My Vampire Boss (Fantasy Men Book 1)

by Sloan Kincaid

  “It was worth it.”

  He gives me an amused grin. And my body responds in kind. I can’t believe I’m aroused again. I should be dead from that orgasm.

  When he’s all put back together, he stands. “You’ve passed your interview. I’ll expect you to be at my apartment tomorrow at around six. And be dressed for business.”

  I sit up. “What? What interview? What the hell are you talking about?”

  “You’re my new PA, Natalie. Congratulations.”

  I jump to my feet, knowing the irritated look is lost since I’m still naked, and my boobs are bouncing around. “I have a job, thank you very much. A good one. I don’t want to be your PA.”

  “Actually, you no longer have that job. You were fired this morning.”

  I gape at him, then anger takes over, and I’m poking him in the chest. “You can’t do that. Who do you think you are?”

  “Your boss.” He smooths a hand down his shirt. “You said you wanted to serve me, Natalie. Well, this is your chance.”

  “I won’t accept that. I’ll sue.”

  He grabs my hand and brings up to his mouth. He kisses the palm. “I love your vigor. It makes your blood taste like ambrosia.”

  “You can’t seduce me to make it all better.”

  “You will earn three times your salary, will have a company car at your disposal, a company credit card to shop for all your clothes, and three times a year you will travel with me to Europe on my private jet.” Leaning forward, he presses his lips to mine, in a sweet lingering kiss. When he pulls away, he licks his lips. “I’ll see you tomorrow evening.”

  “Are you just going to leave me here? Like this?”

  “Of course not.” The bartender comes into the room, carrying a set of clothes. “Jake will get you all fixed up, and a car will be outside for you to take you home.”

  “Fine. I’ll be your PA, but I won’t be your plaything and chew toy.”

  One perfectly sculpted eyebrow lifts in amusement, and he just smiles. Without another word, he walks out of the private room, leaving me sputtering in my defense. But the truth of the matter is, I’ll be whatever he wants me to be, and he knows it. From the first image of that first dream, I was lost to him. My boss is a vampire, and I’m his personal assistant. And I’m okay with that.

  I wonder if he has a decent health care plan.

  Thank You!

  Thank you so much for reading, My Vampire Boss. I hope you enjoyed the story as much as I loved writing it. Up next in May is Officer Bad Boy in Bad Boy Series. Please read on for an excerpt of Professor Bad Boy.

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  Happy Reading,

  Sloan

  Professor Bad Boy

  Justin

  Another weekend. Another party.

  I need to give this shit up.

  I swirl the amber liquid in my glass and glance around the bar to take in the group of loud girls partying around me. I try to find the one I’d just danced for in a private party room off the main bar. I’m not really sure why I’m looking for her. She’s just another girl in a sea of women I dance for once in a while.

  My gaze lands on her, sitting at the other end of the bar, uncomfortable, nervous and so goddamn beautiful my dick swells.

  Okay, maybe I do know why I’m looking for her. I’ve been doing this gig for a long fucking time, and none of the girls I danced for were ever like her. The guys and I started dancing at parties to for cash when we were in college, and well, maybe my reasons had more to do with rebellion than money. The business flourished and spread to other states, and even though none of us need the money, we now dance when we have to fill in, or for kicks. But I’m tired of flying around, putting on a mask and shaking my cock in some drunk girl’s face. But this girl, well, she’s been nursing a drink for the last hour, and doesn’t seem at all like the kind who would enjoy a half naked guy shaking his junk at her.

  I catch her gaze, and hold it for a minute. She quickly turns away and my cock swells at her shyness. Shit. She’s way too young and innocent for me. I have no idea what her story is or why her friends would hire me to dance for her twenty-first birthday, and I should leave it at that. If I knew what would good for me, I would.

  But, fuck it. I rarely go with what’s good for me, which is why I’m sitting on a goddamn bar stool in Virginia sipping on a scotch when I should be back at Penn State, grading papers. I’m bored with that job, too. But dear old dad is the dean, and while I had different career aspirations, both he and mom pushed me into education—hence my rebellious stage.

