Fuck. This. Woman.
I seriously wanted to fuck this woman.
More than that – I wanted to fuck her and bite her and rub myself all over her.
And then do it all over again.
Again and again. In any order and every which way. Clawing at each other until we were bathed in blood. Contorting ourselves into impossible positions. Consuming one another from dusk until dawn until we were both out of energy and cum.
Only to start it all over again the following night.
But I couldn’t. Not here. Not now. Not ever.
Not without glamouring away the memories, erasing some of the small and yet all too telling clues that could raise her suspicions. Suspicions that would beget questions for which I could not answer. I had enough control to withhold my instincts to bite, but my cold skin would be a dead giveaway.
And I knew. All it would take was one time. One taste of her body; her skin; her warmth. Blood or no. I would be hooked.
Impossibly more than I already was.
My addiction would leave me no choice but to glamour her time and again. To selfishly sate the unrelenting need I suspected would come to pass. Condemning myself to have to watch helplessly as the woman she was – the woman I wanted – disappeared into the fog of her own too often altered mind.
She wasn’t my personal assistant. She was my own personal Catch-22.
More astounding was after a thousand years of preferred solitude I was suddenly contemplating…
Of that, I wasn’t sure, but it was definitely something.
Something I needed to ignore for now lest I go mad.
But still my mind fought, refusing to believe I couldn’t have both. I was used to getting what I wanted and what I wanted was both her as well as…her, as she was now.
I could take her somewhere cold. We could spend the summer months in Antarctica with her frolicking amongst the penguins and then winter in my Scandinavian homeland. Any location where the temperature of my skin wouldn’t be as noticeable as it would be in the suffocating humidity of a Louisiana summer. The hours of darkness would far exceed daylight. I could exhaust her body until she had no choice but to sleep those short hours away, unknowingly warming my dead body and in her own way, bringing mine back to life.
But for how long?
How long could I keep her from suspecting what I was?
The tangled web in my mind – a virtual maze filled with chess pieces I’d spent a thousand years placing, perfecting my strategy in the art of survival – quickly unraveled in a matter of seconds. For there was only one winning play to be made. Only one conclusion to come to. Only one way to have it all.
I would have to divulge my secret.
It would be yet another in a quickly growing list of firsts, thanks to her.
Exhibit F – For all intents and purposes, I was the unofficial King of Louisiana and I was close to losing my shit over a girl.
All of it ran through my mind in a matter of seconds, but seeing her still angrily staring me down brought me back to yet another dilemma. One I should’ve seen coming. One I should’ve been more attuned to. After her admission over knocking men down for thinking she was nothing but a blond pair of tits, I should’ve known buying her that car – a car she’d already said she’d intended to earn for herself – would’ve been demeaning to her. It certainly hadn’t been my intention. To project in any way that I subscribed to that train of thought because clearly she was so much more. A woman to be reckoned with. The first one I’d ever met who I was curiously and furiously willing to go to extraordinary lengths for.
All the fucking way to Antarctica to frolic with fucking penguins.
She had my balls on a chain. A truth either known or unknown by her was still a truth just the same. And all it would take was one yank from her to make me heel. A disappointed look. A disapproving word. A bat of her eyelash or a pout of her lips. And I would simper like a dog at her feet, begging for any little scrap of attention she chose to bestow on me, and do her bidding like…like I was her pet.
It was sickening.
Because it was true.
And I only had to think of my now expanded territory to feel the invisible chain squeeze my balls some more.
But I could glamour her. I could throw caution to the wind and glamour her into accepting me into her bed. Into her body and into her life. I could erase her need to question my cold skin and feed her my blood night after night having her believing it to be the finest wine.
Or in deference to her blue collar preferences – the best beer.
But I knew I wouldn’t. I was disgusted at the mere notion. I was drawn to her, yes. It was fierce and undeniable. But I wanted her fire. I wanted her spirit. I wanted her laughter, her tears, her amusing diatribes.
I wanted it all to myself, but rather than taking it I wanted her to give it to me more.
It would be worthless otherwise.
The mere fact she was willing to walk away now – in light of her contract stating her annual salary was more than enough to keep her grandmother’s homestead afloat for twenty years to every one year of her wages – only reiterated what I’d already surmised.
She was unique.
She couldn’t be bought.
And I had been an ass to even attempt to do so, no matter how unintentional my actions were.
“I do not accept your resignation,” I finally offered. The threat of her leaving – even though her ironclad contract would make it nearly impossible – was enough to make my lustful haze retreat and keep my fangs at bay, despite their longing to sink into her perfect skin. And before she could treat me to additional tongue lashings, ticking off the ways in which I’d ticked her off, I added, “And I apologize. I did not mean to offend you when I acquired the car. I merely thought you would like it better than the sedan I’d planned on having you use.”
My softer tone gave way to a hardened edge as I added, “Nor do I believe you to be a whore or desire to hear you refer to yourself in that way again. If you’d like to see the difference, merely walk back into the nightclub or any one of the bars and see for yourself.”
