Nocturnal Urges Page 2

  “Me first,” Duane said. “So she can see how it goes.”

  “As you wish,” Elyse said, gesturing to the chair. Duane led her over to it and quickly slid off his slacks. He sat in the chair, his legs slightly apart. Isabel stepped close to him, a little shy with other people in the room.

  “They’re not there, not really,” Duane whispered, and Isabel nodded. She drew the sleeveless top over her head and let it drop. She kept her eyes on Duane, pretending that there was no one in the room but him, and vampires didn’t exist.

  Isabel stepped closer to Duane, unzipping her skirt and letting it drop to the floor with her panties. She started to slide the strap of her black lace slip off her shoulder, but Duane shook his head. “Keep it on, baby,” he said pulling her onto his lap.

  Isabel straddled him in the chair, feeling the hard branch beneath the thin cotton of his shorts press against her. He rubbed it against her gently and she pressed hard against him, her hands clenching involuntarily against his shoulders. She wanted to dismiss the vampires and make love to him, but he stilled her rocking hips, holding her steady.

  “Elyse,” he said, and the pale vampire slid up behind him. Her translucent-pale hands glided down over Duane’s arms and across his chest, between his body and Isabel’s. It was strange, as though Elyse were intruding on a private moment between them. But as Elyse’s hand passed close to Isabel’s bare arm, she could feel something pass over her skin, an electricity generated by the vampire as she moved over a living body.

  Elyse moved around them, standing behind Isabel for a moment, and Isabel fought the urge to turn and watch the vampire. “Look at me, Duane,” Elyse purred, her voice cool as silk sheets on a rain-pounded night. Isabel watched Duane’s eyes meet Elyse’s, and there was a sudden calm, an almost beatific trance over his face.

  Elyse slipped back behind Duane and lowered her mouth to his neck. She breathed lightly, and Isabel felt Duane grow harder and hotter beneath her thighs. Elyse licked along the juncture of his neck and shoulder, delicate as a cat licking cream.

  Elyse smiled, revealing the sharp white points of her teeth. Her head darted downward in a swirl of cornsilk hair and she plunged her teeth into Duane’s neck. Her lips pressed down and sucked the blood welling from Duane.

  Duane cried out, a hoarse moan that came from somewhere deep in his chest. Beneath her thighs, Isabel felt that hard rock throb and explode, rocking beneath her, wetting her skin, his muscles jumping and clenching against her. His hands gripped hard on Isabel’s hips, and he cried out again as Elyse sucked one more time, a long draught before licking the wound clean.

  The haze cleared from Duane’s face, and he leaned forward against Isabel. “Oh God, baby,” he murmured. “I can’t wait to watch you go.”

  Elyse had retreated a step, giving Duane a moment to regain his composure. Isabel’s heart was beating too fast. Ryan was crossing the room toward her. What if it hurts? she thought. The music was suddenly too loud again, pounding through the door into her mind, driving her heart faster and faster.

  Ryan’s steps slowed as if he had heard her thoughts. He reached out a single finger, touching her lightly on the lips. “I will never harm you,” he said softly, and instinctively, Isabel believed him.

  Ryan moved forward slowly now, stepping beside Duane, who was loose and satiated beneath her. Duane’s hands were stroking along her thighs and up her sides, then back down again, growing warmer beneath her thighs.

  “Look at me,” Ryan said. If Elyse’s voice had been silk, Ryan’s was like warm flannel, comforting and soft. Isabel raised her gaze.

  Ryan’s eyes were no longer blue, but black, as if the small black circle at the center had expanded to fill the deep azure blue of his eyes, and nothing was left but darkness. She had never seen eyes as dark as his, dark enough to see her own reflection in them, even in the dim candlelight. In his eyes, she saw herself, skin flushed with heat. It was as though the room was spinning, and only the chair and Ryan’s eyes kept her from falling down. Vertigo swirled through her head, but at her center, she was still and calm.

  Elyse had returned to her place behind Duane, gliding her hands up and down his arms and chest. Ryan moved behind Isabel. Although some part of her still recoiled in fear, that calm place in her midsection remained—and her skin shivered with the fire that had been lit within her.

