Black Desire (8 page)

He reached out with a
long, elegant finger and stroked her cheek, which set her ablaze.

“There are a lot of
things I want to do with you, but yes, talk first. About last night—”

She sucked air through
her teeth.
Here it comes
. Before she
could stop herself she began to babble as she usually did when she was nervous.

“I know it was just
sex, you don’t have to explain. And it wasn’t your fault the condom split, I
mean I am not on the pill but I am clean, I don’t think we have to worry about
pregnancy either and we can just end it here. I understand we hardly know each
other. I am only here until August 24th.”

“Quiet, sweeting.”
His hand cupped her cheek. The look on his face was indulgent affection and tenderness.
It was enough to make her swoon. “I have had multiple partners but been tested
recently. I am also clean. I am very careful, and what happened last night
never happened before. The experience was beyond anything I have ever
experienced, Katrina.”

She burrowed her
cheek into the warmth of his hand. “It was beyond for me as well.”

“What we shared is
very rare, and I want to explore it more. See you exclusively. Do you
understand what I am saying?” His voice was husky and full of emotion, the last
thing she expected from this cool, collected man.

“That we see no one
else—as long as I am here?” she whispered.

He smiled. “Exactly.
But I have things to tell you about myself before we go any further. Things I
share with no one. I want you to know about me, my family and my heritage. I
ask you keep an open mind.”

She glanced at him.
Tristan's brows were knotted in worry and concern. Jesus, what was he, in the
mafia? She leaned in and kissed him, her tongue dancing with his. She couldn't
stop herself.
 
It grew heated very fast
and she was on her back before she could blink. His rock hard cock nestled
between her spread legs. Thank God she didn’t wear pantyhose. Tristan's hand
trailed up her leg in a slow, sensual glide. With a strength she did not know
she possessed she sat upright, pushed Tristan back in a supine position and
straddled his hips.
Oh God. To hell with
talking.
She brazenly rubbed herself on that huge, straining prick of his
then laid kisses all over his handsome, rugged face.

"Katrina,"
he moaned.

"I know. Please.
Just let me do this." She rode him like a carousel horse at the carnival,
moving up and down, mimicking the act of sex. His kisses grew as hungry and
aggressive as hers.

"Wait,"
he croaked. "Talk—"

"No, Tristan,
talk after. Right now I want this." She ground down hard on his cock.
"Inside me now, just like this." Katrina reached in the side pocket
of her dress. "This time I brought the condoms."

Tristan laughed. A
hearty, husky masculine laugh which made her gush hot liquid between her
thighs. She lifted off him long enough to free his dick and roll the condom on.
She didn't hesitate. Katrina plunged down on his cock and found a rhythm that
had them both moaning. So glad she didn't wear underwear. God, he was inside
her so deep, he stretched her so wide, and it felt so good. If she could go
through life with the feeling of his cock stuffed into her like this, she would
be one damned happy woman. It didn't take long at all. She came immediately and
then she felt another climax building right after it.

"Yes, Katrina,
come for me again, fucking scream." He slapped her ass in encouragement.
"Ride me, faster."

Oh God, she was
bucking him like a wild bronco. Laughter burbled from her lips. Tristan began
to lift his hips upward to meet her back and forth frenzied movements.

"Oh, oh
my—" she squealed.

She did scream,
enough to rattle the windows, and Tristan's husky roar drowned her out. He
threw his head back, every cord in his neck strained with his release. She
couldn't catch her breath. It wasn't enough and she wanted more. What was wrong
with her? She grabbed his face and kissed him deeply.

Finally he pulled
away. Both of them were breathing raggedly.

"Yes, sweeting.
I want more. I want to carry you up those stairs and make slow, passionate love
to you. I have so much to share and to give. All night. Pure pleasure and I can
give it to you." His finger stroked her cheek. "But I must insist—talk."
Tristan gently moved her off his still semi-erect cock. He arched an eyebrow at
her. "No panties, Katrina? Naughty, naughty minx. You intrigue me. I will
be just a moment."

She watched as
Tristan left the room, his jeans barely pulled up over those muscular, slim
hips. He was one to talk, going commando himself. Talk about naughty, he oozed
it from every pore. She pulled her dress down and sat back on the sofa.
Pleasure, all night. Oh yes.

Chapter Six

In a matter of
minutes Tristan had cleaned up, and with jeans zipped he walked back into the
room with a chilled bottle of white wine and a couple of glasses.

He was so tempted to
take her upstairs and continue their sensual exploration. Their two encounters
so far had been fast, frenzied and wild. He wanted to show her he could be a
master of seduction, languid and skillful in the art of lovemaking. After all,
he’d had decades to perfect it. He did not show his skills to anyone. It had
been many years since he had a long-term mistress, one he could take the time
to seduce and send to heights few achieve. He literally could go all night
thanks to his Vampire blood but lately he only had a quick rut along with his
Blood Lust feeding. Seeing he was only half-Vampire, the need for blood only
came over him a half-dozen times a month unless his passion was stoked beyond
the earthly plane. His Blood Lust had been off the charts since he sensed
Katrina in the pub. Good Christ, was it only a few nights ago? How intense, how
deep his need, and how deep his emotions had developed for her so damned
quickly.

He opened the bottle,
poured her a glass and passed it to her. She was still flushed from their exertions.
Katrina's face showed the burn of his goatee from his aggressive kisses. Perhaps
he should shave it off, anything for her. Now came the part he dreaded. Would
she run screaming from the house? Laugh cruelly in his face? Perhaps yell,
rail, curse and spit? Or would she cry? Georgiana pretty much ran the gambit
when he told her.

With his own glass
filled, he sat next to Katrina.

