The Vampire Shrink (37 page)

Instead he burst out laughing. “You have pigs on your feet!”

He thrust the roses and box of chocolates into my hands, scooped me up into his arms, and walked us over to the couch. As soon as he was seated with me on his lap, he reached over and lifted my feet, inspecting the colorful porcine coverings.

“How interesting.” The longer he stared at the fluffy piggy slippers, the harder he laughed. He pinched the snout between his thumb and first finger and pulled on the tail.

“Hey! Are you actually going to tell me you've never heard of Miss Piggy?” I said. “If so, your contemporary education is seriously lacking. When I was young, she was one of the best-known television and movie characters. Kids loved her.”
I loved her. She was so audacious—everything I wasn't.

“I see. Television.” He grinned. “Let me ask you this—why would a vampire spend time doing human activities? How could those things possibly hold interest for such alien creatures as the undead? We might share the world with mortals, but not your reality. Not to be rude, of course, but most of the programs I have seen on modern television leave much to be desired. Why sit and watch pretend people and situations instead of creating an exciting life? There is so much to know and discover in the world that I have never understood the human tendency to be passive observers.” He waved his hand toward my feet. “But I must admit that your Miss Piggy sounds charming. I look forward to further education. There were no such things when I was a child.”

“Well, maybe I'll get you your own pair.”

“I would be honored.” His eyes twinkled with amusement.

He was right about people spending too much time in front of televisions, as well as computers and other media. It had never occurred to me that his “species” might be different in every way—living a parallel but separate existence. As annoying as it was to be laughed at, something about his mirth was infectious, and I found myself chuckling in spite of myself.

Once again, whatever resolve I'd built up against Devereux had leaked away in direct proportion to the number of minutes I spent gazing at his perfect face. It was a waste of time for me to argue that I was immune to his charm, or his eyes, or whatever it was that caused my normal inhibitions to catch the first plane out of town. For the first time, it occurred to me that I genuinely liked him. He had an adorable little-boy quality.

At some point I must have put the flowers and chocolates on the coffee table, because my arms were free to ensnare his neck. Which quickly led to me being flat on my back in my Freud PJs and my piggy slippers with an absurdly gorgeous vampire on top of me, attached at the lips.

So much for a quiet, relaxing evening.

We made out on the couch like teenagers.

As always with Devereux, I couldn't stop touching him, couldn't run my fingers through his long, silky, aromatic hair enough. Couldn't feast on his lips even remotely enough. Couldn't imagine anything more important than having him inside me.

Even counting my close call with Alan, I hadn't technically had intercourse for two years, and the muscles in my vagina contracted in gleeful, moist anticipation.

He lifted his warm mouth from mine long enough to whisper, “Will you invite me to your bed, my love?”

Geez, the guy's voice should be a registered weapon. It could take you down in three seconds.

“What happened to all the mind reading? I've been sending out the welcome committee for the last twenty minutes.”

“I know.” He raised himself up just enough so I could see his pleased expression. “But it is important to me to hear the words from your own sweet lips.” He somehow managed to lift himself off the couch in a flowing motion while scooping me up at the same time. “Shall we?”

He carried me up the stairs, the twin Miss Piggys bobbing up and down. But my mind was no longer on footwear. In fact, my entire brain was focused on the fastest way to get us both naked.

We entered my bedroom, and Devereux paused at the foot of my bed.

“You have not changed the sheets since you shared your bed with Alan. I can smell him. I wish to be the only presence here with you.”

He set me down and stood in front of me.

I started to explain that I hadn't “officially” had sex with Alan and there really wasn't any part of him left behind, but Devereux gently pressed a finger to my lips, ending the flow of words.

“None of that matters. Nothing that happened before me matters. I simply wish to make love to you right now in your own bed on fresh sheets. Yes?”

He removed his black leather duster and threw it in a chair in the corner.

Enjoying the view of the physique that'd been hidden under the coat, I moved over to him and lightly kissed his lips. “Definitely yes.”

