Dracula's Desires (4 page)

Read Dracula's Desires Online

Authors: Linda Mercury

BOOK: Dracula's Desires
3.27Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
C
HAPTER
6
London, 1885
 
 
“
H
e's coarse.” Mina Murray pulled her friend Lucy Westerna away from the bookstore window. Lucy had been exchanging furtive glances with the gentleman outside the shop.
Mina shuddered. The gentleman was Radu Turciful, the latest darling of London's gossip.
“He's exotic,” Lucy replied, her eyes glinting in curiosity. “You know he spent time in Constantinople?”
“Istanbul,” Mina corrected, her discomfort making her sound stuffy and cold. “Yes, I know. His name means Turkified.”
“He fascinates me.” Lucy's gloved hand picked up a book on the curious lands of the people in question. “Mr. Turciful is so learned about the world.”
“He smells bad,” Mina whispered.
Lucy gasped in shock at the overly familiar observation. “What is wrong with you, that you have become so inappropriate?”
Mina swallowed a frown and buried her face in a thick book. Ever since the strange man from the wilds of Eastern Europe arrived in London last month, Mina's world had been disrupted.
Her fiancé, Jonathon, who had been handling Mr. Turciful's affairs, had gone missing. Her parents were enchanted by his stories of the lands of One Thousand and One Nights. Normally respectable, Lucy had taken to staying out all night, sneaking away from her friends in hopes of running into him.
Worse, no one believed Mina's stomach churned with revulsion whenever he turned his gaze to her. She sensed something avaricious when he looked at her. Worse, she had been haunted by terrible dreams from the moment he had locked his hazel eyes on her. Dreams of wolves, untamed forests, and two brothers bound with their tangled resentment and love, forever fighting each other.
Once she had a dream of shocking eroticism, of someone she knew was named Vlad. This dream man resembled Mr. Turciful, but his eyes were shadowed with secrets and unspeakable sad thoughts instead of greed and plots.
In this dream, she was a bride, Ilona, ready for her wedding night.
Her husband, Vlad, was a warrior, famed for his ferocity and savagery. Unsure of what would happen, Ilona entered the chamber. Vlad surprised her; his ruthlessness hid a gentle touch and a surprising shyness. Excited by his endless caresses, she begged him to remove his shirt so that she could return the favor.
The scars on his body spoke of more abuse than even the most punished criminal she had ever seen. Despite the damage, he sported a beautiful torso: flat and hard with surprisingly puffy and sensitive nipples. Ilona delighted in the shocked noises Vlad made when her lips nibbled at his skin. It was almost as if he'd never been touched.
Vlad's soft facial hair and mobile lips teased her as he explored every inch of her. She screamed with desire when he placed his lips on her lower places. Any fear she'd had over this act had been tamed by the tenderness of this dangerous man.
After the candles had guttered out and he had breached her maidenhead with his cock, he shared gifts with her. Soft, valuable lace, spices, and rare silks brought from the Orient: things to delight the senses. In her dream, he taught her to defend herself and made sure she was cared for in every way.
He was cautious, but unendingly solicitous of her pleasure, her needs.
But he didn't love her.
As Mina pulled herself toward wakefulness, the last thing she saw was diamonds the size of her thumbnail falling into a pile of dust.
Mina lay in her sweaty bed, the gut-wrenching smell of Mr. Turciful's sulfuric odor bitter in her nose. The dream returned again and again, until Mina Murray was at the end of her endurance. Even sharing a bed with her husband did not stop the assault. Exhausted, she agreed to meet Mr. Turciful one afternoon for an excursion into the city.
 