Get it out, tell her.
"I am older
than you may think," he began. "Much older. I was born here in
Bennington Bay. In 1851."

He let the year
dangle out there. She stared at him, her eyes wide and not blinking.
Interesting response. Did she even hear him?

"I am the result
of a rare pairing of a human female and a male Vampire. I am Dhampyre. Half-Vampire."

Katrina gazed down
into her wine glass as if looking for answers or maybe liquid courage. She
tipped the glass and almost drank the whole thing in one swallow. Her hand
shook.

She set the glass
down on the end table. "I see. I knew all this—was too good to be true.
There had to be something wrong. Wrong with you. You’re one of those sick,
deluded emo-goth guys, aren't you? With the fake fangs and the gothic
surroundings, probably even drink real blood. I saw it on
Supernatural
. These bat-shit crazy—no pun intended—" She
laughed a little too loudly, then sobered. "People who belong to these
secret clubs. And the women who screw them are fang-bangers. Oh damn, that's
me. That's what I get for picking up a guy in a pub." She reached for her
purse as if to leave. Tristan reached out and stilled her hand.

"Wait. Let me
explain." She dropped her purse and lowered her head again. "Please,
Katrina. I speak the truth. My father is a Vampire, there are a few of us
living in this village, and I am not the only Dhampyre. Look around you. Do you
see a gothic castle with cobwebs and torches on the wall? That is Hollywood
myth, pure Bela Lugosi. Not my Clan, not in any way. My father is not from
Romania or Transylvania, he's Irish. I do have fangs and they are not
fake."

She looked up at him
then with tears in her eyes, her eyebrows knotted in confused anger.

"Then show me.
The fangs."

He closed his eyes
briefly and exhaled. "I can't command them. This isn't stupid pet-tricks.
They descend for a myriad of reasons."

Katrina crossed her arms.
She was clearly miffed and disbelieving. He supposed he should be thankful she
hadn't run out of the house yet but he could sense she was ready to bolt.

"They lower when
I crave blood, but since I am only half-Vampire, the need varies from a few
times a month to a few times a week. If I feel threatened or when I am
extremely turned on, like last night. Vampires when in the zone experience what
we call ‘The Rapture.’ Dhampyres can experience it as well. It is a total and
complete joining of body, heart and soul. It is like we are in another
world."

Katrina's head
snapped up. "Is that your explanation for not answering me while you were
pounding into me last night?"

He winced. "Yes,
we lose all track of time. I didn't even know how long we had sex or how many
times I made you come. It is like I am floating in an artery surging with
blood, all I see is red—"

Katrina stood then
and grabbed her purse. "Oh for Christ's sake! This is stupid! I'm not
listening to any more of this. And for your information, it was six
times."

Tristan reached for
her wrist so fast she gasped aloud.

"Do not
leave," he growled.

Katrina struggled in
his iron grip. "Oh, is this where you rip my throat out and drink my
blood?"

A vision of Raynor's
bloody night came roaring back, and he tamped down the horrific images.

"Of course not.
We are not killers. Please—" He softened his voice. "All I ask is you
hear me out. I will answer any questions you may have. Sit."

Katrina plopped down
on the sofa again and dropped her purse. "I can't believe I 'm listening
to this. Okay, Count Chocula, are there other Vampires besides your little 'Clan'?"
She made air quotes with her fingers and her voice dripped with disdain. He
really couldn't blame her.

"Yes, there are,
all over the world. It is secretive. We have assimilated into the human world.
We live, we love and we work among you. There is a Bureau that governs the Vampires
within the Shadow World and they use hunters to uphold the sworn oath ‘no harm
to humans.’ We do not drain bodies of blood, leaving corpses in our wake. Most
times we get it from a plasma bag. No one really hunts anymore."

"How lucky for
us humans. When did you last drink blood then and not from a bag? The truth, or
your version of the truth," Katrina demanded.

One of his long fingers
reached out and touched the collar of her low cut dress, skimming just above
her nipple.

"Last night."

Katrina's mouth
dropped open. "You drank—from
me
?"
She jumped up and tore at her dress, finding the faint mark. "Here? Oh.
My. God."

She picked her purse
once again and ran for the door. Tristan caught her arm and swung her around
until she was against the wall.

"A few drops,
nothing more. We are not animals. I am a man, half-human. I feel, I want—I want
you, Katrina. Not since my wife died..."

"Your wife, was
that a story to get my sympathy?" she cried as a few tears rolled down her
cheek.

"No. I was
married for sixty-two years. She died in my arms of old age in 1939. Please, can
I show you a picture? You won't run?" He backed away from the wall where
he had her boxed in. She finally nodded.

He went to the desk
by the fireplace and took an old tintype out of the drawer. He looked at it
briefly and the memories flooded back. Their wedding day, 1877. God, she was beautiful.
Georgiana knew what he was and married him anyway. She loved him that much. His
fingers traced over the faded image. He reached in the drawer for the blue
velvet box that sat next to the picture. He took a deep breath and walked the
few steps back to Katrina and handed the box to her.

She snapped it open
and gasped.

"My Victoria
Cross. It is the highest honor to be bestowed for valor in the face of the
enemy. I received it in 1945."

Katrina's fingers
gently touched the medal. She turned it over. "Tristan Thorne?"

"The name I was
using at the time."

Katrina reverently
turned the medal back. She pulled out a couple of black and white photos that
were jammed into the top of the case.

"That is me,
receiving the medal from the Governor-General."

Tristan watched the
confusion pass over her face as she looked at the picture and back at him. The
second photo was him standing proudly in full dress uniform, the medal pinned
to his chest.

"It looks like
you. I don't know what to think," she murmured.

Tristan took the
medal and pictures from her hand then held out the tintype wedding picture.