting wife providing the emotional support to her breadwinner partner. It was a role I played surprisingly well, considering I'd never been a homemaker or a doting anything to the others. For her I would be anything.