Flush

Okay, Chuck thought, she probably shouldn’t have said that. There were a lot of things she probably shouldn’t have said since waking up in Sebastian’s bed.

What the heck was wrong with her? She’d had this guy in her sights for months now, but with a strict “observe and report” policy. Getting into his apartment was one thing; sitting on his sofa, telling him he was the star of her very own X-rated Chippendales daydreams was something else altogether.

And how the heck had that happened, anyway? The man was hot, no doubt about it. No red-blooded American woman could look at him and not have all of her girlie parts throb with lustful longing.

But while she’d admired his dark good looks—and knowing he was eminently bankable didn’t hurt, either—she hadn’t pictured him naked, stripping him bare with her teeth, or imagined him lying on top of her, filling her, bringing her to orgasm again and again and again.

Until tonight.

The images filled her head like snapshots, or a slide show, big and bold and larger than life. And it surprised her to realize how much she wanted that. All of it.

Which maybe wasn’t so surprising, given her eight year dry spell. But in that eight years, she hadn’t even been attracted to anyone of the opposite sex. Never.

It was as though she’d gone through the last decade with blinders on, not seeing men as men, but simply genderless human beings.

Now suddenly, she saw a man. A tall, dark, handsome man. A sexy, amazing man who oozed masculinity and sexuality and mystery and danger.

He was a vampire, for God’s sake. Who could be attracted to a vampire?

Well, okay, Mina for one. Ninety percent of the female population, for the other—at least if the depiction of the bloodsucking undead in films and literature was anything to go by.

Twilight, Dracula, Moonlight, The Black Dagger Brotherhood . . . Her research had forced her—oh, yeah, big sacrifice; she’d only balked for about the first three pages of J.R. Ward’s Dark Lover—to read and watch everything she could find that was even remotely related to vampires. Movies, television series, classics, romance novels . . . Her living room now looked like the underground lair of some sad, depressed, black-clad Goth teenager.

So maybe she wasn’t crazy. Maybe her hormones, which had been lying dormant (not dead, apparently—thank goodness) all this time, had simply picked this moment to wake up and start doing the Macarena.

She wasn’t even sure she should try to tame them. It had been so long since her sexuality had made itself known, she almost felt as though she should revel in its sudden awakening. Throw them a little party, a la Mardi Gras or Hormones Gone Wild.

She gave Sebastian another once-over, liking more than ever what she saw. He really was a tall drink of holy water.

Provided he was even interested in getting horizontal with her—or vertical, or at a ninety-degree angle; she certainly wasn’t going to be picky—why shouldn’t she throw caution to the wind and go for it?

Sure, he was a vampire, but everyone had their quirks. Matthew had been Lutheran. For a few years back in the late nineties, she’d been a vegetarian.

And he’d already informed her in no uncertain terms that he was going to Etch-a-Sketch her memory when they were finished so she’d have zero recollection of their evening together. Which meant she would have no regrets. She could hang by her ankles from the ceiling or dance naked on one of the blackjack tables downstairs, and she’d never know the difference.

Of course, she was the good twin. Or maybe more accurately, the less uninhibited twin. While Chloe had been on the cheerleading team in high school, Chuck had kept busy with the school newspaper. While Chloe had spent every weekend out with friends—and boyfriends—Chuck had stayed home to read.

And while Chloe went through boys—and later men—like Skittles, Chuck’s idea of a hot date was a night at the library with Jane Eyre or Wuthering Heights. It had taken her forever to realize Matthew was interested in her in that way, and once she had, that was it; he’d been her one and only boyfriend, her one and only lover, her one and only husband.

So she didn’t exactly have a lot of experience in the “hot sex” department. Not that she was a bowl of Kibble and Bits. She owned a mirror and knew she had it going on, as far as her looks were concerned. Junk food addiction notwithstanding, she had nice boobs, a nice butt, and fit into Chloe’s “Flames of Hell” costume without too much overflow.

