Black Desire (6 page)

She never really
believed that two people could connect on some spiritual plane, two hearts beating
as one and all that crap, but she wrote about it nonetheless. She knew her
audience, women longing for escape from the harsh realities of real life. They
were women who each yearned for that man who knew exactly what to say, how to
love her and selflessly see to
her
needs
before his own. Right. To be perfectly honest, she yearned for those things as
well.
 
The heroes had to be tall,
handsome, broad-shouldered and tortured. Maybe from another age altogether
.

Tristan.

She thought again of
the too brief dinner date. Their ease of conversation made it feel as if they
had known each other for ages, not a matter of a few days. The cool, reserved
man she observed at the pub that first night had all but vanished. He let his
guard down and showed her the charming rogue, the sexy rake and the dashing
gentleman. The way he spoke was certainly from another age, with a strange
mixture of modern slang peppered in almost as an afterthought. The man was
walking sex. It oozed from his every pore. She couldn't stop lusting after him
all through dinner. Shameless, really. Her body hummed in anticipation as she
hoped he would take her back to his house and fuck her all night long. No, he
did the quick-drop-at-the-door thing again.

She pushed the chair
back from the desk and walked out through the double French doors onto the
third floor balcony. The mist hung heavy in the air. Gray clouds were
gathering. Yep, rain.

Katrina inhaled
deeply. The invigorating scent of fresh salt air—there was nothing like it. She
leaned on the white wrought iron railing and looked out toward the bay.
Romance. Living out her fantasies through her writing, she supposed.

For didn't she long
for that rare, emotional-physical connection? Didn't every woman? Didn't
everybody? Would she find the connection with Tristan? Never had she felt this
way before. Every nerve ending was alive and sparking. His look, his touch—that
mouth, those lips.

****

Tristan walked around
to the front of the house, curious as to what room she was in. He knew the
house very well. He remembered when Sidney broke ground on it in 1894. Christ,
he was tempted to break down the door or break a window and go to her, love
her, fuck her—whatever it would take to ease this torture. His insides ached and
so did something else. His prick hardened further. He froze in his tracks as he
rounded the corner. Katrina was on the balcony. She was in a skimpy piece of
lingerie, not surprising as the humid night air seemed especially oppressive
tonight. Gazing out toward the bay, Katrina's beauty shimmered with luminance
in the cloud-covered moonlight. At that moment Tristan wished he had the skill
of manipulating the mind.

See me.
He tried to will Katrina to look his way.
See me
.

Tristan's eyes burned
with desire. He wanted her and yes, he was falling for her. It took all his
self-control to not leap up onto her balcony and kiss her, seduce her and make
love to her right then and there. If he was going to be honest with himself,
this intensity was beyond anything he felt with Georgiana and that admission shook
him to his very core. This was uncharted territory. Not to say he and Georgiana
did not have a passionate, loving relationship, but this went beyond and he
knew not why.

Suddenly, Katrina turned
and looked down directly at him. Her eyes grew wide. She stood straight up and
her gaze did not leave his. The red-hot poker was again rammed through his
heart and his aching cock at the same time.

She fled.

Christ, no doubt she
thought he was some sad-ass stalker. Who in hell stands outside a woman's house
like some lovesick fool? Him, it seemed. He was about to turn and walk back
toward his car when the side French doors opened. Katrina stood holding the
doors, her chest heaving as if she ran down the three flights of stairs. She
paused only a moment then ran toward him across the lawn. His heart clenched in
his chest, as she resembled a Fae princess from a mythological story. Her large
breasts moved provocatively under the silk and her luxurious hair rippled in
the breeze. She threw herself into his arms. Katrina's hands grasped his face
and pulled him down toward her lips. She kissed him with a fervent hunger that
matched his own. She wound one leg around his as she clamored to get closer.

Tristan groaned.
Grabbing fistfuls of her hair, he kissed her back and his tongue danced and
twisted with hers. He ravished every part of her hot, wet mouth. God's mercy,
her kiss. He licked and tasted her as he would a fine vintage of wine. Katrina
leaned against the hood of the car. He had to taste every inch of her skin. Her
lips were not enough. Tristan slipped the thin strap off her shoulder and
almost snapped it in his eagerness. One large breast was free. Beautiful. Pulling
back from her lips he lowered the other strap. Both breasts were now bared.
Tristan groaned at the feel of the heft. The large nipples were erect and
pebbled. Lowering his head his distended fangs grazed over a nipple and pulled.
He clamped his mouth over her tit and sucked and nipped but did not break the
skin. Katrina threw her head back and moaned. Her hands went to the back of his
head as she encouraged him to take more. Raindrops began to splatter on the car
and their bodies, but he didn't care.

"Here.
Now," she rasped.

That did it. Any
thoughts of carrying her into the house and up to her room fled his mind. Her
words echoed his fervent, feverish thoughts. Fuck the neighbors. There weren't
any nearby and they were far enough off the street no one could see, could
they? The moon had moved behind some grey clouds, shrouding them in private
darkness. He lifted her nightie, sweet God, no underwear. His hand lowered between
her legs and his fingers teased her curls. Katrina was wet, hot and ready. Tristan
was so tempted to lick and stroke her pussy for all its worth with his tongue.
He couldn't wait. He fumbled with his jeans. Her hand lowered to his and
stilled his fingers on his zipper.

"Protection?"
she whispered.

He exhaled shakily.
The raindrops fell a little faster now. Damned rubbers. He leaned in through
the passenger window, opened the glove box and took out a package. He ripped it
open with his teeth and freed his cock. Tristan heard her gasp. Yes, he was
huge. The girth and length were a side benefit of his Vampire blood and
heritage. So was the stamina. He leaned her back so she was lying on the hood.
Tristan grabbed her legs as he brought her ass to the edge. Perfect. He quickly
rolled on the condom and his jeans dropped to the ground.