I opened a brand-new set of silk sheets I'd had for a long time but never used, while Devereux stripped off the old bedding.

Quite an efficient team, we smoothed on the new sheets, watching each other with hungry eyes.

“Do you have candles?” he asked.

Uh, did I? I thought for a moment and remembered which box in the closet I'd stashed them in. I wouldn't tell him that I'd only bought them in case the electricity went out and I needed emergency light. I was trying to learn to keep my unromantic, nerdy explanations to myself. At least under certain conditions.

While I was in the closet I stepped out of the Miss Piggy slippers and put them back in their special place, next to my Glinda the Good Witch sandals.

Okay. So I did let my inner child out sometimes.

He took the candles and the holders I'd also retrieved, placed them on the nightstands on either side of the bed, and stood back, appreciating his handiwork. He pointed a finger at each of the candles and the wicks burst into flame.

He smiled at me and said out loud what I'd been thinking. “Indeed—more parlor tricks.”

I turned off the light switch on the wall and basked in the lovely glow of the candles. The soft illumination was the perfect setting for Devereux. His eyes sparkled, his hair was a shining radiance, and his skin assumed the hues of the candlelight.

He stepped over to the window and closed the blinds, then circled back around to the door and silently sealed it. Gliding over to me, he gently released my hair from the ponytail and eased the long curls down over my breasts.

“Your hair is beautiful.” He nestled his face in it and inhaled the fragrance, then ran his fingers through it. “You are beautiful. I had given up hope of ever finding you. And now you are here. Now you are mine.”

“I'm yours? What does that mean?”

“It means we belong to each other. We always have. I want to share every part of myself with you, and I want to know every aspect of you. I am so happy you have finally come to me. I have been lost without you.”

I started to question his assumptions, and he silenced me with a kiss.

He reluctantly pulled away and leaned against the wall to balance himself while he removed his boots. He pulled his shirt off over his head in one slow, elegant motion.

Vampire Chippendales.

Even though I'd seen him without his shirt before, the effect in the candlelight was almost overwhelming. The muscles of his shoulders, arms, and abdomen were perfectly chiseled, a magnificent work of art in flesh and bone. I started to wonder what the odds were of a human being so exquisitely built, then remembered he wasn't human. Not even close.

But that didn't matter. In a very short, intense time period, I'd gone from thinking Devereux was mentally ill—an unfortunate having psychotic delusions about being a vampire—to waiting breathlessly for that very same vampire to fill me with what was already making its presence known inside his tight leather pants.

I splayed my hands on his chest, relishing the firm warmth of him, and moved close enough to take one of his nipples into my mouth. He moaned and relaxed his head back, embracing me with his strong arms.

I started to unbutton the waistband of his pants, and he covered my hand with his.

“Wait. We must remove your shirt first.”

Vampire rules
? I didn't ask why. He lifted my hair back behind my shoulders and unbuttoned my pajama top. Letting the slippery silk fall away, he used his fingers to guide the fabric from my shoulders and down my arms. He bent and slid his face over my breasts, taking one nipple at a time into his mouth with a gentle sucking motion. He cupped both breasts in his hands and laid tiny kisses all over them before using his tongue to harden my nipples to painful, throbbing points.

He straightened, lifted the pentagram necklace, and brought it to his lips. He kissed the center of the circular design, then replaced it, all the time gazing into my eyes.

I already ached for him and couldn't imagine being able to hold out much longer. My knees were barely functional.

He stepped away and studied me, the expression on his face reflecting the maelstrom of feelings and desires he couldn't hide.

He caressed my breasts again and said, “You are very lush for such a slender woman. In all my eight hundred years, yours are the most magnificent breasts I have ever seen. I shall never tire of touching them, of sucking them.”

I'd say he hasn't gotten out much if my breasts are the cream of the crop, but that's probably not true. I'll just enjoy the ride.

He demonstrated as I fisted my hands in his hair. After a few delicious seconds, he kissed his way back to my lips.