Face-wise . . . well, Chloe was gorgeous, and since they were identical twins . . . Just because she didn’t spend as much time primping and reapplying her lipstick didn’t mean she was Bride of Frankenstein material.

So Sebastian shouldn’t be too turned off, right?

But was he turned on? Even a little bit?

Lifting her wineglass to her lips, she used it to camouflage the direction of her gaze. She hoped.

How did one tell if a man was turned on? she wondered. Other than the obvious, of course. That’s what she was looking for, but damn the muted lighting and the folds of his black slacks. She couldn’t see anything of importance.

“Looking for something?”

Sebastian’s low voice caused her to jump guiltily. The wine sloshed, and she jerked her head—and her gaze—back up to his face.

Busted, she thought, like a first-class fool, noting the quirk of his lips and knowing gleam in his eyes. And not for the first time tonight, either. Her entire face flushed hot with humiliation.

How did Chloe do this all the time, with guy after guy, without bursting into flames of embarrassment?

And the sex! Flirting and trying to gauge a man’s interest was hard enough; Chuck could barely imagine stripping naked and having actual sex with a bunch of them, too. Well, not a bunch as in “all at once,” just consecutively over a span of time. Her sister might be outgoing, but she wasn’t a slut.

With a mental head slap, she realized that somewhere during the last ten years, she’d apparently turned into a Puritan.

But she really wasn’t! Or at least, she never had been before.

She used to like sex just as much as the next person. And though she and Matthew hadn’t made a habit of doing anything in bed that would make the fine citizens of Las Vegas raise a brow—it was Vegas, after all; people could buy used panties out of vending machines, if they wanted (blurg)—they’d been adventurous in their own way.

“No,” she answered quickly.

A total lie, and she was sure he could tell by the way her voice squeaked when she said it. Oh, no, I wasn’t looking for anything. My eyes weren’t glued to your crotch like a crocodile scoping out the weakest zebra at the watering hole.

“Really?” He raised a brow like the upper curve of a question mark.

It was a damn sexy eyebrow . . . as was its mate and the rest of his handsome, chiseled face. But she was sort of beginning to hate that expression. The one that told her his curiosity was piqued, or he wanted her to elaborate on something she was trying to keep to herself.

“Because it looked as though you were staring at my—”

“No!” she screeched, cutting him off before he could finish that thought. Shaking her head like a rag doll, she said, “No, definitely not. I was not staring at your . . . anything.”

“Funny,” he murmured in a low voice, “I could have sworn you were.”

If she blushed any more in this man’s presence, she swore she was going to burst into flames brighter and hotter than the ones on the outfit she’d been wearing earlier.

Come on, Chuck, she told herself, mentally straightening her shoulders and sliding her spine back into place. Pull yourself together and act like the strong, independent woman you pride yourself on being.

“What do you care if I was?” she countered with a cocky eyebrow lift of her own. Ha! Let him get a taste of his own medicine.

“Oh, I would care,” he replied. “In fact, I would be quite intrigued.”

That caught her off guard. She blinked a moment, trying to find her thoughts and her voice. “Why?” she finally worked up the saliva to ask.

“Because you’re not the only one having fantasies.” Chuck’s heart thumped as though someone had punched her in the chest. So hard, it stole her breath.

But it also quickened her pulse. Heated her blood. Made juices flow to areas that had been as dry as the Mojave Desert for longer than she could remember.

“What kind of fantasies?” she managed in a wisp of sound.

“The usual kind,” he said, tossing her earlier words back at her.

In one smooth, almost practiced move, he set his glass aside and slid toward her on the sofa. Crowding her, cornering her, pinning her between the overstuffed cushions at her back and his wide, silk-covered chest.

“What are you doing?” she asked breathlessly, feeling the heat of his body radiating toward hers, and the laser-sharp intensity of his gaze tracking her like prey.

“Getting ready to seduce you . . . and make some of those fantasies come true.”

She opened her mouth to protest—mostly because she thought she should, not because she didn’t want the seduction or any hot and sweaty fantasies he felt compelled to fulfill. But before she could get a word—or even a squeak—out, Sebastian covered her mouth with his own.

