The Nightlife: New York ( The Nightlife #1)

The Nightlife: New York ( The Nightlife #1) Page 15

She ruined the magic of the moment when she started asking questions.

“Are there any more friends or family we need to deal with? What of your parents? Why don’t you speak of them?”

Michelle sensed her probing had struck a nerve. This was a sensitive issue for Aaron.

He gave her a non-answer. “I don’t really have any other friends I hang out with. And my parents … well … there’s nothing to say there. My father died and I don’t really speak with my mother much anymore.”

She didn’t like the potential loose ends of Aaron’s former life still out there blowing in the breeze. She needed to be certain there wouldn’t be any surprises from his past rearing their ugly head in her nicely-ordered existence. She enjoyed the simplicity of detachment from humanity. A lonely life, but one without complications. Michelle had learned the hard way, through costly mistakes, that she could not build or maintain relationships with people. They were food and entertainment, nothing more. In her experience, these affairs always ended to the detriment or death of her human companions.

She briefly considered ordering him to talk. She could force his hand, but that seemed extreme and unjustified. She knew how it felt to be on the receiving end of compulsive authority. She was acutely aware of the fine line between control and abuse in relation to Aaron’s free will.

Perhaps another form of coercion would be better for making him talk. Having decided upon a course of action, she didn’t hesitate. She continued rubbing his thighs, reaching inward to tease his cock back into semi-hardness. She barely let up as they exited the taxi into the apartment building, caressing and kissing him in the elevator.

She tortured him delicately, watching him squirm as his eyes rolled back in his head with her sensuous massage. His cock stiffened out straight in his pants. Upon entering the apartment, he hurriedly stripped his clothes. She backed off, smirking. He stood naked before her, his raging erection pointing in accusation as if to say, you did this to me.

She studied him, appreciating her handiwork, pleased with his display. She stepped up, taking him firmly in hand, and whispered, “Please tell me. I want to know. Tell me of your parents. I don’t like secrets.”

As she spoke, her fingers slid down the length of him to his most vulnerable point. She cupped him, his precious jewels safely ensconced in her tender grip. Her hands and fingers kept moving slowly, sliding and testing his size and weight.

She stroked all that soft, yet hard cock. His mindless arousal rolled off his aura in waves. She had stolen away all reason with skilled, calculated seduction. His thoughts broadcast to her loud and clear. He wanted to throw her on the floor and ravage her body. Nothing else existed in his world beyond the need to be inside her, to finish what she started.

Using both hands now, while kissing his ears and neck, she continued to work him without mercy, stroking his full velvet shaft and his taut balls. She whispered again in his ear, brushing her lips across his skin lightly, her tongue flickering in his ear. “You promise to tell me everything after we finish?”

His powerful arousal had sparked her own. Her panties were soaked through with anticipation. It was all she could do to continue the game, holding his explosion at bay.

She knew the poor boy was so drunk on lust he would have agreed to assassinate the president if asked. His whole essence was consumed by the unbearable need to be buried inside her. He answered without reservation. “Yes, Michelle, I promise!”

With his agreement, she flung off her clothes, stripping pants, top, and underwear in a lightning-fast blurred Superman-in-the-telephone-booth frenzy. She emerged from the whirlwind stripper routine completely naked. She leaped at him ferociously and pinned him against the wall. His hands gripped her ass, and he shoved all that hard cock straight up into her.

“Dieu qui fait mal!” God that hurts!

And he definitely didn’t slow down on her account. He slammed into her over and over, his claws digging into her ass painfully. He hit home, right where she had taught him to go, hitting that spot. It was so rare a man knew where to give it to her. She pumped her hips to keep up with his sexual assault, riding his wave.

“Oh shit! Yes!” he cried out as he pounded her with every inch he had to give.

In the maelstrom of sensations, their psyches merged to become one, each knowing how to accommodate the other. He pumped hard and fast, slamming home to her limit as she ground her hips with animal grunts and squeals. It actually hurt quite a bit, he was so powerful. But it was the right kind of hurt.

They growled and grunted their way to an explosive climax, biting deep and hard simultaneously. Their psychic bond synced them perfectly. They knew where, when, and how to pleasure themselves, and they knew exactly when and where to bite.

She kept at it, riding him upright with his back to the wall. She sunk her claws into the sheetrock of the wall while he pummeled her, his slamming thrusts bouncing her up into the air.

“Michelle!”

“Aaron!”