 
Radu Tepes cradled Mina's head in his hands. She had led him on a merry chase, even to the point of marrying Jonathon Harker. But Draculs were unstoppable, unbeatable, and pitiless.
She swooned on the chaise longue, perspiration beading on the tops of her small breasts. His goal was literally within his grasp. His long, careful preparations had brought Ilona to the forefront of Mina's mind.
“Did she consent?” Vlad's hated voice came back to Radu. His miserable big brother had interrupted a wonderful little interlude Radu had arranged with a visiting cousin. Radu ground his teeth at the memory of Vlad shaking him like a naughty puppy. Vlad's miserable self-righteousness wouldn't stop Radu this time. His snotty older brother had left London weeks ago.
Radu refused to consider that his stalking had fatigued Mina to such an extent that her mind could not comprehend what he was doing. In his little world, Mina was begging him to make her his bride.
Nothing would break her from his thrall. His kid gloves disguised his lack of body temperature. The night obeyed his command, allowing no noise to enter his house's parlor. The fire barely crackled. He'd laid pinecones to burn, guaranteeing that the room smelled of the fresh forests of home.
The vampire rotated her hand until it lay palm up in his grasp. Laying his free palm over her glazed eyes, he kissed the inside of her wrist. He unbuttoned the dainty mother-of-pearl buttons that clasped her silk glove to her fair arm.
Snowy white British skin always showed the map work of blue veins. Such a contrast to Ilona's darker complexion. He traced the three branching veins with his tongue, enjoying the way her breath caught at his caress. The downy hairs on her neck rose under his gentle stroking. The pulse in her throat pumped harder.
As the veins plumped, he lowered his mouth to her vulnerable flesh. Gently, he sliced his fangs into her skin. English women lacked the spice and danger of his native land, but their delicate constitutions gave their blood the light sparkle and consistency of champagne.
He could turn her with this first bite, but each blood taking would render her more pliable. Then he would give her his tears, sweat, and blood, and he could live with his beloved Ilona again.
C
HAPTER
7
T
he spring sun heated John's apartment until the air washed over Valerie like hot, sodden seaweed. Three weeks after the attack, she pored over photocopied pages from yet another obscure tome. Relaxing in the rocking chair John had found, she held the magnifying glass over the passage she needed.
The one who can look upon the face of the sun will . . .
She frowned over the obliterated word.
Destroyed. Again. Somebody, somewhere, at some time, knew what she had become. And they had eradicated all knowledge as thoroughly as only bored churchmen could do.
Valerie and John had followed the trail of medieval documents to a nearby monastery. Valerie didn't hold much with Swiss monks; after all, they were the ones who had told all those terrible lies about her back in the day. Vivisection? Really? Those guys really knew how to carry a grudge.
She tipped her chin until her bump came into view.
“We got nothing, kiddo.”
“Why do you worry about so much, Mom-moo?”
“I'm a first-time mother. I get to worry.”
Unconcerned, the baby rolled.
“I bet John-Dad will be home soon.”
“He should still be at work.”
“'Allo!” An unexpected voice called up from the street. “
Bonjour, petite chou
.”
Valerie stretched her neck to look between the railings of the balcony.
“Told ya.”
“Nobody likes a smarty-pants, kid”,
she muttered, waving at John. “You are home early.” Her voice careened down the front of the building.
The upstairs neighbor pounded on their floor. “Be quiet!” an angry Swiss accent shouted.
John's laid-back attitude had infected her. Instead of strong-arming their neighbor into cowering, she laughed at the imperious orders.
“The bakery called. They had made almond croissants just for us.” Disregarding the grumpy neighbor, he shouted and brandished a white bag with all the flourish of a tango dancer.
She raised herself up from the chair, still compensating for the mass of her new breasts. John's gaze dropped appreciatively to her changed body, and then reluctantly returned to her face. Her nipples stiffened against her bikini top and her thighs clenched against the seam of her swimsuit. Since she had moved in, they had been circling each other like cats in heat. His warm eyes, his compact but sleek body, the way he wore scarves in that stylish French way, all jacked her libido to fang-aching levels.
How could she desire John with every cell, but yearn for Lance? Would she be betraying one love to pursue another? What if Lance returned?
Valerie couldn't stop her hands from tracing her body from shoulders to hips even if she had cut them off. John's expression changed from open and cheerful to blistering sensuality. His lids drooped, his nostrils flared, and his pointed tongue traced the inner curve of his lower lip.
