Mortal Bite (Golden Vampires of Tuscany)

by Sharon Hamilton

  “Time for fortification.” He set it down on the bedside table and sat next to her. “Are you hungry, Carabella?” he asked as he stroked the side of her face, and then down her neck to her breast.

  His touch ignited the flame that had been burning inside her, pulsing in the erotic dreams over the past few minutes she had slept. Or was it a lifetime she slept?

  “Yes and no,” she answered as she scanned his massive shoulders, his flat abdomen and powerful thighs dusted with light brown hair. She rubbed her palm over him, seeking the spot between his legs.

  She would gladly burn in the look he gave her in return. The longing he held for her almost made her levitate.

  “What is this?” she asked.

  “This?” he raised one eyebrow.

  “This…attraction. I’ve always thought authors who wrote about this feeling were making it up. I feel wonderful. Alive for the first time in my life. And I don’t even know you.” She frowned, but continued rubbing over the muscles in his forearm, up his elbow to his biceps. “It’s like the more I touch you the more I want you.”

  He broke eye contact and looked to the side, outside the room to the orange glow of the late afternoon vineyard view. She followed his line of sight.

  “Oh, my God,” she giggled, putting a hand over her mouth.

  He turned, clearly alarmed.

  They hadn’t closed the drapes. The person delivering the Port had surely seen them.

  “Hotel workers learn to be discreet,” he said with a smile. He leaned down and with his soft lips barely touching hers, he whispered, “And I wouldn’t care anyway. I’d make love to you at a baseball stadium if I had to.”

  His long, penetrating kiss put her into a dreamy trance. She saw torches again, roaring fireplaces and stone floors. Her breasts needed his hands, and he obliged. Her thighs needed to be kissed by his, and he obliged, sliding his long body into the warm bed.

  His hands were everywhere. He kissed her neck, her breasts. He pressed himself against her as he held the small of her back, stroking down her backside along the cleft between her buttocks. In gentle movements he felt her warm sex and, peering into her eyes, he inserted his fingers.

  “I love feeling, touching your arousal. Seeing how you come to me so willingly,” he said.

  It was an odd thing to say, but she found herself liking it. As if he had the power to make her want him, but wasn’t exercising it.

  “It’s where I belong,” she said in return. “In your bed, your hands on me, your cock deep inside me.”

  “Yes,” he said as he angled his head, slid his knees between her legs, opening them, replacing his fingers with his shaft, rubbing against her swollen lips. He stopped until she quit looking at the headboard. She had arched back to accept him. With their eyes locked in a dream-like gaze she never wanted to awaken from, he entered her.

  She could hear her own heart beating in time with with his slow, persistent pushing, rubbing against the sides of her sex, filling her, melting her. She raised her knees and placed them over his shoulders, allowing him to fill her deeper. He moaned and pumped her fully, back and forth, like rocking a cradle, closing and then opening his eyes.

  “Need this.”

  “Yes, I need this too,” she said. “Mi amore,” she said between his strokes, noticing that his eyes had started to water. “I do belong here, with you.”

  He crossed one of her knees in front of him and stroked her from the side. She continued to roll over to her stomach while he continued his rhythmic movements, pulling her hips to elevate her bottom, holding and fondling her nub with the hand he held underneath her. He pressed her there. She brought her hands to his and entwined his fingers, felt the root of his powerful cock as it stretched and then buried deep within her peach. She squeezed the veined surface of his shaft when he withdrew, and cupped his balls as he dove in to the hilt.

  Deep inside her she began the spasms that took her breath away. She raised herself up on her knees, pressing against him, her head buried in the soft down pillows. She moaned into the cotton fabric, tore with her fingers the soft feathers beneath. Her chest was on fire, her breasts had become engorged. Her peach sucked at him, begging for more.

  “Yes. Please. Oh yes, please,” she shouted to the pillow.

  He leaned in and something sharp nicked her neck, which gave her a start. But then his tongue and his lips were there, heightening the delicious feel, turning the stinging pain into something she craved. His lips were sucking her neck, drinking from her.

