Fangs in Frosting (2 page)

I don’t need any more stimulation, as my body pulses, and my pussy tightens so much around his shaft, I hurt. “Viktor?” If I don’t come soon, I’ll lose my fucking mind, and then we’ll see some sick ass stuff, believe me.

“Come for me, beloved.” He follows this tender endearment with a circular swoop of his hips, grinding his cock against my pussy walls, and I shatter, screaming, reaching for him blindly because I’m coming so hard, all I see is blackness.

He bends his head, sucking on my neck, withdrawing completely, but before I can curse him out properly, he thrusts forward. A sharp prick on my skin punctuates his release, cum shooting out of his cock, bathing my quivering womb.

The pain prompts a second round of pussy-flooding rapture. I shiver and shake, secured in Viktor’s strong arms. He gives my neck a couple of comforting licks, easing this lingering hurt. He’s a biter. I suspected this during the previous zippy fuck, but I have confirmation now, and this kink of his curls my toes because I’d like to nibble on him also.

Who am I kidding? I’d like to gobble him up, from the toes of the mass murderer shoes he wears to the last wave in his dark brown hair.

“You are mine, Charlotte.” Viktor hugs me close. He declares this, like I have a lineup of tall, handsome, well-endowed men waiting to bang me senseless.

“Sure thing, sunshine.” I try for flippant, but I achieve hyper and high-pitched.

“Call me Viktor in public,” my serious man instructs.

I don’t do rules, so I ignore this advice, focusing on the “in public” part. He plans for our relationship to move beyond secret midnight fucks in health department inappropriate places. I bury my face in his shirt-covered chest, and smile.

02 Viktor’s Journal

I gaze fondly down at the plus-sized beauty in my arms. Yes, you heard that right, fondly. Fondness is a unique emotion for me, as I’ve spent the past two centuries being bitter and cynical and utterly bored with the entire world, including the eternal lives of my fellow vampires and the more fleeting dramas of my food… errr… the humans.

As I hold Charlotte, a warmth spreads from my non-beating heart like a virus, inflicting a silly sort of contentment on my hapless brain. I had been warned by my maker of this potential challenge to my willpower, a weakness that tests even the oldest and most powerful of vampires, but after centuries of mastering my emotions, I had grown complacent.

And that’s when she struck, my Charlotte, my beloved, the one I am to spend all of forever with. Clad in bright colors, and sporting an even brighter smile, she was so alive, so very human, unearthing yearnings in me I thought long dead.

I stalked her like a stripling with his first meal, waiting outside her shop, following her home, watching her sleep, naked, unaware of my presence, her lush form tangled in hot pink sheets. I ate baked goods my body had no need for, simply to have an excuse to draw closer, to smell her, to feel the brush of her hand against mine as she gave me my change. I made small talk, a tactic I haven’t employed… ever, finding any reason to touch her, and when my need for Charlotte overwhelmed my control, I fucked her amidst the bags of chocolate chips and icing sugar.

That still wasn’t enough, so tonight, I returned for one last fuck, or so I told myself. Then while I was inflicted by the Charlotte sickness, with my willpower strained by a brutally fulfilling sexual climax, I tasted her. I run my tongue along my fangs, savoring the lingering flavor of my beloved, her blood the most decadent ambrosia I’ve ever sampled.

Feeding on her had pushed me past all hope. I hunger for her again or still or forever, longing to sink my fangs into her neck as I bury my cock in her hot, tight pussy.

This claiming won’t happen now. I’m not prepared for her, and we’re not alone. I turn my head, hearing the scuffing of rubber soles against pavement. “There’s someone at the door.”

“Holy hazelnut.” Charlotte scampers off the metallic table, and she scrambles to button up her fluorescent yellow blouse. I tug down her clashing green skirt. I must be far gone because I find her brave clothing choices a refreshing change from the bleak black leather my kind favors.

“That’ll be my assistant. I wonder what he’s forgotten this time.” She runs her fingers through her crazy curls. “Do I look presentable?”

“No,” I answer honestly. She looks thoroughly fucked, her clothes wrinkled, one button on her blouse missing, and her blazing red hair defying gravity, the tendrils sticking straight up.

“Oh, well.” She laughs, the sound like bubbles popping in the air. “He wouldn’t notice if I was naked.” The thought of another male, even Charlotte’s freak of the week assistant, seeing my beloved naked makes my blood boil.