Arousal swelled her breasts.
What would becoming lovers with John do to her?
Her wet vagina offered explicit suggestions of what John could do to her.
“May I come in,
mon coeur
?” John's sensual voice shook her legs until she could barely stand.
Valerie fled back into the apartment. She wrenched open the small refrigerator and grabbed one of the pitchers of John's blood. She didn't get a glass; she just poured it down her throat as fast as possible. His blood was sweet, like apples and honey, as valiant and truthful as he was. The second pitcher gushed into her mouth. She finished it before John could reach the door of their apartment. She braced her arms against the hard metal of the appliance and squeezed her eyes shut.
The cold blood had driven out the hot shakes she'd had since his gaze had taken in her larger breasts. She swallowed convulsively. She still tasted him, his heat, his pure heart, his courage. His blood was spicy and delicious, a meal that would fuel her body better than anything. His soul gave her hope and succor in the dark hours, something that promised comfort, safety, and perfect trust.
“Chou?
” John entered the kitchen and sat down. “Darling, let me into your heart.”
His body heat radiated through the kitchen. Valerie pinched the bridge of her nose. “You shouldn't trust me.”
“I do lots of things I shouldn't, darling. Do not fear.” He held up the forgotten bag of sugary goodness. “If you put out, I'll give you your sugar.”
Valerie snorted laughter against her sleeve. Clever man.
“We can try, at least,” John continued. “Do you feel nothing for me?”
She knew herself to be brave. Six months ago, Valerie had accepted Lance's challenge to change and she had been transformed beyond all measure. What price would this choice demand? Did she have the courage to embrace everything this love had to offer as well?
She sucked in air, giving herself a rush from the oxygen. Screw fear.
“I feel much for you,” Valerie answered, and held out her hand.
John clasped her offered hand and yanked her body into him. Their baby bumped into him first and then his mouth landed on hers. He would not allow her to think anymore. He had seen the play of emotions on his dangerous girl's face.
Valerie's teeth clicked against his as they kissed openmouthed. He drove his fingers into her sun-hot hair. Holding her head motionless, he ran his tongue along the slick surface of her lower lip. The vampire growled, low in her throat, and grabbed his ass. They were of a height, two pale, dark-haired lovers shoving against each other.
Valerie's hard fists gathered at the collar of his shirt and ripped it apart. The wail of the fabric was nothing to the groan John gave up when she frantically began combing through his chest hair.
In retaliation, he pulled the triangles of her bikini top to the sides, baring her breasts.
“Sexy, sexy,” he crooned as he pushed her small tits into cleavage. John had thought her skin would be tight and hard from her years of physical work, but she had the softest skin he had touched. The plant woman of his youth no longer rated as the softest, deadliest of his partners. This one had the potential to hurt him far worse.
Valerie's sharp nails on his nipples jackknifed him forward until he planted his face in her chest. She jerked and scratched at his back when he licked between her breasts.
If she were this sensitive above the waist, what would happen if he licked her hidden jewel box?
Nudge by nudge, kiss by kiss, he backed her up to the edge of the kitchen table and settled her on the lip of the surface.
“What are you doing?” Valerie asked, her brows drawing together in confusion.
He dropped to his knees in front of her. “Making you come, silly girl.”
Her head jerked back in indignation. “I have never been silly in my entire life.” A throaty, almost canine growl curled her lip and caused the head of his ice-hard cock to emerge from the waistband of his jeans. He pressed the heel of his hand against his penis, humming in pleasure at the constriction of his jeans.
Her eyes widened at the sight. “That is mine,” she claimed.
“In time.” Grinning at her, he spread her legs. With a reverent murmur, he buried his face in her still-covered pussy. Apparently, vampires did not lubricate like humans. Her moisture was thicker, more viscous. Here, her aroma of rosemary turned sharper, more pinelike and resinous. He swallowed and dragged the flat of his tongue along the crease of the bikini fabric that hugged her cleft.
She dug her nails into the edge of the table, cracking the finish with her nails. Valerie's head dropped back, baring her throat. With a violent thrust, she cocked her hips, exposing even more of her vulva to him.
Taking her up on her invitation, John pushed the crotch of her bikini bottoms aside, revealing her pussy.