She appeared shocked to hear my apology. As she should have. It’s not like I gave them out often.
She stared at me for a long moment. The angry puffs of air still expelling from her lungs washed over me like a warm tropical breeze as I awaited her judgment and I basked in them.
I would not share them with the penguins.
“And the outfit?” she eventually asked.
I could’ve believed her anger was still simmering hotly inside of her if it weren’t for the slightest hint of a smile itching to take over her face. My sincere regret seemed to have appeased her need for blood – I ignored the irony and my hunger for hers – and instead hoped to bring back her previous lighthearted mood by admitting, “For that I do not apologize.” Her eyebrow rose up along with my gall, so I kissed the tips of my fingers, paying homage to the appetizing presentation she represented, and added, “Because you, Miss Stackhouse, are a work of art.”
She fought it. Valiantly she fought off her urge to smile at my audacious praise until she finally gave in and smiled, “Uh huh. If you’d thought to include a Darth Vader helmet to go along with this get up, I’d be a regular old Penis de Milo.”
She clasped her hands behind her back and mimicked the statue’s pose.
Delight. She was nothing but pure delight.
Standing in front of her, I held my hands up and out from my body, smirking down at her and offering, “Care to frisk me for my light saber? I promise to not put up a fight.”
She laughed out loud before schooling her features into one of concentration. Focusing on my eyes, she waved her hand in a wide arc in between us and stoically said, “I am not the lay you are looking for.”
“I beg to differ,” I argued and fought my desire to use my own Jedi mind trick on her.
“And I’m still not begging you to rip my pants off,” she grinned.
“A shame,” I admitted wistfully.
“As you should be,” she admonished and ended her clever rebuke with a curtsy.
Yes, I definitely wanted to fuck her and bite her and rub myself all over her.
I was done overthinking everything for the time being and now that her playfulness had made a return, all I wanted to do was try and salvage the rest of the night. Not wanting to give her any more time in which she could point out the other ways in which I’d wronged her, I said, “Come.”
“Girls give into you that quick?” she chuckled out before I could elaborate. “You’re cute and all, but I think they’re fooling you if you believe all it takes is you saying so.”
Given my mood she was in so much danger from her teasing she should’ve been adorned with her own warning label.
Without thought – without warning – I had her back pressed against the wall with my body caging hers. Fuck. Bite. Rub. My body screamed for it. My fangs fought to come free and sink into her skin. But I denied it – them – as I’d done countless times before. And without acknowledging our new and much more intimate positioning, I casually asked, “You. Think. I’m. Cute?”
Her face gave away her surprise. Her heart gave away her slight fear. Her scent gave away her arousal.
“As a button,” she whispered.
And I savored her stubborn refusal to give in to any of it.
I reveled in her for only a second longer before offering, “Your car wasn’t my reason for going to the garage,” and took a step back, watching for her reaction as her emotions flitted across her face.
Surprise. Confusion. Longing.
Instead of acknowledging any of it, I turned hoping she’d follow without argument.
Because I already suspected she’d later argue over my insistence that she drive that car.
Thankfully she fell into step behind me as we walked to the private section of the parking garage where some of my cars were kept. I had another home outside of New Orleans, one of many scattered throughout the world. It housed some of my prized possessions – to include the majority of my collection of vehicles, but I mostly stayed in the penthouse suite at the casino. If I didn’t believe it to be impenetrable, I wouldn’t rest there as often as I did. As of late I only stopped by the house occasionally to check on things, decompress for a few hours, or to trade out cars. And now that I had a new neighbor, I doubted I would ever rest anywhere else.
Coming to a stop in front of the other reason for her head to toe leather outfit, I glanced from it to her and said, “Climb on.”
“Say what?” she balked, with her eyes looking disbelievingly at our mode of transportation.
“Don’t tell me a woman who dreams of flying down the highway in one of the sexiest cars on the market is afraid of a little old bike,” I taunted. When she remained frozen in place, I playfully reminded her, “You’re from Louisiana. It’s a Confederate motorcycle. You have no reason to hesitate.”
More so her grandmother, since my research indicated it was she who had a fascination with the American Civil War.
The Confederate R131 Fighter started out at a hundred grand, but I had my own people tweak it to where it flew beyond reason, along with adding a few extras here and there – to include its brand new passenger seat. The additions made it worth more than double its price now, but I would twist it into a pretzel myself before I would see it sold. It was one of a kind.
Like the girl I was trying to coax onto the back of it.
She crossed her arms over her chest, highlighting the fact I’d been hasty in including a jacket among her things, and stared at me defiantly, saying, “You put the cock in cockamamie if you think I’m getting on that thing.”
I hadn’t ever been challenged as often as she’d dared to and under other less smitten circumstances it could’ve given me cause to be concerned. Had I not already seen her ability to ‘put on a dog and pony show’ I could’ve questioned her ability to maintain a professional appearance.