“You stay here,” she tells me, patting my chest with one small hand, her fingers intriguingly rough. “I’ll be right back.”

I consider following her, but I’m trying to cool it with the stalking. She’ll be in the next room, I tell myself. I can’t follow her around like a puppy. I’ll be able to hear her heart beating; she’ll be so close.

I wait in the shiny, clean, professional-grade kitchen, as Charlotte hurries through the shop to talk to the green-haired wonder. God, I want to be with her.

I pivot on my heels, taking in the new pans and baking sheets. Everything is top of the line except for the rusted, dented mess of a muffin pan displayed over the icing station. That was her mother’s, and she was the woman Charlotte inherited her love of baking from. Although I had never met her, I know she would have been as proud of Charlotte as I am. It takes a strong woman to start a business on her own.

“I’m sorry. We’re closed.” Her words drift back to me. Charlotte is more patient than I am. I would have told the latecomer to fuck off. “I’m so sorry but --”

There’s a deafening bang, and a shattering of glass. I’m at her side in seconds, traveling at my top vamp speed, but even this is too slow.

“Viktor, I think I’ve been shot.” Charlotte’s expression is stunned disbelief, her hands covering the bullet hole in her chest, blood gushing through her fingers.

“My love.” I catch her as she falls, and I roar with rage. Someone dared to hurt my beloved! My fangs drop, and my nails extend into deadly claws.

“Red, everything is red, your eyes, my hands.” Her voice is weak. Forcing myself to calm down, a damn difficult task as I hunger for blood and vengeance, I sit on the tiled floor with her, pulling her plush body into my lap.

My Charlotte is dying, and I know what I have to do. I’ve known this since the first night our paths crossed. I have to strip my wonderful, warm, loving woman of her life, her world, and her humanity.

I questioned over the past two months if I could do it, if I was that selfish. I toyed with giving her a choice, but fate has taken the choice away from Charlotte, and the decision out of my hands. I will save her by killing her, making my sunshine love a creature of the night, like I am.

I brush her hair back with a tenderness I didn’t realize I have, and I sink my teeth into her neck. She doesn’t fight me as I drink from her, her blood as sweet and intoxicating as the woman I love.

While lying trustingly against me on the cold floor, she reaches up, and caresses my face with warm, sticky fingers. “Yes, bite me, baby. You’re so very kinky and I love it.”

I love her. I feed from Charlotte, taking her blood into me, until her hand drops and her heart slows.

As her life slips from her, I bite my wrist, and hold my vein to her lips, my blood pumping into her mouth. “Drink, Charlotte,” I coax when she resists, red staining her flesh. Her green-eyed gaze meets mine, and I nod, trying my best to look reassuring, which is not an expression I’ve ever been known for.

She releases a heartfelt sigh, and fastens her lips to my skin.
Fuck
. My head lolls back, as I’m overcome by the intimate exchange of fluids, the joining of our souls, the strengthening of the bond between us.

With my free hand, I stroke her neck, encouraging her to swallow. My blood drips down her round chin, scenting the air.

I’m an ancient and the magic flowing through my veins is powerful. The bullet hole in her chest heals, pushing out the bullet fragments. Call me a sentimental mushpot but I save the largest pieces, catching them as they fall, and I place the metal in my shirt pocket.

As Charlotte feeds from me, I hold her, thinking of all the damn things I had planned to do before turning her. Hell, I haven’t even painted my dark, dismal bedroom, the place she’ll spend at least a good week sequestered in, while adjusting to vampire life, and she’ll hate it. I know she will.

I stiffen as I hear beings approach. We have to leave, it isn’t safe, but, wishing to transfer to Charlotte as much of my blood as possible, I wait until the small yappy dog sniffs around the entrance of the shop. He wears a leash, and before the human the beast is attached to sees us, I break my beloved’s grip on my wrist, scoop her into my arms, and dart through the kitchen, exiting into the dark alley.

A scream rents the night air, as the crime is discovered. It is a crime without a victim. Keeping to the shadows, I carry Charlotte toward my downtown mansion. She’ll never be seen again, disappearing into the night to become one of those unsolved missing persons cases that will plague police officers for years.

03 Charlotte’s Journal

I dream of blood and sex and Viktor. Feelings of excruciating pain, insatiable lust, and love, poignant and true, flood my unconsciousness.