  Ryan’s hand moved over her shoulder, gliding down the bare skin of her arm. He barely touched her, but the skin beneath his hand trembled and shuddered. It was as though he created an electrical field with his hands, stirring the nerves of her skin to exquisite life, and wherever his hands roved, her body trembled.

  He stroked along one arm, then back up the inside, along tender, untouched skin. Then he stroked the other arm, and back up the inside, then both at once. He drew his hands up over her shoulders, to the smooth skin along her shoulder blades, and she couldn’t help crying out at the sensations rippling down her back.

  Ryan slid one hand around her neck, where the pulse beat a rapid patter beneath the hollow of her throat. Slowly it wandered downward, over the upper swells of her breasts to the tender valley between them. The loose silken lace of her slip fell lower, and the electrical storm created by his hand moved to the right, enveloping her breast and the taut nipple, sending shooting bursts of pleasure throughout her body.

  Beneath her, she felt Duane stir to life again, hardening between her legs. She opened her eyes and saw him watching her, fire burning in his eyes. She was helpless beneath the storm of sensations Ryan had created on her skin. She felt the ache between her legs, the familiar heat of unfulfilled want, swollen and hot.

  Duane’s hands shifted down beneath her slip, raising up a moment, and she felt the cotton shorts slide away, leaving nothing between them. His hard, warm flesh pressed directly against her, and she cried out.

  Ryan’s other hand had moved beneath her slip, filling her left breast with that electrical fire, that dance of nerves and heat that made her heart pound and her hips rotate desperately against Duane. It was as though she felt some deep-seated itch that she could not scratch; something that only hot desire could fill.

  Isabel felt Ryan’s tongue, surprisingly warm and delicate, licking a long line along her shoulder, up to the place where her shoulder curved into her neck. Shivers ran down her spine and she cried out wordless sounds of pleasure.

  Duane’s hands were on her hips, lifting her up, and he thrust into her, hard and strong. She settled down on him, rocking back and forth. She felt the press of two hard, sharp points at her throat, and forgot to be afraid.

  Ryan’s teeth sank in, and a bright sharp pain darted across her neck, bringing a momentary lull to the pleasure. Then his mouth closed over the wound and the pain instantly vanished. The warm, moist pressure of his mouth tugged sensually at her skin, and she had the feeling of something being drawn out of her, some great velvet thread that began coiled between her legs and drew up through her stomach and chest, around her breasts and up to the place where Ryan sucked at her throat, drawing through her a velvet friction within her skin.

  The roil and shudder began in her lower belly, growing and thundering through her until it filled her limbs and skin and seemed to explode from her mouth as she cried out into the air, a shattered explosion that cycled again and again, clenching and releasing as Duane exploded within her, brought by the violent eruptions within her body.

  Isabel cried out again as the glorious fever ebbed. She felt Duane collapse against her chest, his head moist with sweat and his mouth open with his own breathless exhalations.

  Lightly, Ryan’s tongue licked the wound on her neck, catching some small drop that lingered on her skin. That one touch set off a cascade of shudders throughout her body, down beneath her skin to the place where Duane had withdrawn from her, now spent. Duane was in some other place, his eyes closed.

  A swirl of warm velvet around her, and Isabel looked up to see Ryan, gently placing a wrap around her bare shoulders. Wordless
ly he faded back into the shadows, and though she watched carefully, she could not see him leave. Elyse also faded into shadows, and Isabel knew when they were alone.

  Carefully she extracted herself from the bench, but her legs were wobbly and unsteady. She made her way to the bed, pulling the velvet wrap around her. Duane had sunk down onto the floor, resting against the bench in his exhaustion.

  Her limbs were heavy, suffused with warmth. She wanted only to curl up and sleep. But more than that, she wished Ryan were holding her, that the room was theirs for the night and she could…

  What?

  Duane. She wished that Duane were holding her, not Ryan. Isabel blinked, and shook her head. I must be more tired than I thought.

  She lay down on the bed, curling into the velvet wrap. She watched Duane stir a little, sitting up next to the bench.