The minute their lips touched, she was a goner. He felt like warm velvet, and tasted of thick blackberry wine and dark, secretive vampire.

Not that she had a clue what vampires tasted like, other than the one she was slurping at right now. She would have thought he’d taste like blood—that was what they thrived on, right? So she’d expected a metallic, coppery flavor.

Instead, she got warm and spicy and just . . . male.

Her fingers kneaded his shoulders, and she pushed up, wanting to get closer, wanting more. A low mewling filled the air, and it took her a moment to realize the sound was coming from her.

She never mewled. Or moaned or groaned or panted or begged. At least she hadn’t in a very long time.

But he had her doing just that. She was making noises in the back of her throat—desperate, sexual noises. And in her head, she was doing even more. Panting, begging, all of the above.

His hands found the hem of his own oversize undershirt and delved beneath, stroking the smooth skin of her waist. They were so big and warm, even against her rapidly rising temperature.

When they found her breasts, she gasped, letting her head fall back and struggling for breath while his thumbs ruthlessly teased her stiffening nipples. She let the sensations wash over her, long-denied feelings of lust and longing coming alive and battling like a couple of prizefighters to get out.

“Wait,” she gasped when she could finally catch her breath. And it took a couple of tries, as well as a lot of licking of her dry, parched lips.

His hands continued to squeeze and torture, his mouth joining the fray to suckle a line up the length of her throat.

“Wait,” she said again, using her hands at his shoulders to push him back just a smidge.

He made an unhappy sound deep in his throat, but finally lifted his head and met her eyes. His glittered, dark and dangerous, and behind his slightly parted lips, she was sure she saw the glint of long, sharp canines. Longer and sharper than normal. Longer and sharper than they had been even earlier.

“You’re not going to bite me, are you? Suck me dry?” she asked.

“Oh, I’m going to suck you. And probably bite a little, too.”

His erotic threat made her stomach clench. Along with muscles that fell much lower and wanted nothing more than to wrap around him and squeeze.

“You know what I mean. Real biting, the kind that breaks the skin and makes you anemic. You’re a vampire and I’m a human, and that’s what vampires do to humans. Right?”

“Not necessarily. Unless we’re feeding. Otherwise, it’s . . . optional.”

Tipping her head, she pondered that for a minute. All kinds of images spilled through her mind. Sexy ones, scary ones, ones that fell somewhere in between. But of course, she had no way of knowing how accurate they were.

“Is it good?” she asked with only a slight hitch to her voice.

“Very.”

For him, sure. It was probably right up there with achieving an actual orgasm. But since he was the only one with fangs, she suspected he was biased.

“For both parties, though, not just the . . . heavy biter.”

“I can make it that way, definitely.”

“How?” she wanted to know, eyes narrowing with curiosity . . . and no small amount of self-preservation.

“I’ll show you,” he said, grabbing her up again and kissing her until she forgot all about being bitten, or losing too much blood, or even her own name. His fangs scraped against her lips, but she didn’t care. If anything, knowing they were there, how dangerous they had the potential to be, turned her on even more.

Holding her around the waist, he got to his feet, lifting her as though she weighed no more than one of his empty bottles of wine. Turning, he stalked across the living room without bumping into a single piece of furniture. His lips never left hers, his tongue never stopped delving inside her mouth as he carried her down the hall.

And she was no wilting lily in this ballgame. Her arms and legs were wrapped around him like a squid’s, and she was kissing him back. Trying to suck out his molars, to be honest—if he had any molars to suck out. She also couldn’t seem to resist running her tongue back and forth over those pointed incisors. Testing, exploring, imagining what they could and would do to her before the night was over.

When they reached his bedroom, he tipped her backwards so that she hit his giant, feather-soft mattress with a bounce. Her breath whooshed out and he pulled away from her.

She nearly whimpered, wanting him back. Wanting her arms and legs still banded around him, his mouth still ravishing hers.