  I swallow the rest of the liquid, let it burn its way down my throat. I don’t normally stay for a drink after a gig, but tonight, I don’t know, there’s something about the birthday girl that’s throwing me off. I pick up the backpack at my feet, the one stuffed with my dance clothes and mask, a necessity for me now. I’m a fucking psych professor, for Christ’s sakes. Ever hear of a code of conduct? Yeah, well, I’m violating every rule I promised to uphold.

  I really need to give this shit up.

  I toss the bag over one shoulder and stand. The heat in the room, as well as the mixed scent of alcohol and perfume, washes over me. I’m anxious to get the hell out of here. Looks like the recipient of my dance is, too.

  I push through the lively crowd, and slide in beside her at the bar. Her body goes stiff, and shit, I’m pretty sure I’d do anything to help her relax.

  “Hey,” I say.

  She nibbles her bottom lip. Sexy as hell.

  Fuck me.

  I shift, and lean on the bar so she can’t see my swelling cock.

  “Hi,” she says.

  “Not really your scene, is it?”

  She crinkles her nose. “Am I that obvious?”

  “Yeah, a little bit.” I take a glance around. “Want to get out of here? Walk the beach?”

  Her back stiffens, and her chest juts out, her lovely nipples pressing against the silk of her blouse. “I don’t even know you.”

  It’s true. She doesn’t. I was in costume when I danced for her, so no way can she know I’m the guy her friends hired to shake it in her face. I take in her wide blue eyes. So fucking innocent she’s killing me.

  Desperate to put her at ease, I shrug. “I don’t know you either. How do I know once we’re outside you won’t try to get me out of my clothes and have your way with me?”

  She smiles, and it rocks my fucking world. “I really could use some fresh air...”

  I pick up on her hesitation. “Pass me your phone.”

  What the fuck am I doing?

  Breaking all kinds of rules tonight, that’s what I’m fucking doing.

  “Why do you want my phone?” she asks as she slides it across the sticky bar top.

  I hold it up, and take a selfie. “There, now you have my picture. If I try anything you don’t like, you’ll have my mug shot for the police.”

  She looks at me like I’m a bit insane. Maybe I am, because I should really leave this alone. She reaches for her purse, and I say, “Do you need to tell a friend?”

  Her gaze flickers to the dance floor, but none of her friends are paying any attention to her. Girls are supposed to look out for one another when partying—come together and go together. But it doesn’t look like she’s made that pact with any of these drunk party girls. She frowns, a hint of loneliness ghosting her eyes, and my heart squeezes. At least she’s in good hands with me. She’s sweet and innocent and I don’t—okay I do, but won’t—want anything more from her than a conversation.

  “Yeah, let’s get out of here,” she says.

  “Wait.” I pull out my phone and take a picture of her. “There, now if you try anything I don’t like, I’ll have your mug shot.”

  She blinks, surprised and I put my hand on the small of her back
and guide her out the door. The night air is warm, sticky, but it’s a break from the heat and bodies inside. I breathe deeply as the waves laps against the sand in the distance.

  “I’m Justin, by the way.”

  “Violet.”

  Pretty, just like her.

  The music becomes faint as we remove our shoes and step onto the sand. She exhales and runs the warm grains between her painted toes. Painted toes. Fuck, that’s sexy, too.

  Don’t go there, dude.

  “Can I ask a question?”

  Her long curls bounce around her face and she purses her pouty, heart-shaped mouth as her big blue eyes meet mine. “You can ask, but it doesn’t mean I’ll answer.”

  Beautiful and funny.

  A dangerous combination.

  She doesn’t know I’m the guy who danced for her, so I need to word my question carefully. “What were you doing at the bar? It doesn’t seem like it’s your kind of scene.”

  “It’s not really. I work with those girls. We’re not close, so I guess that’s how they thought I should celebrate my twenty-first birthday.”

  “I’ve only known you for five minutes and I would never throw you a party like that.”

