The Vampire Voss

He didn’t know why it was so important to him, but he wanted it. He wanted her. Deep within, his body strained and writhed with so many battling demands, weak and on fire.

Voss closed his eyes, tried desperately to block out the agony, to gather the strength to touch her. If he didn’t, he would die.

“Dewhurst,” she said, her voice penetrating the blaze of pain. She was close, her words warm on his desperate skin. He managed to lift a hand, though it felt like a hundredweight, and touch her face. “I’m going to take this off.” She lifted the necklace.

Yes, yes, yes. Oh, Luce. Oh, God, please, yes.

Voss drew in his breath as she closed her fingers around the chain. He struggled, his back was on fire, his body wouldn’t work…yet it strained and throbbed and needed.

No. He moved his lips. No.

He tasted blood—his own blood, and knew in a moment, if she pulled on that chain, if she yanked it away, it would be her blood. In his mouth. Her skin, her blood. Hot and sweet, so thick and filled with her…sliding down his throat, warming his belly, filling him. Yes, yes.

Voss was shaking as he fought it. Squeezed his eyes closed. No, he whispered. “No.” A single breath was all he could manage.

Angelica stepped away, taking her warmth, and he opened his eyes. Her fingers were still closed over the chain. Her dark, velvet-brown gaze covered him, wide and hot with pleasure. Beckoning. Her lips, full and well kissed, half parted. Her chest and breasts, nipples outlined, straining against the robe, rose and fell. Thick waves of her hair had come undone, half tumbled over her shoulders, a strand caught against her damp neck.

If he’d been able to breathe, he would have groaned at the pure beauty of her.

“If I remove some of the leaves…some of it?” she asked, and began to pluck at them. “Will it be… better?”

Voss swallowed. He couldn’t speak; he could formulate nothing. He managed a short nod and wondered, what next?

How long could he live through this torture?

Angelica felt the smooth leaves beneath her fingers, and watching Voss, breathless from the expression on his face, she pulled some away. Careful to gather them in her palm so they could be disposed of, she picked from the necklace.

Three, four clumps. A quick glance in the mirror showed her that more than half of the original remained. It also showed her a woman there, with unbound hair and flushed, rosy skin and parted lips. Nothing beneath her robe and shift but skin. Unbound, her breasts felt full and ready, and the place between her legs hot and damp.

Turning away from the alluring image, Angelica took the small handful of leaves and put them into the small metal case in which they’d come. And then she turned back to Voss.

His eyes hadn’t left her. Dull, glassy with pain, yet hot and wild with desire, they followed her. The edges of his lips were white and he remained on the bed, half sprawled against a mound of pillows. The discarded shirt was a crumpled white heap on the floor; the awful neckcloth that predicted his death a snake on the rug.

And his chest, golden and broad, with sleek, hard muscles so different from her own soft and curvy torso. Hair grew there.… She’d never imagined hair on a man’s chest, a generous patch of gold and bronze over slabs of muscle. His shoulders, square and smooth, the skin soft and hot, called her back to his side. So beautiful.

What am I doing? she asked herself again.

But she closed her mind to the worries, the concerns, the propriety. Let herself feel.

She was in control. Safe. And she wanted to touch him, taste him. He wanted her to. His eyes begged her to, yet his face drew tight with pain. White near his lips, his skin shiny and damp from struggle.

This time when she came to him, he moved a bit, as if some of the restraint was eased. It had worked, then, she thought dimly as she bent to kiss him again. The necklace flipped forward, and he jolted when it hit his skin. His body whipped taut beneath her hands, bowing sharply. Angelica pulled away, slamming her hand over the plant stem, smashing it against her chest.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she breathed, horrified at the red mark that now appeared across his throat. Like a burn.

“Kiss…me,” he managed to say, his fingers trying to close around her arm. “Just…kiss…me.… Touch… me.”

She did. She slid her hands up and over the flat planes of his chest, into his hair, kissed the salty-warmth of his skin. It trembled and shook beneath her touch and when his hand moved slowly and awkwardly to cup her breast, Angelica pushed into him.

His finger shifted, finding her nipple, somehow easing its way down beneath the fabric to touch it. She snatched in a breath of surprise and pleasure as he moved, just so slightly, over the very sensitive tip. Little shocks shot down into her belly, down into the heat between her legs where her quim felt full and ready. Ready.

Oh, she said silently as he moved his finger, swirling around in delicate circles, his eyes fastened on her. Red-hot. His breath came faster and his face darkened, tightened into a shiny mask. Folding into themselves, his lips disappeared into a grim line. His great effort was evident as he shifted his other hand, moving down her belly, toward the throbbing center of herself.

“Please,” she managed, still holding the necklace away from him, tempted to tear it away…but the sight of his fangs, long and sharp, so close to her kept her from doing so, even in that fog of pleasure.

He’d warned her. She wasn’t a fool.

Then somehow, his hand found its way between her legs… there, in the hot, swollen place, he slipped and slicked long, elegant fingers. Angelica gasped again in surprised pleasure, and then she couldn’t think of anything but the heat building inside her.

Her legs shifted, she half fell against him on the bed, barely remembering to hold the necklace at her throat. His breath came faster and more ragged, as if he were running, his skin heating and dampening against her, his fingers moving in faster and faster strokes.

Angelica couldn’t breathe, she closed her eyes, her body swelled and suddenly exploded into something indefinable. Something that set her to trembling and shuddering, billowing and hot and suddenly…softness.

Release, pleasure, a smile settling over her whole body.

Voss’s hand fell away from Angelica and her hot, sleek warmth, and he lay there, her sated body collapsed against him, the searing pain from the necklace she’d forgotten about burning into his bicep.

Pain such as he’d never experienced blazed through his body, pounding into his shoulder and beyond, to the very tips of his fingers and toes…hot and sharp, constant, unrelenting agony. His eyes could no longer focus, sweat trickled from his hair. He was swamped by the musky, sweet scent of Angelica’s pleasure…felt the sleekness of it on his fingers.

Please, someone, please, God, help me.

I’m ready.

His body burned and radiated with streaks of pain, his cock was filled to bursting, his mouth swollen with need. He was weak, breathless but needing desperately to breathe, wanting… He truly thought he would die. Please…help me.

Angelica shifted next to him, lifting herself after what seemed like an eternity, blessedly taking the hyssop from his skin. The pain lessened, but barely. He could hardly focus, but fastened on her eyes, heavy-lidded and sated, her lips full and lush, half-parted. Incredibly beautiful.

His heart hurt. Deep inside him, his heart hurt.

“Please,” she whispered, and leaned forward, leaned to brush her lips against his, holding his gaze.

He moved, using his last bit of strength and awareness to lift his face up and taste her, so desperate, needy. Their lips met, his rough and demanding, taking…her hand settling onto his chest, his heart thumping erratically beneath her palm.

And then it happened. Their mouths and tongues slipped and slid together, mashing and molding and he moved too sharply and cut her lip.