"You are
sure?" he said.

He did not recognize
his own voice. He couldn't hold back any longer. Damn, so much for slow,
languid lovemaking. He was beyond control as his inner beast roared and
demanded he fuck her senseless.

She nodded, her eyes
wide with expectation and lust. With no further hesitation, he thrust in deeply
to the hilt. It was as wondrous as he knew it would be. She was so tight, must
have been a while since she—another thought crossed his mind. Was Katrina a
virgin?

"Oh God, it's
been so long."

Okay, that answered
his question. With his hands grasping both legs, he began to pound mercilessly.
She writhed, moaned, and demanded for him to fuck her, hard and fast. No worries.
He moved faster and he couldn't stop the moans from slipping past his lips. His
blood boiled and his fire stoked beyond reason and thought. Urgent, fucking
need spurned him onwards as did his Vampire Blood Lust. He had to have her or
die. To go deeper, to crawl inside her were his only thoughts. Tristan closed
his eyes and all he saw was red. He was beyond all senses now. Vampires called
it “The Rapture,” a total joining of body, heart and soul. His fangs ached to
plunge into her neck or one of those plump breasts. Blood and sex. It took all
his strength to fight the urge, but he couldn't and he didn't want to.
 
Mine, mine.
The refrain pounded in his head as he pounded her with his blood-filled, rigid
cock. The crimson haze of The Rapture overtook his vision and it seemed as if
he was floating in a sensory deprivation tank filled with blood. He only experienced
this rare Vampiric condition with Georgiana a couple of times, but nothing to
this extent or with this intensity.

Sprawled on the
vehicle, Katrina's hand gripped the car by the lip of the hood near the
windshield. She panted and moaned, her climax close. How long had they been
doing this? Tristan lost all sense of time and space. The air was heavy with
the musky smell of frantic, wild sex. The light, cool raindrops created hot
steam and mist from the sizzling pavement and their equally overheated
bodies.
 
The redness faded, and he became
more aware of his surroundings.

Without breaking the
rhythm, he lifted her upright so he could get access to those succulent tits.
He didn't care.
Let her see the fangs
.
Tristan plunged his fangs in around the nipple. But he was careful, just a taste
and he hardly broke the skin. As drops of her sweet, effervescent blood touched
his tongue, he almost blew apart. He couldn't hold back, and luckily Katrina
picked that moment to climax. She screamed. Loudly. Christ, the neighbors were
going to call the cops. What a racket they must be making. He suckled, drank,
and in a perfect blending, The Rapture peaked. He came with a decided violence.
Tristan shuddered and shook, tears pouring down his cheeks from the intensity.
He licked the small puncture wounds above her nipple and they healed
immediately, before she noticed.

Neither moved. They
were still joined, their breathing ragged and raw. Tristan leaned down and
rested his forehead against hers. He could care less his jeans were down around
his ankles. Still a slight red haze swam in his vision and his blood roared
through his veins. It wasn't enough. This did not cure the blood-sex fever he had
felt for the past few days, and it only shifted into overdrive. He wanted more.

She reached up and
stroked his cheek with such aching tenderness. Katrina was a surprise. She met
his every physical demand and was passionate, giving and loving. He should walk
away. He had two choices. Now that he’d gotten what he wanted, he could walk
away and never see her again or he could indulge in a short-term affair that would
last the summer and then say good-bye. He had a third choice: tell her his
secrets, his life-state, and pray she would accept it and accept him so he
could build a life with her. Insane.

He remembered when he
confessed all to Georgiana; there were tears and recriminations. It took months
to gently bring her around. Tristan always wondered if some part of her was disgusted
by his life-state. As Georgiana aged, his father offered to turn her but she
recoiled in horror. It stung she didn't want to spend eternity with him or
whatever part of eternity he would have. No one knew how long he would live.
But it did not lessen his feelings or his love for her even though he cursed
her for leaving him alone. And he was willing to put himself through this
again? He was jumping to conclusions, which he did often. Perhaps all Katrina wanted
him for was a quick rut on a car hood. He stepped back and withdrew from her
body.

"Fuck,
shit!" he snarled.

They both looked down
and saw the condom was torn. They glanced back up at each other.

"Oh, wow,"
Katrina murmured.

Tristan ripped off
what was left of the rubber and quickly pulled up his jeans and stuffed the
condom in his pocket.

"I am so sorry. That
has never happened before," he said.

True enough, he never
had sex like that before either, wild enough to split a condom.

Katrina righted
herself and slid off the hood of the car. "Do you want to come inside the
house? Have a drink, talk?"

What he wanted was to
throw her into the backseat of his Benz, drive the few miles to his house,
carry her in over his shoulder and fuck her and make love to her simultaneously
all night long.
Control. Take a breath
.
"I have to go, but I would like to talk. Katrina…this…was beyond."

He couldn't speak. No
words could describe what he was feeling.

She touched his cheek
again. God's mercy every time she did his heart squeezed with love and longing.
Aw hell, this had gone beyond a one-night stand or a summer fling. He reached
out and traced his fingers over the fang marks just above her right nipple.
His.
All his.

"Come in the
house, Tris." Her voice was low, husky and full of invitation.

He broke the
connection and stepped back. "Tomorrow night, come to my house at seven
o'clock. We'll talk then. I have something to tell you. Do you know where it
is?"

She looked perplexed
and confused. "I can ask Greg."

He didn't dare kiss
her lips again so he settled for her hand.
 
"I want you to know. Never have I felt that before with any woman.
Never."

He walked to his car,
climbed in, started the motor and like the coward he was, backed out of the
driveway and accelerated away, leaving a squeal of rubber on the pavement.