  “Damn, baby,” he said softly. “I’m never going to be able to walk out of here.”

  She smiled a little.

  Duane stood up. “You okay?” he asked, pulling on his pants.

  “Yeah,” Isabel said, still curled up in the velvet wrap.

  “Shake a leg then,” Duane said. “We don’t get to stay long.”

  Isabel gave up. She stood up, and reached for her clothes. Duane had never figured out that she liked to be held afterward. When it was over, it was over, according to him. To be fair, she’d never made a big deal out of it. She didn’t want to be one of those whiny you-don’t-bring-me-flowers-anymore women.

  Sometimes, though, you just want your guy to pick up on what you want without spelling it out for him.

  Isabel zipped up her skirt, wishing there was a bathroom somewhere so she could freshen up a bit. Somewhere, the pounding music came to a sudden stop, replaced with thundering footsteps and raised voices. Until the music stopped, Isabel hadn’t been quite aware of its constant pressure, the rhythm behind the walls that seemed to radiate sex.

  “That’s weird,” Duane said. “I wonder—”

  He didn’t get to finish his statement, because the door flung open and a short, severe woman in jeans and a jacket stood braced in the doorway. Her hand rested at her hip, and Isabel knew without being told that the woman had a gun. Isabel pulled the velvet wrap around her shoulders, acutely aware that she was wearing only the slip and her skirt.

  “Everything all right in here? Are you both okay?” the woman asked.

  “Yeah,” Duane said. “What’s going on?”

  The woman shook her head in a fast, businesslike manner, and Isabel realized she was a cop. “Please don’t leave this room, sir. You or the lady. Someone will be back to talk to you in a minute.”

  She stepped back, and the door swung closed.

  “Shit,” Duane said. “A bust.”

  Isabel gaped at him. “You said it was legal!”

  “It is,” Duane said. “But plenty of people bring stuff that isn’t legal here. The bite’s legal, and vampire prostitution is legal, because they can’t carry disease or impregnate you. But nothing’s gonna stop some idiot from bringing fireweed to the party and ruining it for the rest of us.”

  Isabel pulled her shirt back on. “You’re sure? I really wasn’t up for getting arrested tonight.”

  Duane smiled. “But you liked it? It was good?”

  She ducked her head, oddly embarrassed. It had been his idea, so it seemed silly to be shy about it. But her legs were still shaky, her stomach still full of butterflies, her head still a little swimmy from the most incredible orgasm of her life. “It was good, better than good,” she said.

  Duane went over to her, and she nestled into his arms gratefully. He stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head. “I knew you’d like it,” he said.

  The door opened again, and the cop came back in. “Sorry about the disturbance, folks,” she said. “I’m Detective Anne Freitas, and I hate to do this to you, but I need you to stick around for a few minutes.”

  “What’s going on? We haven’t been outside this room for a while,” Duane said, and Isabel blushed a little.

  Freitas seemed unfazed. She was a little shorter than Isabel, her reddish hair cut sensibly short. “How long?”

  Duane glanced at his watch. “An hour, maybe more.”

  Freitas pulled out a notebook and started writing. “You’re Duane Russell and Isabel Nelson, correct?”

  “Yeah,” Duane said. Isabel stayed quiet.

  Freitas wrote something down. “And who was with you?”

  Isabel dropped her eyes, and Freitas picked up on it fast, her laser gaze boring into Isabel.

  “Two vamps, legally paid for,” Duane said.

  Freitas kept her eyes on Isabel. “Names?”

  Duane shrugged. “I don’t remember.”

  Isabel looked back at Freitas. “Ryan and Elyse,” she said softly.

  Freitas kept staring at Isabel. “They were here the whole time?” she asked.

  Isabel nodded. “They just left a few minutes ago.”

  Freitas stared at her a moment longer, then looked at her notebook and wrote some more. “And you’re sure it’s been an hour.”

  Duane shrugged. “Give or take a little. Ask Fiona, she’ll know what time she brought us back here.”

  “Fiona’s busy,” Freitas said absently, making another note. “Anything unusual tonight, anything out of the ordinary?”