Like a rare orchid, her labia flared out in hot magenta petals. Adding to her exotic look, fine black hairs modestly veiled her drenched labia and extended clitoris.
“Fuck.”
Her hoarse whisper rolled around the kitchen as he opened her fully to his gaze.
Giving in to his urge to show off, he brushed his mouth over one side of her, the soft hair tickling his lips. Up the other side, he traveled until he reached her swollen clitoris. Puckering up, John sipped from her unfurling flower.
Valerie drummed her heels on the table. At the upstairs neighbor's knock, she hissed and wrapped her strong thighs around his head.
“Come on, come on,” she chanted as she thrust her mound deeper and deeper into his eager mouth.
John kept his lips and tongue soft, resisting the urge to stab at her tender bloom. He was determined to take her higher and higher until he sunk in her. As it was, she writhed under him and hissed through her teeth. A glance up her flushed body showed him her rounded abdomen, rigid nipples, and fully extended fangs.
His cock thumped against the inflexible material of his pants. God above, she was blisteringly hot. Unable to keep his hands motionless, he covered her breasts with his palms, squeezing and plucking her erect nipples.
“Motherfucker,” Valerie ground out. With an enormous gasp for oxygen, she came all over his face.
John readied his hand at her vagina, ready to take her on yet another trip.
“I don't think so,” she muttered. She braced her hip and pushed, rolling on top of him. They bumped up against the kitchen counter.
“How about we take this to the bed?” He smiled.
Valerie stripped off her bikini as she sprinted for the bedroom. She landed on the bed, her hand cupping her mound and pressing as John toed off his socks and let his torn shirt fall. Still in his pants, he lay down next to her.
“Let me kiss you again.” He took her hand in his and lifted it from her vulva.
“I don't think so.” Valerie yanked the button on his jeans. The brass button pinged in the far corner and rattled to a halt. Breathing through her teeth, she wrenched his zipper down.
“Hey! Careful with that!” John swatted at her hands.
“I'm going to take you right here, pretty boy.” She stripped him of his pants and, sweet blood below, the man wasn't wearing any underwear. Valerie hadn't many lovers, but she knew that this was a very special penis. Instead of a bend to the left or the right, it curved downward in a perfect gentle curve. She wrapped her hand around him and stroked.
His eyes crossed and his head thumped against the pillows.
She straddled him, holding his shoulders against the firm mattress. The tips of her breasts stung as they pushed her skin to its limits. Valerie twisted and stroked her sensitized nipples across his hairy chest. “So damn good.” She thrashed back and forth. Each individual hair shot tiny electric sparks over her breasts and hanging belly.
“More. I need more.” She lifted his cock and lowered herself onto him. The crest of his head and that intriguing arch combined a perfect one-two punch of pleasure on her G-spot. Desire poured through her like hot honey.
John seized her hips and guided her into a fast trot on him. “Ride me,” he ordered in Valerie's ear. She shuddered at his words. “I want to see you on my cock.”
Valerie wanted to surrender to his lead, but her pride held her back. Defiantly, she stopped her bouncing.
“I'll ride you,” she hissed as she pulled herself up until only his head filled her. “I'll fuck myself on you and you'll like it.”
John merely smiled and nudged his legs wider, forcing her to shift forward. She closed her eyes as his thick, thick cock opened and spread her. A thrust with his hips and she bit her lip, trying to control her response.
Firm fists caught her hair. He yanked her, forcing her to look at him. “Scream for me. Don't ever hold it back.”
She shook her head, nearly helpless at the feeling of his cock thumping against her sensitive walls. He yanked, setting a pace that drove him into her throat.
Despite her eagerness to take this risk, old habits clutched her in vicious claws. Valerie whimpered, her eyes closed, fighting the tears that threatened to spill from the pleasure.
As she fought herself, she didn't notice when John let go of her hair. Barely a second later, the cold, pulsing ball of a wand vibrator landed on her swollen clit.
“Come for me.” He shoved the tennis-ball-sized head against her hood.
Guides were known for their relentless persistence. The vibrator toppled her resistance like an earthquake destroyed city walls.
Valerie exploded. A gush of liquid shot from her vagina. She soaked John and the sheets of their bed.
Her throat was sore. Pleased, she circled her hips on her stiff perch.

Other books

A McKenzie Christmas by Lexi Buchanan
Dying to Forget by Trish Marie Dawson
The Last Revolution by Carpenter, R.T.
Flatscreen by Adam Wilson
Mortal Desire by Alexander Bryn
The Chocolate Fudge Mystery by David A. Adler