They growled each other’s names as they both came hard. Sex, blood, pleasure and pain created a wicked lovely blend like no other experience in this world. She bit him over and over, keeping him hard and virile throughout their sexual marathon.

“Oh. Oui, encore! Encore!” She drove him mad, frenzied with her demands for more.

They continued pounding and grinding, destroying the living room wall in their fervor. When the post-orgasmic exhaustion hit, by tacit agreement through their psychic bond, they released their bites and gave it a rest. She collapsed in his arms, wrapped around him, his cock still shoved deep to her core. She didn’t want to admit how wonderful it felt to have the unconditional love and attention of a powerful male vampire with his arms wrapped protectively around her. She could never connect with any other this way. Only with her own kind could it be so.

Why didn’t I do this decades ago?

He carried her to the bed and laid his weight into her without separating. She could sleep with his cock buried in her all day long and know she’d never be alone again.

It felt so damn wonderful inside Michelle. He wanted to stay there for the rest of the night. As she looked into his eyes, he thought he saw a look of heady emotion, something reminiscent of the way he felt for her. Michelle quickly masked her features with a dreamy smile of contentment. She boosted his ego off the charts when she admitted, “It hasn’t been this good in a very long time.”

She popped her hips, digging him in deeper, which he took as the signal to give it to her again. His zeal renewed with her admission. He pushed in harder and deeper, grinding down in to hit her where it hurt, where she liked it to hurt. Each thrust squeezed a sexy little noise from her lips, driving him crazy.

After another exhausting round of biting and orgasms, he settled down to hold her tightly, spooned from behind with his abused cock fit between her perfectly rounded ass cheeks and his mouth up against her ear. He could picture staying like this, with Michelle molded to his body, for eternity. The only reason he need move was to make love to her over and over again, and then return to this very same embrace afterwards. What a perfectly wonderful life, lying in bed with Michelle, screwing like rabbits. This was as good as it got.

CHAPTER 11

They lay there for a time in the wonderful, magic afterglow of awesome sex, Michelle spooned up against Aaron. They were a good fit, his build seemed to match her, just right. She hated to do it and almost didn’t, but she needed to know. She needed to be certain he was truly hers with no strings attached to his former life. She interrupted their beautiful moment of peace.

“Mon chéri, I am waiting patiently to hear your story. Tell me.”

She caught the smile splitting his face, he knew her well enough to understand the limits of her patience had been reached. Then he laughed out loud, at her.

She flipped around to face him, her ferocity barely contained. She stared him down, daring him to break his promise. Though a smartass, she read his sense of obligation to keep his promise even though she’d extorted it from him at a moment of vulnerability.

“Okay … um … … My father died … six years ago. It was probably the worst time of my life.” A searing avalanche of his pain accompanied his words. His grief burned all the way through their psychic bond. She sat up, shying away, trying to shut down their connection. No one should have to share that kind of pain, so intense, so personal.

It was pointless. She had stirred it up, and now the only thing to do was accept his pain, ride it out to the other side.

After a moment of shock and a couple quick gasps, she dived into his pain headfirst. She wrapped her arms around his waist to hug him close. She had forced the issue, at the very least she could offer some meager comfort.

He instantly calmed under her embrace. And then his mind opened wide to her as he spoke. She could actually feel and experience his memories; far more depth of imagery and emotion than could ever be communicated by speech alone. She flowed down into the pain-filled recesses of his memories––to the time of his father’s funeral and an overwhelming sense of loss and grief. The pain was still there, strong as ever, suffocating. She felt her own throat constrict with it. A pain she understood well, the loss of a father. She couldn’t help but think of her own father, in a time and place long removed from here. Her memory still carried its share of pain. Perhaps it’s something you never really get over. You just learn to live with it.

His memories were most painful at the wake, standing in front of his father’s coffin. Aaron didn’t want to see the corpse in that shiny box, all painted up by a mortuary makeup artist who’d never known his father in life. That wasn’t his father lying there, but the image branded into his memory. He couldn’t rid himself of the memory. Aaron turned away quickly, preferring to look at the collage assembled by the entry to the chapel. The collage held a much truer representation of his father, not that dead thing in a box. He spent a good amount of time staring at the photographs, trying to overwrite the painted corpse image.

Michelle immediately noticed the telltale signs of family resemblance. Aaron had his father’s smile and other small details like the shape of his jawline and set of his shoulders. She recognized something in his father’s face, a solemnity, a quiet strength that she’d seen glimpses of from time to time in Aaron’s demeanor. The kind of strength one doesn’t see at first. A subtle quality.