Mortal Bite (Golden Vampires of Tuscany) (9 page)

Cara was beyond shame. The need she had for this man—he had called
it
urgency
and that certainly was a
great way to put it—consumed her like she was a piece of tissue paper
that had hit water. She was melting, floating into his rock hard body as he
laughed and allowed her to overcome him, not because she was in any way
stronger than he, but because he seemed to love watching her have her way with
him.

Him.

Who was this man? She knew practically nothing about him, yet she was
going to let him see her naked, let him kiss her in places where she ached to
be kissed. Like her life depended on it to feed her soul.

She had read about animal attraction between a man and a woman, like an
ancient hormonal rule of nature passed down through generations, but she hadn’t
been close to feeling it. This was…

What?
She heard him say
something in a language she didn’t understand. Some internal memory. She saw
torches, and a campfire. She saw the stars over a village lit by candlelight.
Not a trace of an incandescent bulb or neon sign anywhere.

“Amore,”
he was saying over and
over again in his mind. He was thinking of that word over and over again.

She loved the feel of his hands as they slid under her skirt, as they
smoothed over her bottom. She raised her cotton shirt so the tops of her
breasts could brush against his hard chest. She held the back of his neck and
leaned in to his ear and whispered, “Amore.”

He flinched as he heard her speak it. With eyes wide open and full of
wonder, he held her face between his long fingers.

“Amore,” he said. “Love me, Carabella.”

But she heard something else, too.

“
Heal me. Make me believe.”

He was saying other things as well, but she didn’t understand. His thumbs
were rubbing against her lips as he held her just an inch from his face. He
studied her, with his dark eyes and rich brown hair. Her fingers sifted through
the hair at his temples, smooth as silk. She saw the delicious movement of his
Adam’s apple as it bobbed when he swallowed. She kissed him there, under his
chin. Then along his neck, under his ear. Again, she whispered to him,

“Yes, amore.”

His groin arched up and she felt his erection—so large she was
certain it hurt as she ground herself down on him, rubbing the length of him
against her pubic bone.

She removed her top and bra in one smooth move, and drank in the look on
his face. He was hungry for her. Her breasts overflowed in his hands as he
squeezed them. As she gave her flesh to him.

She peeled his shirt over his massive shoulders and stared down at the
wonder of his well-defined chest and trim waist. Beautiful. A sculpture Adonis
himself couldn’t have appeared more masculine, more luscious. He watched as she
partook of the vision that was this man’s wonderful body.

She reached for his belt buckle and found he had none. He was wearing
old-fashioned pants with filigreed silver hooks and eyes. One by one, she undid
them, and slid her cool hands into the darkness to find his sex. She removed
his pants and his arousal sprang forth. She could hardly
 
close her hand around it, as its girth
was nearly as large as her own wrist.

“Too large, Bella?”
she heard
him think.

She shook her head from side to side and slowly climbed down his torso,
and, while looking up at his face, put her red lips on the tip of his cock. His
head fell back into the pillow as he arched to her touch, as the stiffness of
his sex grew even further, as she sheathed him with her lips, her tongue, and
tasted him.

A flash of golden light blinded her, as if his precum had a psychedelic
quality to it. Her body shuddered, convulsed with need. She moaned as he sunk
himself deep into her mouth.

“Carabella, mi amore. Carabella, mi amore,” he rasped repeatedly as his
hands played in her hair, as he pulled her to him, pulled her up so he could
plunge his tongue deep down her throat. The musty, spicy taste of his arousal,
the warm heat arising from his chest and from the moist warm places in his hair
drove her to new heights with every inhaled breath. His taste, his
scent—everything was an elixir. The lips of her sex were quivering with
desire.

In one smooth move he had flipped her over onto the bed.

“
Your turn,”
he thought.

She smiled her complete compliance. “Yes,” she whispered as she followed
the arc of her fingers as they traced the shape of his ear. They listened to
each other’s breathing. She watched his eyes grow darker to almost black.

He lifted her skirt very slowly, slid his long fingers up her thighs to
her panties covering her swollen sex. He took forever to slip down the lacy
black underwear she’d had the good fortune to wear today. He let it trail along
her thighs until he bent one of her knees, slipped the panty over it,
extricating her leg. Then he drew the panties down the other leg, watching her
face as she waited, her heart pounding in her chest with lust for him.

