TheSmallPrint (6 page)

No, no, no.

Shut up.

Soft, smooth, tempting skin with a pulse that sang the sweetest song. Calling him—enticing, luring. As he dragged his mouth down her throat, she whimpered and whispered his name. His cock went diamond hard. Turner sucked her neck, drunk on her taste, her scent, her softness. And yet for some reason, his fangs stayed in as if they sensed no point in biting her. He yanked his mouth up to claim her lips again. He writhed against her, rocking his desperate cock into her lower belly, wanting clothes gone but unwilling and unable to release her head so he could tear them off.

Her fingers forced a way between their bodies and she spread her hot palm over his groin. Electricity flashed from his cock to his balls. His turn to whimper. One squeeze and it was a miracle he didn’t come in his pants. He lifted himself up to give her room to breathe and the little tadpole unfastened his button and unzipped him. Turner’s tongue pressed harder and deeper into her mouth, and her fingers pushed inside his shorts to stroke his cock. When she wrapped her hand around him and shifted her fist up and down, Turner shook with excitement.

Why the fuck had he waited so long? How could he have thought sex was something he could live without? He hadn’t been living. He’d been existing. Matty rubbed her thumb over the nerve-rich crest of his cock head, and Turner groaned into her mouth. He leaned on one elbow so he could use his other hand to shove up her skirt. The material of her panties caught in his fingers and he ripped at it, tore it away. If he didn’t get inside her in one second it would be too late.

Matty opened her legs wider and Turner’s cock brushed against the swollen lips of her pussy.

Don’t come, don’t come, don’t come.

He pressed, pushed, surged into her until his balls smacked against her butt. They gasped into each other’s mouth, groaned in unison. Turner couldn’t wait. The moment he pulled back he was intent on being inside her again. Her muscles dragged at his cock as he withdrew and clenched around him when he sank inside her. Every cell in his body sighed with pleasure. She was so wet, so tight, so perfect.

Turner felt the moment Matty came, the sudden tension in her body, followed by the quivering pulls on his cock and he couldn’t stop moving. The ache in his balls changed gear. Fire licked his spine.
She
was doing this. Her body demanding, leaving him with no choice but to respond. Turner wanted to empty every bit of himself into her. He thrust faster and faster, and when she wrapped her legs and arms around him and held on tight, he rammed deeper, rutted harder.

Now, now!

One powerful thrust and orgasm roared through him. Turner poured himself into her, bathing her pussy with pulse after pulse of his cum, and each wrenching spasm seemed more perfect than the last.

And when it ended, he wanted to do it all over again.

Turner slumped onto her. As he regained control and reality swept the fog of lust from his head, satiated bliss turned to horror. Cold chills fluttered down his spine. What the hell had he done?
He might have bitten her. All these years of being careful and he could have thrown it all away. The fact he hadn’t totally indulged himself was of some consolation but he was a reckless idiot. He was supposed to be getting rid of her not encouraging her to stay. Turner kept his eyes shut.

He could hear her panting, scent her arousal, feel her fingers clutching him, but he couldn’t look at her. He didn’t even like her. She annoyed the hell out of him. How could he like her? He wanted her out of his house and out of his life. He had no explanation as to why he’d fucked her on the floor of the library like a savage animal.

That was insulting to animals.

And he
did
have an explanation. He just didn’t like it.

He hadn’t even taken the time to remove her clothes or his. Well, apart from ripping off her panties. He’d barely gotten inside her before he’d come. A few thrusts and he’d lost control. He’d hardly thought about her pleasure, he’d been so consumed with finding his. Luckily
sexual
satisfaction had prevailed, otherwise he might have… He shuddered. He’d given no thought to her safety. Turner was disease-free and unable to get her pregnant, but she didn’t know that.

Oh fuck, fuck, fuck.

His quiet, celibate life ruined in an instant of lust. He’d taken advantage of her. Okay, she’d thrust her hand in his pants, but even so.
He
was the one who should have stopped. He was supposed to be getting rid of her, not ramming his cock inside her. Turner’s brain flicked through multiple computations of what to do. She had to be wondering why he hadn’t said anything. She’d think this fuck meant he wanted her to stay. Is that why she’d let him do it? Tempted him? What could he say to make her go? Call her by the wrong name? Offer her money again? Tell her she was useless? Worth trying his thrall?

Turner could feel her gently stroking his back. She was going to make this out to be more than it was. He was grateful she’d reminded him of what he’d been missing, but this was nothing more. It was all it could be. Turner pulled his cock out of her, moved to one side, made himself presentable and walked out without saying a word.

Matty lay with her skirt hitched to her waist and watched him walk away. She’d waited and waited for him to say something.

He could still say something nice.

Or come back and smile.

The library door closed.

The bastard.
Her face burned with embarrassment. She pushed herself into a sitting position and groaned when she felt his cum trickling between her legs. Matty was certain she couldn’t get pregnant, almost certain, but he hadn’t even suggested using a condom.

Nor did you.
Matty cringed.

She reached for her torn panties, wiped between her thighs and balled the material in her fist before she stuffed it in her pocket. A sound made her glance up.

“This changes nothing,” he snapped from the doorway, and disappeared again.

Matty growled. She’d imagined doing all sorts of little things around the house to help him so Turner gradually came to like her. She’d catch him giving her the occasional glance with no scowl on his face. An accidental touch would drift into a longer caress, and their first time together would be magical. Soft lights, soft music, soft hands and he’d make everything right in her world. Instead, he’d treated her like a—

She felt him back at the doorway but didn’t look up.

“You still have to leave,” he blurted, and went again.