It amazed her that she was here with him at all when she’d gone so very long without male attention. And to think that he was a vampire. An honest-to-Transylvania vampire. She’d hoped, imagined, dreamed . . . but in the back of her head, she hadn’t really believed it was possible.

The idea was both exhilarating and frightening at the same time, but the part that made her most anxious wasn’t that Sebastian was immortal, or had come back from the dead, or needed to consume the blood of other humans to survive. It was that she was about to sleep with him.

She’d been celibate for nearly a decade, and she decided to break her dry spell now? With a vampire, of all things? (Things? People? Species? She wasn’t even sure what the proper term would be.)

No way was she changing her mind now, though. Falling into bed with a near-stranger was unusual for her. She’d never done it before in her life. Had never even considered it or thought she would be the type.

But surprise, surprise. Turned out she was the type. Her sister would be so proud that she was shaking off her mourning for Matthew, her self-imposed celibacy. Of course, Chloe might not be quite as thrilled to discover that the guy Chuck chose to help rid her of her second virginity bit people for his survival.

But she wanted this.

Really, really wanted it, she thought again as Sebastian began systematically stripping her of the clothes she didn’t remember putting on in the first place. Without permission or warning, he yanked the undershirt up her torso and flipped it off over her head. Her arms flopped back to the mattress and her hair flew in every direction as he tossed the bit of white cotton aside.

Then his hands moved to the elastic waistband of the plaid flannel pajama bottoms. They came off with one long sweep down her legs to fall to the floor, leaving her completely naked, bare to his hot, direct gaze.

A flicker of uncertainly swept through her, making her want to do the coy pinup girl thing and cover herself with one arm across her breasts and a hand over her hoo-ha. Never mind that she’d decided just a bit ago that she had nothing to be ashamed of, figure-wise. Knowing she looked okay didn’t mean that butterflies didn’t start flapping away in her belly when she was lying naked in front of a very attractive, fully dressed, dark and dangerous man.

But Sebastian didn’t leave her feeling shy for long. Still devouring her with his eyes, he dug an index finger into the knot of his tie and slipped it loose. He shrugged out of his expensive suit jacket, then opened his collar and the front of his inky blue dress shirt.

Next he unbuckled his belt, the sound of metal clicking and leather sliding against fabric causing goose bumps to break out over her flesh. He unbuttoned his trousers and unzipped the fly, and this time, she shivered.

God, was there anything sexier than watching a man undress? The rasp of clothing. The sight of bulging muscles and bronzed skin becoming visible inch by delicious inch.

It surprised her, actually, how tan Sebastian was. Weren’t vampires supposed to be pale from lack of sunlight?

But then, maybe he wasn’t tan-tan. Maybe that had been the natural tint of his skin when he became immortal. Or maybe—despite wide-spread beliefs to the contrary—he was able to use a tanning bed to maintain a nice, human fleshshade. She should have looked for one of those in the penthouse while she was snooping around. Because she doubted he went down on a regular basis to use the ones in the casino’s on-site spa.

While her mind was wandering, his hands continued to work. His pants fell to the floor in a rustle of sound, and he kicked off his shoes at the same time he rolled his shoulders to dislodge his shirt. That left him in only a pair of black silk boxers with a noticeable tenting at the front.

Chuck licked her lips, imagining the exact length and width and breadth of the cause of that tenting. But she didn’t have long to wonder at the details of his masculinity before he shed the boxers as well, showing her the full, burgeoning reality.

She didn’t know how much time passed, but she must have been staring for the span of at least several seconds, because he suddenly stepped forward, and his low voice broke the tense silence of the room.

“Like what you see?” he asked.

When she dragged her gaze—reluctantly, oh, so reluctantly—up to his face, she found one black brow arched upward in amusement.

Licking lips gone bone dry, she gave a wobbly nod. “It’s been a while, but I don’t remember them being quite so . . .”

“Large?” he supplied with typical male arrogance. Meeting his gaze head-on, she dug deep for a modicum of arrogance of her own. “Mouthwatering.”