  “No? Then what would you do?” she asks.

  I take in her skirt, the sleeveless silk blouse she has tucked into the hem, and say, “Quiet dinner, walk on the beach.”

  “You can tell all that from looking at me.”

  “Gut feeling.” I’m not about to tell her I’m a psychology professor and study behavior and mind. Her behavior tonight told me everything I needed to know. She’s a good girl, and I need to stay away.

  She arches a brow. “You’re pretty intuitive.”

  “You’re beautiful.” Shit. I hadn’t meant to say that. Fucking just slipped out. I don’t want her to think I’m coming on to her. She turns from me, and looks at the water. I’m pretty sure she’s about to run the other way. I’m a stranger, eight years older than her, and I’m probably coming off like a stalker.

  “Race you to the water,” she says, and takes off. “Last one there has to go skinny dipping.”

  Skinny dipping?

  I stand still for a moment, processing that as her skirt flies around her backside and she darts to the waves. She’s not the kind of girl to go skinny-dipping, of that I’m certain. My brain kicks in and I chase after her. When I catch her, she’s laughing and breathless.

  Jesus fuck, the sound goes straight through me, and zaps what little control I seem to have around her. I touch her face, my thumb sweeping across her cheek. Her laugh dies and her eyes go wide as they latch onto mine.

  “Violet.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I really want to kiss you.”

  A moment of hesitation, then, “Okay.”

  I step into her, meshing my hardness with her softness. Sweet fuck, my cock grows another inch, and she gives a little gasp when she feels it. “Sorry,” I say, but somehow I’m not. I actually want her to know she’s beautiful, see what she does to me. I dip my head, and softly, lightly brush my lips over hers, not wanting to hurry the moment I might never have again.

  A moan escapes her throat and I slide my hand to the back of her neck as I increase the pressure. I push my tongue in and we tangle. I catch the taste of the syrupy drink she’d been nursing, but it’s not nearly as sweet as her. I close my eyes, savor, enjoy, drown in her flowery scent and taste. I’m only half aware as her hands snake around my back, her questing fingers splaying, touching, exploring my body.

  I want to do the same.

  Using slow movements so as not to scare her, I sweep my hands lower, run my fingers along her vertebrae until I’m at the small of her back. The sweet curve of her ass calls out to me. I dare to go lower and cup her roundness, and massage lightly as I pull her against my cock.

  A sound lodges in her throat as she breaks from the kiss. I pull my hands away, and take in the flush on her cheeks as wide eyes stare up at me. Okay, now I’ve gone to far. She’s going to run.

  “You lost,” she says on a breathless whisper.

  Her words are a jumbled mess in my lust-filled brain. “Lost?”

  “The race.”

  It only takes a second for my thoughts to catch up. Holy fuck. Is she serious?

  Here I thought she was going to bolt, only for her to be staring at me, waiting for me to shed my clothes.

  Fine, I’ll play it her way. For now.

  About Sloan

  If you’re looking for Sloan Kincaid, you’d never find her living in eastern USA with a husband, children and pets. Nor would you ever find her in her office, writing the day away in her pajamas. Oh, no, if you’re looking of Sloan you might find her gracing the Hollywood elite with her presence, sunbathing naked on an exotic beach in Southern France, or mingling with the rich and famous in the Cairo. Perhaps you can catch her before she slips between the sheets with a man who is as handsome as he is wealthy, a man who promises her the world. Sloan Kincaid is no ordinary woman. Men love her. Women want to be her. Sloan is bold, sensuous and sophisticated. And she is my alter ego. :)

  You can contact Sloan at writersloankincaid@gmail.com

  Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/sloan.kincaid.5

  Also by Sloan Kincaid

  Bad Boy series

  Professor Bad Boy

  Officer Bad Boy

  SEAL Bad Boy

  Fighter Bad Boy

  Mechanic Bad Boy

  Complete Me series

  Cupcake

  Collide

  Fantasy Men series

  My Vampire Boss

  My Werewolf Cowboy

  Stand Alone

  Irish Kissing