  Like a vampire.

  Chapter 17

  She looked into the mirror in the bathroom, alone at last. Raising the glittering glass of port to her lips, she stared hard into her own eyes. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to know what was real and what wasn’t. Or if it was important. Her imagination had been working overtime.

  She angled her neck to dare look at the place where she had felt his lips on her, the sharp stinging sensation, but, other than a reddened area from a deep kiss, there was no wound there. Her forefinger laced up and down the smooth surface of her skin, feeling for a bump, a callus, a…

  Bite?

  But there wasn’t one. Nothing marred the cool surface of her skin. Her cheeks hadn’t stopped their flush; her lips were swollen from the claiming kisses he gave and from her pressing against him almost to the point of pain. She pulled up the hair at the nape of her neck and looked at herself again. Her curls fell about her face as she pouted her lips. She felt positively ancient, wicked, and desired as never before.

  A gentle knock on the door stopped her daydream.

  “Cara, are you okay?” he murmured through the painted wooden door.

  “Of course. You can come in,” she answered.

  He leaned into the doorframe, his dark curls shiny and tousled. His dark eyes wandered from her face, to the pink mounds of her breasts, and down to the juncture between her legs. Just the way he looked at her made her feel like molten chocolate.

  He watched as she let go of her curls and they fell about her shoulders.

  “Your hair. I love your hair,” he said as he stepped in, standing behind her. He kissed her neck as she watched him through the mirror, as she felt him linger on her neck, breathe into her ear and whisper something to her that made her shiver.

  “What is it you are saying to me? You put me under some spell with your incantations?”

  He raised his face and placed his chin at the top of her head, with the Cheshire cat smile she’d already gotten used to. But not really.

  “Guilty,” he sighed.

  She tilted her head. “Is your brother going to feed us? I am starved.”

  “We have two choices.” He busied himself kissing the back of her neck, and each vertebra down her back. “We can stay here tonight and order room service, or, go to Healdsburg and visit with the family.”

  The choice was so unfair. She wasn’t sure any other afternoon for the rest of her life would ever equal this one. She was hesitant to give it up, or end it with polite conversation of a non-sexual kind.

  “I will do whatever you ask of me. Especially if you continue doing that,” she whispered as he squeezed her breasts and rubbed his erection up and down the cleft in her behind.

  “So willing. So beautiful.”

  “Can we do both?”

  He leaned back and laughed. She turned and faced him, her thighs against his, her mound pressing into his lower belly.

  “My dear Carabella. You have school tomorrow, yes?”

  “Yes. And I don’t require much sleep. I promise.”

  They showered, sharing her glass of port. She enjoyed the kisses he scattered all over her, the way his tongue probed her, the way his fingers played in her hair, between her legs, massaged her neck and shoulders. He carefully dried her off like a marble statue of Venus. He would say, “I like this,” and kiss her there. He made no mystery of his favorite places on her body.

  The driver arrived just at sunset and whisked them by moonlight up th
e narrow winding road until they arrived at a large house built at the side of a hill overlooking rows of vines.

  “All this belongs to Marcus,” he said as he spread his hand, illustrating the wide expanse without another house in sight. The stone manor house at the top of the hill was lit with torches that crackled and sputtered up into the night sky.

  “Torches. I’ve been seeing them all afternoon,” she said.

  “Interesting. I love a big fire.”

  “It was like I could read your mind. I saw old cobblestones and torches in darkened curved hallways.”

  “I might have been dreaming of Italy,” he said absent-mindedly as he stroked her upper arm. “But you are thinking about our family. I told you we have a very old family, although none of the older ones are alive today.”

  “Must be what I was dreaming. In any case, I don’t want it to end, if it is a dream.”

  He adjusted her against him again and gave her upper body a squeeze.

  At the front door, a young boy waited. Warm yellow light spilled out onto him and the stoop as he stood, holding a very tall man’s hand.

  The man was a darker version of Paolo, but perhaps a little taller.