Not that I was one to throw stones on proper business decorum – at least where she was concerned.
But I’d already been witness to her unflappability. She’d walked alongside me in the public eye wearing her dominatrix outfit like a Fortune 500 CEO on her way to ring the opening bell on Wall Street. She gave no indication to those around her she was uncomfortable, even though I knew a part of her was. Head high. Shoulders back. Posture perfect. She paid no mind to the men caught in her web of appeal or the women she turned green with envy and instead remained focused on everything I showed her. It was remarkable for a girl of her age to be so refined. She oozed nothing but grace and sophistication when in front of an audience and I had no doubt she would represent me well.
But in private – with me in private – she dropped her polish and put up her dukes. Ever at the ready to battle me and was completely nonplussed as to having me as her opponent.
I would never get enough.
“I have the cock, but I know of no one named Mamie. I do however have better ideas on who I can put it in,” I grinned.
I really couldn’t help myself around her. It was her fault. She could sue me. The demon lawyer would see me vindicated.
“Where are we going?” she argued while poorly hiding her amusement. Her head flipped to and fro, only fanning her addictive scent my way, and added, “Why can’t we just take one of your other cars?”
I moved to stand in her direct line of sight, unnecessarily stretching my body like a preening peacock, and asked, “And where would I have put the key?”
Her eyes slowly scanned my body, but seeing where they halted in their travels I already knew nothing else would’ve fit in that one particular spot. Thanks to her it was already straining beyond its capacity.
So I preened some more.
“Where are we going?” she finally repeated, with her embarrassed eyes darting up to my own when it dawned on her where she’d been staring. And that she’d been caught.
It was a good night so far.
“I told you we would be touring my businesses. The casino isn’t my only one. It’s just the most profitable.”
To the IRS, at least. Some things had to remain hidden from the government’s prying eyes as a matter of keeping our existence secret.
Hoping to spar with her some more, I climbed onto the bike myself and started it up. She jumped at the sound of the engine revving, but I reduced the throttle and threw my verbal gauntlet by taunting, “Chicken?”
She didn’t disappoint, but I suspected she never would. Fire shot through her eyes before she all but threw herself onto the back of the bike. Even with the sounds of the engine reverberating off of the concrete walls, I was able to hear her scoff out, “Chicken. I got you’re chicken…”
Feeling her body slowly but surely pressing against my back – the heat of her finally close enough to ease my longing over the last five days – I waited for her arms to fully embrace around my waist and replied, “That makes us an even pair since I have your cock.”
And then tore off into the night before she could say another word.
I hadn’t viewed the city from this vantage point for quite some time. Normally I flew because it gave me a much greater range, but I’d always enjoyed anything that was fast so I opened up the throttle and raced down the city streets. The rush of the wind and speed was not only enjoyable, but had the dual effect of getting her to hug me even tighter, so it was a win/win.
And the house always wins.
As time went on, I could sense her tension lessen with her body melting into mine, so I took the long way to our first destination to prolong the feel of her body against my own. I knew she’d spent four years at Tulane, but I had no idea how familiar she was with the city. Her duties could have her going to many locations on my behalf, so I slowed without stopping and pointed out some of the places she may find herself in the daytime. City Hall. The Chamber of Commerce. The banks I utilized for the casino’s deposits. She would nod at my back, ask a question or two, and make her mental notes. But none got the reaction like the one she had when I pointed out the store where I’d obtained her evening’s outfit.
Second Skin Leather on Saint Philip Street.
While teasingly offering to stop and procure her an outfit for the next day, I’d made sure to take the corner hard so she’d have no choice but to maintain her grip. I was sure if she could’ve spared a hand I would’ve been slapped, punched, or poked.
And I couldn’t decide if those wouldn’t have been preferable.
Instead she gripped me tighter in her arms. With her hands dropping down to my legs and her fingernails pressing into my inner thighs, she growled, “Keep it up and I’ll fill your closet in nothing but pink spandex.”
Up? Oh, it was definitely up.
And my fangs? Down. They were definitely down.
And we nearly mowed down a stray alley cat when my eyes involuntarily rolled up into my head.
It was all unavoidable – almost like the cat. And once again it was all her fault.
I managed to keep us vertical and kept myself from cumming, but the latter was truly testing my willpower. There’d been too much teasing. And no amount of fucking, biting, or rubbing. The thought of working off my frustration on any other woman held no appeal and needing the time to regain control of my senses, I headed us out of the city with no destination in mind. Regrettably, her hands moved from my thighs to rest on my hips, but she felt completely relaxed with her body still pressed against my own. Encased in leather as we were, she had no way of feeling the differences in our body temperature, but I could. It felt as though the sun itself was beating against my skin for the first time in a thousand years. None of the women I’d enjoyed over the years had ever warmed me as she had. None had ever pleased me as she had and it only served to remind me of just how screwed I was.
And I knew I would run out of highway long before I would solve the riddle of how Sookie Stackhouse would fit into my world.