He deftly slid a hand under her and unzipped her skirt, removing it. She
was naked to him now as he watched her breathing, watched the juncture between
her thighs and watched the rise and fall of her breasts. Gently he parted her
knees and gazed upon her, and sighed.

Let me see your desire, Carabella,
he
said to her in thought.

She guided his long fingers to her opening, and pressed two of them
inside her, arching her back up, bracing herself up so he could penetrate
fully. He manipulated his hand, pressing in and out. She heard how wet and hot
and swollen she was. He tasted his forefinger, closing his eyes, and when he
opened them again, his eyes were jet black, with small flames in the center.
His nostrils flared as she saw him press his teeth with his tongue, pushing
against his own canines.

He had pressed so hard, a small drop of blood formed at his mouth on one
side, as if his teeth had been so sharp he had cut himself. She licked her
lips, and looked at the blood. She wanted…

What am I doing?
She felt her
arms pull him down to her mouth, and she sucked the blood from his cut tongue.
Another golden flash overtook her. Every cell in her body sparked with need for
the taste of this man.

His eyes were wide. He looked surprised. Had she gone too far? Was this
something he didn’t like?

But then she was rewarded with a red, closed-lip smile. He kissed her
under her right ear and she pressed her neck into him. Just like the mortal
women did with their vampire lovers. She wanted him to taste her, bite her
neck.

What
would it feel like, if?

But then he was down on her chest, kissing first one, and then the other
nipple, sucking them, making noise as he played with them and flicked them
about with his agile tongue. That tongue that left the promise of things to come.

No man had tasted her sex before. She wanted him to be the first. He
kissed her belly button, nipping a sharp pinch that made her jump. He followed
this with the laving of his tongue that stimulated her as well as took away the
pain of the sting. Inch by inch, he kissed from her belly button to the top of
her hairless mound.

“
I love hairless women,”
she
heard his thought. She felt her mound swell.

She was grateful she had thought to shave closely this morning. His lip
crinkled as he kissed the top of her slit, as he slid his tongue into the
cavern there, over her nub on its way to her opening. She was shuddering with
pleasure. The room was spinning. He made noise, slurping her sweet moisture,
drinking from her, letting her feel his eagerness feeding her own.

She was beginning a slow orgasm that was sure to explode soon. His slow
and steady ministrations played her body like an instrument, demanded she feel
the intensity of his desire for her.

She didn’t want him to stop. She could have spent the afternoon with his
mouth on her sex, but at last she felt the cooler room air on her and felt him
climb atop her. She noticed he had sheathed himself in a light pink condom, but
the burgundy red from his blood-bulging cock still shone through. It looked
like he would burst it if he got any bigger. He settled himself between her
legs and pressed just the head of his cock into her opening and stopped.

She took in a breath. He was already stretching her. She drew her hands
to his buttocks and pressed his groin into her. He resisted, making her pull
hard to get him firmly planted all the way to his root, watching her struggle
to accept his full girth.

And then he began a gentle, rhythmic in and out movement. He looked down
upon her. His face faded and came back into focus as she moaned, closing and
opening her eyes. Those dark eyes spoke to her.

“Need this.”

Yes. She needed it too. She hoped it would be the first of many, as he
pumped her deeply. Their skin made slapping sounds as his movements picked up,
as she was sent into higher and higher orbit with every plunge into her. She
was on the edge of something…

The orgasm hit her hard as he sunk deep into her soft folds, as he
trembled, whispering her name in raspy tones. She recognized the jerking
movements as he was spending into the condom, but it went on and on.

At last he collapsed on top of her. She stroked his back, his backside
and explored the nape of his neck with her fingers. His scent was like oranges.
His skin was sweet and salty on her tongue. She could still taste the remnants
of his small tongue injury in her mouth, giving her another little spark as she
licked her lips.

What is this? Who is this man?

Most of her sexual partners had not lived up to her expectations, and she
found herself actually grateful when the sexual act was over. She cared more
about the closeness than the flesh on flesh experience.

But with this man, she wondered if she would ever be able to get enough.
She hoped he would recover soon, because she could hardly wait to be penetrated
again.

And then maybe again.

In fact, she hoped they could stay naked and stay in this room all night.

No one had ever made her feel this way before. She knew she wouldn’t be
able to say no to him.

Ever.