  “Welcome to Villa Monteleone, Cara,” Paolo whispered to the top of her head. The driver opened the door and she allowed him to get out first, then allowed him to pull her hand and present her to the man and the boy.

  “Carabella Sampson, this is my brother Marcus Monteleone and my son, Lucius.”

  The boy was as handsome as his father. He stepped forward with a stiff bow and extended his hand. “Lucius Monteleone,” he said, as if there might be some question.

  “Nice to meet you, Lucius,” she said as she grasped his little hand in both of hers. “Please call me Cara.” She stepped toward Marcus and extended her hand, which he quickly took and kissed, just as his brother had done two nights ago at the ball. The way they behaved was identical. She felt herself blush, as if Paolo had touched her himself. “Wonderful to meet you as well, Mr. Monteleone.”

  “Marcus.”

  She saw the darker brother give a tiny wink to Paolo and show them the way inside.

  The foyer was done in deep red tones. Old tattered and faded flags and oil paintings of long-ago ancestors graced all four of the wallpapered in the entryway. Paintings depicting hunting trips, exotic animals and castles were scattered here and there. “These are some of your ancestors. No one current, I see?”

  “They’ve been gone a long time.”

  In the doorway to the kitchen, a beautiful auburn-haired woman carrying a blanket-wrapped baby suddenly appeared. “Welcome to our home. I’m Anne,” she said as she reached out and shook Cara’s hand firmly.

  Cara had never seen such a strikingly handsome family. She was at a loss for words.

  “Thank you for allowing us to just pop in on you without notice,” Cara said.

  “Oh no, the driver told us you would be coming as soon as you were done at the Inn.” Lucius piped up. This surprised a chuckle from Marcus, though he worked to stifle it. Cara saw he’d earned a reproachful look from his wife.

  Cara felt her cheeks flush. Paolo placed his arm around her waist and squeezed her. The nearness and electricity of his body touching hers was intoxicating and her knees wobbled. She heard a low rumble inside Paolo’s chest.

  “Lucius was anxious to see his father, and when the driver returned, he naturally ran out to greet him, and was told you two had decided to stay in town for a while,” Anne’s quick explanation was adequate, but Cara felt there was something else she wasn’t privy to. “Are you hungry, Cara?” Anne asked as she handed the baby to her husband.

  “Yes. Starved,” Cara said and stepped closer to the baby. “What a beautiful little girl.”

  Lucius laughed out loud. Marcus spoke up first, “I’m not going to tell him you said that” He smiled down on her with the same commanding presence Paolo had. “His name is Ian.”

  She needed to change the subject. “Anne, may I help with anything?”

  “Oh, I’m not fussing. We’re going very casual and simple tonight” She looked at Paolo, “Paolo, are you hungry this evening?”

  “Of course. Haven’t eaten in hours.” His words were stiff, but he winked at Cara.

  “I know, silly question.” She motioned for Cara to follow her into the kitchen.

  Cara had never seen such a beautiful, grand room. Ornately carved crown molding hovered in the tall shadows above the kitchen cabinets. The ceiling was at least twelve feet above them. Old Italian tile covered the countertops, but the floor was a light hardwood. One end of the kitchen was open to an intimate room with leather couch and a floor-to-ceiling brick fireplace. A two-foot tree trunk was burning on ornate iron grates with dragon’s heads on them. Fire flickered in the cut out eyes of the fierce beasts of burden.

  Anne was setting out some hand-painted square plates. With the crackling sounds and smoky scent of the fireplace as background, she started to ask the questions Cara knew were coming.

  “How long have you and Paolo known each other?” Her nimble fingers were adjusting light green lettuce leaves on the plates, placing one leaf on the small plate Cara knew must be for Lucius. She didn’t look up, but when Cara didn’t answer right away, she stopped and waited.

  “Well, let’s see, since day before yesterday.”

  Anne’s face beamed with a warm smile.

  “I completely understand,” she said.

  How could you? “He is rather handsome. I find he has quite an effect on me,” Cara answered.

