was too much sucking, too much releasing, too much… everything to know or care.
When John finally stopped and lifted his head, they were in the far corner, nearly into the living room. Oh, what a picture. Her mate’s face was flushed, his mouth glossy and puffy, his fangs so long he couldn’t close his jaw—and she was likewise wrung out, her breathing ragged, her sex throbbing with its own heartbeat.
He was still erect.
Too bad she barely had the energy to blink—because he deserved one heck of a payback.…
Except he seemed to know exactly what she was thinking. Rising up between her open legs, he gripped himself and began to stroke.
With a moan, she arched and rolled her hips. “Come all over me,” she said through gritted teeth.
John worked himself, his palm locked around his thick shaft, a clicking sound rising up as he pumped. His massive thighs split wide as he shoved his knees farther apart for balance, the muscles in his forearm standing out in harsh relief as he went harder and faster. And then he was barking something in a soundless way, his body going rigid as hot jets splashed all over her sex.
Just the thought of herself wet and messy was almost enough to make her come again. But the sight of him making it happen? Sent her right over the edge once more…
“She’s going to need an extra two hundred if she does him.”
Xcor stood off to the side during negotiations with the whores, making certain that he was in the shadows —especially now that Throe had reached the tricky part of his being accommodated. No reason for the reminder of what he looked like to drive the price even higher.
Only two of the three girls had shown up at this abandoned house down on Trade Street, but apparently number three was on her way—although courtesy of her being late, she had been handed the short straw: him.
Her friends were taking care of her, though—unless, of course, they intended to take a cut of the increase. After all, good whores, like good soldiers, tended to look out for themselves.
Abruptly, Zypher stepped into the woman who was doing the talking, clearly prepared to use his physical assets to conserve financial ones. As the vampire trailed a fingertip along the girl’s collarbone, she appeared to fall into a trance.
It was not mind games on Zypher’s part. Females of both races couldn’t help themselves around him.
The vampire dipped toward her ear and spoke softly. Then he licked up her throat. Behind him, Throe was as he always was, silent, watchful, patient. Waiting his turn.
Ever the gentlemale.
“Okay,” the woman said breathlessly. “Just fifty more—”
At that moment, the door opened wide.
Xcor and his soldiers put hands into their coats, finding their weapons, prepared to kill. But it was just the prostitute who was late.
“Hey, girl, heeeeeeeeeey,” she said to her friends.
Standing in the doorway with a floppy jacket pulled over her whore clothes, and the bad sense of balance of a drunk, she was obviously on something, her face suffused with the blissed-out expression of the newly drugged.
Good. She’d be easier to deal with.
Zypher clapped his hands. “Shall we get down to business.”
A giggle came from the one next to him. “I love your accent.”
“Then you can have me.”
“Wait, me, too!” A giggle from someone else. “I love it, too!”
“You’re going to take care of my fellow soldier—my friend. Who is going to pay you all now.”
Throe stepped forward with the cash, and as he doled it out into waiting palms, the whores seemed more focused on the two males as opposed to the money.
A professional role reversal that Xcor was willing to bet didn’t happen very often.
And then the pairing off occurred, with Throe and Zypher drawing their prey into separate corners, whilst he was left with the whore who was fuzzy.
“So are we going to do this?” she said with a practiced smile. Indeed, the fact that her eyes were softened by drugs made the expression almost real.
“Come to me.”
He held his hand out of the darkness.
“Oh, I like it.” She sidled over, exaggerating the shift of her hips. “You sound like… I don’t know what.”
When she put her palm against his, he pulled her to him—except then she jerked back.
“Oh—er… um… okay.”
Turning her face to the side, she rubbed her nose, and then pinched it as if she couldn’t stand the smell of him. Logical. It took more than a rinse with water to get
Dandies. Both of them. On the other hand, their women were not already looking for an escape.
“It’s okay, though,” she said with resignation. “But
“I was unaware I had suggested such a thing.”
“Just so we’re clear.”
As moans began to rise up, Xcor stared down at the human. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, looking stringy and pulled-through. Her makeup was heavy and smudged at the lip line and in the corner of one eye. Her perfume was sweat and—
Xcor frowned, as he caught an unwelcomed scent.
“Now, listen,” she said, “don’t give me that look. It’s my policy and you can—”
He let her ramble on as he reached out and lifted one side of the blond tangle, exposing her throat.… Nothing but smooth skin. And on the other side…
Ah, yes. There they were. Two puncture marks right on her jugular.
She had already been used tonight by one of his kind. And that explained the fogginess and the musk his nose was picking up on.
Xcor laid the hair back where it had been. Then he stepped away.
“I can’t believe you’re being so pissy,” she mouthed off. “Just because I won’t kiss you—I’m not giving the money back, you know. A deal’s a deal.”
Someone was having an orgasm, the sounds of pleasure so rich and lush that the symphony transformed, for however briefly, the abandoned walk-up into a proper boudoir.
“But of course you may keep the cash,” he murmured.
“You know what, fuck you, you can have it back.” She threw the wad at him. “You smell like a sewer and you’re ugly as sin.”
Whilst the bills bounced off his chest, he inclined his head briefly. “As you wish.”
“Fuck you.”
The alacrity with which she changed from bliss to bitch suggested this kind of mood swing was not uncommon to her. One more reason to keep things professional between oneself and the female sex—
As he bent down to pick up the money, she drew back her foot and tried to kick him in the head.
Not smart. With all his warrior training and years of combat experience, his body defended itself without his conscious mind giving any commands: The whore was caught by the ankle, yanked off balance, and slammed into the floor. And before he was aware of even moving, he had her spun onto her belly and had taken that fragile neck of hers in the thick crook of his arm.
Whereupon he was prepared to break it.
No more aggression from her. Now she whimpered and begged.
He immediately relented, jumping free of her, then helping her shuffle back against the wall. She was hyperventilating, her chest pumping up and down so hard she was liable to rupture her false breasts against the cups of her brassiere.
As he loomed over her, he thought of how the Bloodletter would have handled the situation. That male