“Viktor,” I croak. I sound like I’ve been on one of those alcohol-induced benders I specialized in during my college years. I twist in the luxuriously soft sheets, blindly reaching for my lover, my eyes closed.

“I’m here, beloved.” Warmth covers my shivering body, calming me, and I smell earth and blood. Liquid pumps into my mouth, and with it, memories of places I’ve never been and people I’ve never met. I suck thirstily, and Viktor groans, his hard cock pressing between my thighs.

I open to him, and he rocks into me, riding my tortured body slowly, gently, moving as though in slow motion, while I drink. He’s naked, his bare flesh moving against mine. I’ve never seen him naked, and I want to open my eyes, but my eyelids are too heavy. Instead, I run my palms up and down his lean chest. There isn’t an ounce of flab on him. He is muscle and strength and he’s mine, I know this as surely as I know the recipe for my mother’s strawberry cupcakes.

“Enough.” Viktor tears his wrist away from my mouth, and I pout like I’m five years old. Hey, I never claimed to be mature, and I’m so very thirsty.

“You’re a big meanie,” I tell him in my froggy voice, and I grab his arm, trying to locate the cut, but I can’t. His wrist is already healed, which is impossible, so I must be dreaming.

It is a kick-ass dream, as Viktor starts to fuck me hard and fast and viciously, driving my ass and shoulders into the mattress, his pelvis bumping mine, his balls smacking against my skin.

“Yes, baby,” I call encouragement. “Fuck me harder, sweet cheeks.” I raise my hips into his thrusts, and the entire bed shakes with our enthusiasm.

Sweet buttercream frosting with rainbow sprinkles, I’m parched, and horny. I open my mouth to scream, and fangs prick my lips, distracting me from my approaching orgasm. What the hell? I have fangs?

“Come for me, Charlotte,” Viktor pleads, varying his angle of entry to cause more torment, and I forget about my razor-sharp chompers. “Tighten that hot pussy around my cock.”

Well… since he asks so nicely. My inner muscles clench down on his shaft, and I bite him. Yep, I bite him on his neck, using my newly obtained fangs.

He bellows like an angry customer, jerking against me, his heat filling my pussy. I throb and pulse and suck his blood.

This blows my mind. I’m sucking his blood, and I like it too, no, I love it, and he’s letting me, my big kinky hunk, tilting his head to give me better access. I remove my fangs, and he tells me to lick him so I do because in my dreams, I follow his instructions, while in real life, I’d tell him to stick his head in my brand new deluxe oven.

I’m exhausted from the fucking, and the kindergarten cannibalism. Viktor pulls me to his chest, bearing me no hard feelings for substituting as my midnight snack, and I place my cheek over where his heart should be, except it isn’t there, because I don’t hear a heartbeat.

Freakin’ fondant. This is the craziest trip I’ve ever been on, even more nuts than the time I snorted a half bag of icing sugar on a dare. Nothing makes sense, especially the blood sucking.

“Sleep,” Viktor commands. He rubs the worry lines between my closed eyes. I should open them. I really should.

“I’m not tired,” I protest, finally finding my backbone. No man likes a jellyfish. I yawn, and Viktor chuckles, and this confirms the dream status because my grim lover would never, ever, ever chuckle. My world is dark, and warm, and Viktor protects me, so I slowly lose my siege against slumber.

* * *

“Did I lock the door?” I sit up. Not locking the shop’s doors, leaving my brand-new equipment and fixtures open and accessible to crooks, is a recurring nightmare of mine. The first full week of ownership, I didn’t sleep a wink.

But at least I spent those nights in my princess pink bedroom. I blink at the dark brown walls and the heavy velvet curtains surrounding me. Holy macaroon! How did I end up in this pimp daddy cave?

“Charlotte.” A very naked Viktor eyes me cautiously, as though the blood-sucking dream wasn’t really a dream, and I might turn on him like some ravenous beast.

I tilt my chin up. It was a dream. It had to be. I don’t drink blood. I gaze at the vein in his neck. Though that does look tasty.

All of him looks tasty. “Wow, wow, wow.” I look him up and down, widening my eyes in an attempt to see more of his naked splendor. The man needs some sun, his skin is whiter than bleached flour, but other than that, he’s perfection, his shoulders broad, his chest defined, and his stomach flat.