  Isabel couldn’t help a small giggle, mostly from nervous tension. Freitas zeroed in on her immediately—Isabel had the feeling this woman noticed everything. “Something funny, Miss Nelson?”

  “Nothing was unusual,” Duane interjected. “Just the same as every night.”

  “So what’s so funny?” Freitas asked.

  Isabel ducked her head. “It’s just…you asked if anything was unusual, and this whole place is so unusual it just struck me funny,” she said.

  Freitas stared at her a moment, then pulled out a Polaroid photograph and shoved it at Isabel. “Know him?” she asked.

  Isabel looked at the photo and her giggles died as if doused with cold water. The photo showed a middle-aged man lying in a pool of blood, his corpse-pale face frozen in a rictus-grin.

  “Oh my God,” Isabel heard herself say, and the photo fell from her nerveless fingers onto the floor.

  Duane stooped down to pick it up, looked at it, and jerked as though it had burned his fingers. He shoved it back at Freitas. “Jesus! What the hell is that?”

  “Do you know him?” Freitas repeated.

  “No, no,” Isabel said, feeling strange and lightheaded. She must have stumbled a little, because Duane suddenly had his arm around her shoulders and Freitas was leading her to a chair.

  “Are you okay, miss?” Freitas asked.

  “Yes,” Isabel said, embarrassed. “I just got a little dizzy, that’s all.”

  “It’s that damn picture,” Duane snapped. “You had to shove that in her face, officer?”

  “I’m okay,” Isabel protested.

  Freitas was staring at Isabel’s face. “First-time bite?” Isabel nodded. “It’s minor blood loss. You’ll feel okay in a few hours. Be sure to drink plenty of fluids and don’t have any alcohol.”

  Duane laid a hand possessively on Isabel’s shoulder. “Can we go now, officer?”

  Isabel was suddenly, inexplicably annoyed. “She’s a detective, Duane.”

  Duane blinked, and Freitas did a double-take. “That’s all right, miss. Happens all the time.” Freitas handed Duane a business card. “Please contact me if you think of anything we should know about tonight.”

  Duane rolled his eyes. “How could we know anything, we’ve been in here all night!” he snapped. “What happened to that guy anyway?”

  Freitas pocketed the photograph. “Murdered in the alley behind the club. Looks like a vamp-kill.”

  Duane shook his head. “Fucking animals.”

  Isabel stared up at Duane, stunned. “I thought they were safe,” she said quietly.

  Freitas was glaring at Duane. “That depends on you
r definition,” she said. “They know a vamp-kill is an automatic death sentence.”

  “Can we go now?” Duane asked, and his tone was rude enough that Isabel was embarrassed.

  Freitas closed her notebook. “Yes. Thank you for your cooperation,” she said in a neutral tone.

  Isabel stood up, holding on to Duane’s arm. As they passed Freitas, the detective slipped her another business card. She pocketed it without Duane noticing.

  Walking out into the club, the entire atmosphere was different. The torches were overcast with large fluorescent lights, and the band was sitting on the edge of the stage, talking to two police officers. Small groups of patrons were standing around the dance floor, as police milled about. Something indefinable had left the room, that sense of mystery and magical danger had dissipated along with the shadows.

  For some reason, Isabel was sad to see it gone.

  Chapter Two

  Ryan bent over her, his eyes deepening to that total black color. A gentle smile barely showed the points of his teeth, and Isabel was not afraid.

  He lowered his mouth to hers, and she felt the gentle pressure of his lips molding to hers. His whole body hovered over hers, barely brushing against her naked skin. She felt the electric heat of him tingling in the tips of her breasts, the curve of her abdomen and the long muscles in her thighs.

  She seemed incapable of moving, pinned and pliable beneath Ryan as his hand wandered over her skin. She felt that electric warmth moving down her neck, between her breasts and lower, until it settled between her legs, and she broke the kiss with a cry of sudden sensation.

  “Beloved,” Ryan whispered against her throat, the moist heat of his breath caressing her skin. He pressed his lips against her throat, his tongue dancing a line along her neck.