Sliding his hands into the elastic waistband of my pajama bottoms, he eased the material down my hips, leaving my white cotton bikini panties in place. He stroked and massaged me, running his hands up my back and down to the mounds of my ass, pulling my lower body tight against his hard, thick erection.

My fingers found their way back to the button on the waistband of his pants and successfully opened it. The zipper slid down easily, and I quickly discovered that Devereux was an au naturel kind of guy.

That realization was outrageously arousing for me, and I enthusiastically shimmied his pants down his hips, releasing the unexpectedly large organ jutting out from a thatch of blond curls.

I had a momentary thought about the myth that a man's feet or hands are correlated with the size of his penis. In Devereux's case, his normal-size artistic hands and average-looking feet gave no indication of what had been sequestered away behind that zipper.

I sank to my knees, still pulling down the leather pants, and gently nudged him to sit on the edge of the bed. I raised my mouth to his, ran my tongue along his lips, then kissed him while one hand stroked his warm, hard length. He moved rhythmically against my hand, moaning softly. I slid my finger up to the drops of liquid oozing from the opening, then stroked him again.

We used our tongues to taste and explore each other. I felt his fangs extend as I carefully avoided their needle-sharp tips. Running my tongue up and down the length of his fangs seemed to have the same effect as my hand on his erection.

I pulled away from his lips and kissed my way down his chest and his stomach until I reached his hard length and took it in my mouth. His skin was velvety soft over the taut muscle.

He gasped and held my head between his hands, moving gently to show me what he liked. I used my lips and tongue to taste every part of him, to drive him mad with desire. I was a quick study, apparently, and he soon cried out and lifted my head from his groin.

“If you continue to do that I cannot hold back, and I wish for us to share our first orgasm together while I am inside you.”

Aching with desire, I was more than ready for him. He lifted me up onto the bed as I kicked off the last clothing barrier between us.

Both completely naked now, we knelt on the bed, faced each other, and built the anticipation.

His body was magnificent, long, lean, and muscular, with smooth skin and perfect features. The light-blond hair that trailed down his abdomen to his crotch was soft and slightly darker than his long platinum mane. Rising out of that silk was an erection that belonged on a statue of a Greek god. Or a Celtic god. A Druid god? I still wasn't sure which part of Europe Devereux came from originally.

We reached for each other at the same time, and I palmed his buttocks, exploring the firm muscles there as I pulled him tightly against me.

We embraced and kissed passionately, taking the joining of our lips deeper and deeper until it felt as if we were one being—merged.

He spoke that strange, musical language in my mind, a soft melody of words and spaces. Even though I didn't understand what he was saying, the sounds felt right, as if my body remembered them in some mysterious way.

He gently turned me and guided me down onto the bed, bringing his mouth to my nipples again while his finger slid into the wet heat between my legs.

“I love that you are so wet for me,” he whispered in my mind. “You make me feel alive.”

Using one fingertip in a featherlight movement, he caressed my clitoris, making little circular motions that caused me to arch my body and spread my legs wider, before he moved that clever finger up inside me. Then he added a second finger while still stroking me, with his thumb. A wave of something powerful built within me, and I made primal noises, instinctively moving my hips in time with the rhythm of his fingers.

I moaned and fisted my hands in his hair, lifting his head. “Devereux, please—I want you inside me.”

He raised his mouth from my nipple, brought his lips near mine, and whispered, “Inside your body and your heart.”

Eagerly, I reached down and guided his thickness into my opening, wrapping my legs around his waist at the same time to take him deeper.

If I hadn't been so wet his size might have been uncomfortable, but under the circumstances it was as if we were made for each other. One lock with a perfect key.

I don't know which one of us groaned louder, but he swallowed the sounds with his mouth on mine. Still kissing, he thrust himself inside me, long, slow, deep strokes. His controlled movements drove me mad with desire. I didn't know if all eight-hundred-year-old vampires had such skill in lovemaking, but this one certainly did. I'm not sure if I screamed or only wanted to.