  “Yes…” Anne drifted off into a reverie all her own. “The brothers are like that. Women falling all over them, yet, they are discreet, and they choose wisely.” She smiled again, and licked her lips.

  “How long have you and Marcus been married?”

  “About a year, a little longer.”

  “Was it sudden. Did you—“

  “Yes.” The look Anne gave her said she was done talking about it. Some divide had opened up a chasm, and nothing Cara knew would be able to bridge it.

  Anne took a hot casserole out of the oven with red oven mitts. Smells of bubbling cheeses warmed Cara’s spirits. She bent over to look at it carefully, her eyebrows coming to a point on her forehead.

  “Macaroni and cheese?”

  “Yes. It’s Lucius’ favorite. He asks for it every night. We humor him when we have guests. Keeps him at the table a little longer.” With a spatula, she scooped a square onto each plate. She then added tomatoes and sliced peppers to the lettuce, poured a hand-shaken dressing mix over the top and garnished them with crumbled blue cheese.

  “You guys eat a lot of cheese, I see.”

  “We always have tons of it around. Goes with the wine. And actually, I think it is our biggest source of protein.”

  Cara looked at Anne’s beautiful figure and wondered how she could stay so slim on a diet of cheese. “No fish, other meats?”

  “Very little. We’re practically vegetarians, although we love fresh eggs and our cheeses. We make many of our own here at the winery”.

  “I’d have a hard time not devouring a good steak now and then. Don’t think I could ever be a vegetarian.”

  Anne gave her a thoughtful look. “I had an unfortunate experience with some beef liver, got very ill. Ever since then, I cannot stomach meat from animal flesh.”

  “Ah.” It was certainly an odd thing, Cara thought.

  “Although, sometimes the boys do enjoy a good barbeque, maybe a couple of times a year, and usually when we’re entertaining.”

  Anne handed Cara two plates. “This one is for you and this is for Paolo. If you would serve them and take your seat, I’d be so grateful. I’m going to check on Ian first, and then I’ll join you.”

  “No problem.”

  Cara presented Paolo with his plate, and just after she seated herself, he leaned over and gave her a sweet kiss on her cheek that tingled all the way to her sex.

  Anne returned to the table. �
�He’s sleeping like a log, which means he will keep us up all night.”

  Marcus looked brightly at his wife as she seated herself and motioned for everyone to begin.

  “No worries, pet. I’ll take one shift so you can sleep,” Marcus told her.

  “He has an appetite like his father,” Anne said, and then blushed. “We’ll figure it out.”

  Paolo leaned an arm over the back of Cara’s chair, letting his fingers make little circles in the top of her arm. She’d remembered those circles he’d made this afternoon around her nipples, those same fingers.

  Her panties were sopping wet already. She thought perhaps she could even smell her own arousal. Turning to face Paolo, with his beautiful tanned face framed with dark curly hair. With his high cheekbones and full lips, his stormy dark eyes, his nostrils flaring—she saw that he understood. He leaned into her as his warm breath drifted over her ear, making her shiver. Then her body began to hum to some frequency. It was something she’d never felt before.

  “I feel the same way every time I look at you, Bella,” he said.

  Again the hair at the back of her neck prickled. Paolo’s warm hand clamped down on it and he massaged the top of her spine with his long fingers.

  Those fingers that have been all over my body.

  She closed her eyes and fell into his rhythm. When she opened her eyes, both Marcus and Anne diverted their gazes quickly. But they had been watching.

  Marcus made a grand gesture of opening up one of his favorite red wines and pouring them each a handsome goblet. A coat of arms was etched into the crystal of each glass, along with a design around the letter M.

  Monteleone.

  The four grownups listened to Lucius tell them about school and his day. Cara helped Anne clear the table, but as she leaned over Paolo, she felt his hand slip along her backside, felt the heat through the fabric of her pants. She gave him a nudge with her hip.

  “Not at the table,” she whispered in his ear.

  He grabbed her onto his lap as she glanced at Marcus with embarrassment, and then he whispered in her ear, “On the table, under the table, anywhere. Anytime.”