In the lazy afternoon sun she awoke to the sound of the door to the room
opening. She smelled the fresh pine logs in the fireplace, and heard them
sputter and crack.
 
Paolo walked
back to the bed, naked, holding a tray with a bottle of Port and two glasses.

“Time for fortification.” He set it down on the bedside table and sat
next to her. “Are you hungry, Carabella?” he asked as he stroked the side of
her face, and then down her neck to her breast.

His touch ignited the flame that had been burning inside her, pulsing in
the erotic dreams over the past few minutes she had slept. Or was it a lifetime
she slept?

“Yes and no,” she answered as she scanned his massive shoulders, his flat
abdomen and powerful thighs dusted with light brown hair. She rubbed her palm
over him, seeking the spot between his legs.

She would gladly burn in the look he gave her in return. The longing he
held for her almost made her levitate.

“What is this?” she asked.

“This?” he raised one eyebrow.

“This…attraction. I’ve always thought authors who wrote about this
feeling were making it up. I feel wonderful. Alive for the first time in my
life. And I don’t even know you.” She frowned, but continued rubbing over the
muscles in his forearm, up his elbow to his biceps. “It’s like the more I touch
you the more I want you.”

He broke eye contact and looked to the side, outside the room to the
orange glow of the late afternoon vineyard view. She followed his line of
sight.

“Oh, my God,” she giggled, putting a hand over her mouth.

He turned, clearly alarmed.

They hadn’t closed the drapes. The person delivering the Port had surely
seen them.

“Hotel workers learn to be discreet,” he said with a smile. He leaned
down and with his soft lips barely touching hers, he whispered, “And I wouldn’t
care anyway. I’d make love to you at a baseball stadium if I had to.”

His long, penetrating kiss put her into a dreamy trance. She saw torches
again, roaring fireplaces and stone floors. Her breasts needed his hands, and
he obliged. Her thighs needed to be kissed by his, and he obliged, sliding his
long body into the warm bed.

His hands were everywhere. He kissed her neck, her breasts. He pressed
himself against her as he held the small of her back, stroking down her
backside along the cleft between her buttocks. In gentle movements he felt her warm
sex and, peering into her eyes, he inserted his fingers.

“I love feeling, touching your arousal. Seeing how you come to me so
willingly,” he said.

It was an odd thing to say, but she found herself liking it. As if he had
the power to
make
her want him, but
wasn’t exercising it.

“It’s where I belong,” she said in return. “In your bed, your hands on
me, your cock deep inside me.”

“Yes,” he said as he angled his head, slid his knees between her legs,
opening them, replacing his fingers with his shaft, rubbing against her swollen
lips. He stopped until she quit looking at the headboard. She had arched back
to accept him. With their eyes locked in a dream-like gaze she never wanted to
awaken from, he entered her.

She could hear her own heart beating in time with with his slow,
persistent pushing, rubbing against the sides of her sex, filling her, melting
her. She raised her knees and placed them over his shoulders, allowing him to
fill her deeper. He moaned and pumped her fully, back and forth, like rocking a
cradle, closing and then opening his eyes.

“
Need this.”
 

“Yes, I need this too,” she said. “Mi amore,” she said between his
strokes, noticing that his eyes had started to water. “I do belong here, with
you.”

He crossed one of her knees in front of him and stroked her from the
side. She continued to roll over to her stomach while he continued his rhythmic
movements, pulling her hips to elevate her bottom, holding and fondling her nub
with the hand he held underneath her. He pressed her there. She brought her
hands to his and entwined his fingers, felt the root of his powerful cock as it
stretched and then buried deep within her peach. She squeezed the veined
surface of his shaft when he withdrew, and cupped his balls as he dove in to
the hilt.

Deep inside her she began the spasms that took her breath away. She
raised herself up on her knees, pressing against him, her head buried in the
soft down pillows. She moaned into the cotton fabric, tore with her fingers the
soft feathers beneath. Her chest was on fire, her breasts had become engorged.
Her peach sucked at him, begging for more.

“Yes. Please. Oh yes,
please
,”
she shouted to the pillow.

He leaned in and something sharp nicked her neck, which gave her a start.
But then his tongue and his lips were there, heightening the delicious feel,
turning the stinging pain into something she craved. His lips were sucking her
neck, drinking from her.

Like a vampire.