Thanks very much
. George had told her Turner was lonely, and Matty had thought that made them a perfect match. She hated being on her own. Only now she could see there’d be no cuddling together, watching vampire movies on the TV, no hand-in-hand romantic strolls, no teasing, no flirting. She’d offered him her heart and he’d stamped on it.

Stupid man.

She wanted to hate him but she didn’t.

Stupid woman.

Matty sensed him back again.

“Are you all right?” he asked in a less gruff voice.

“Yes.” She still didn’t look at him.

He vanished, too blind to see yes meant no. Matty stood and straightened her skirt. George was right and wrong. Turner did need her, but not in the way Matty hoped for. She was worth more than a fuck on a hard floor, no matter how good it felt. Her shoulders slumped. It
had
felt good. She might have hoped for caring and gentle the first time, but strong, powerful and desperate had been pretty good. If only he’d said something kind.

She looked toward the door to see him there again.

“You need to leave. Pack your things and I’ll take you to a hotel. I’ll pay.”

Matty’s heart clenched. “This is my home.”

He narrowed his eyes. “No, it’s not.”

“I belong here. I don’t want to go to a hotel.”

“Then stay with friends or relatives.”

“I don’t have anywhere else to go,” she whispered.

“That’s not my fault.” Turner glared. “If you’re still here when I wake tomorrow, I’ll physically remove you from the premises.”

He stalked off. Matty heard the front door slam and then the sound of a car engine. She turned to the shelves and began to reorganize the books alphabetically, by genre and author while she went over and over what had just happened. What had she done wrong? What was he so afraid of? She was no threat to him.

Matty knew she’d never be able to persuade him to let her stay, so she
had
to find the contract to prove her case. Turner’s briefcase stood on the floor next to the desk and she stared at it. It seemed the obvious place. She walked over and unzipped the leather bag. The sight of a laptop brought an eager smile to her face, but Matty guessed someone anal like Turner would have a password. Probably some hideously complicated thing she’d never be able to guess. Everything inside the bag was neatly arranged in zipped pockets. She sat on the floor and went through the papers.

Matty found his birth certificate. Nimrod Turner.
Oh God, no wonder he calls himself Turner.
Thirty-five years old. Thirty-six tomorrow.
Wow.
She could make him a cake, slip some arsenic inside. The idea cheered her up.

The contract was there. It had been forced to the bottom of the bag and pushed into tight folds. Matty flattened it out and turned to the last few pages. There were loads of restrictive covenants—the house was a Grade II listed building after all, but it was a little paragraph slipped in after the list of easements that interested Matty.

Special conditions of sale—

The property owner will allow the local community to use the grounds of Milford Hall for their annual Winterval.

The property owner will take an active role as a member of the Winterval committee.

The property is sold on the condition that Matilda Hobsbawn is allowed to reside in the attic of said property for as long as she wishes.

Matty laid the contract on the desk and pinned the curling paper down at each corner with heavy books. She didn’t want to be around when Turner saw it.

Chapter Five

Dava lounged on a revolting cream couch, in a disgusting apartment, composing a “Who to kill” list. The names of those doomed remained in her head. It wouldn’t do for any incriminating slips of paper to fall into the wrong hands. The powers that be would never believe it was her Christmas card list. Revenge would have to wait anyway. The last thing Dava wanted was to be sent back to prison.

What she really wanted was for Gabriel to come. She’d waited a week and heard nothing, though her desperation to see him was tempered by a worrying thought. Gabriel couldn’t possibly hold
her
responsible for his imprisonment—could he? Was she on
his
list? Dava gulped.

She presumed Gabriel was subject to the same restrictions as her, living under the supervision of the Vampire Rehabilitation Board, the VRB. They’d visited nightly for a week, though now that dropped to once a week. She’d served her sentence, promised to behave, why couldn’t they leave her alone? She was even being a good little vampire and drinking that revolting sludge Plasmix, generously supplied by the fridge-load by the VRB. Twenty years with one bag of Plasmix every other day had not endeared her to the stuff. The VRB had also provided her with this nasty light-proof home and clothes she could barely stand to wear. Polyester.
Yuck
. The only decent thing they’d given her was a laptop. Dava had yet to switch it off.

How the world had changed in a mere two decades.

The doorbell rang. That would be her VRB social worker, right on time. The silver-haired woman with flabby thighs had clearly never come to terms with her blood-sucking potential. Lois was so sweet she made Dava retch. Dava imagined the wimpy do-gooder wiping her mouth with a lace handkerchief after she’d fed. It had been easy to convince Lois of her intention to lead a law-abiding life. The idiot believed everyone was decent deep down.

Dava pulled open the door.
Oh fuckity, fuck, fuck, fuck.
No weak, silver-haired woman but a handsome hunk. She so loved blond guys. Gabriel was blond. And tall guys. So was Gabriel. Blue-eyed guys. Young guys. Well, she loved black-haired guys too, with dark eyes, but who cared? Any guy would do. Standing on her doorstep was six three of perfect blond male vampire, and since she was five seven of perfect blonde female vampire—what could be better?

“Come in.” She widened her eyes and pitched her voice low.

He pushed past her and slammed the door. “Cut the crap, Dava.”

His low growl made her instantly wet. A vamp with attitude, how delicious
.
She followed him to the pathetic box that served as a living room and watched as he sprawled on the couch like a belligerent tomcat.

“Your name?” she asked.

“Catch Wilson.”

Dava rolled it around in her head.
Catchy.
She bit back her smile. “What happened to Lois?”

“Having surgery. She broke a fang.”

Dava winced. Vampires healed from almost all injuries but fangs were tricky. Once damaged, they could pop out at the wrong moment.

“Can I fix you a drink of Plasmix?” she asked. “Hot, cold, somewhere in between?”