My Vampire and I (7 page)

?" He emphasised Transylvania with a really good Bela Lugosi impersonation. "I'm afraid that would be beyond my powers.

It would take more than a few seconds," he added. "Perhaps an hour or so."
I looked at him to see if he was joking, but why would he.
He can do just about anything he wants
, I thought.
Especially with me
. I started taking his shirt off him, kissing his chest and shoulders. And then, we were on the bed again, completely naked.
"Sorry," he whispered, "I couldn't wait to feel your bare skin against mine."
That was okie-dokie with me, too.

His eyes twinkled with a lascivious gleam. I lay beneath him, staring up into his face, taking in every detail that moulded the perfection. His breath was sweet upon my lips as he brushed his mouth slowly, and oh so sensually, over mine.

 

"Just lie there for me," he whispered. "Let me love you."

His fingers ran the length of my torso, sending tiny tingles of pleasure coursing through me. His lips and tongue wove their own magic over my skin as he travelled south, following the treasure trail from my navel to my pubic hair. He engulfed my cock, pulling it into the moist warmth of his mouth. I gasped with delight as he licked up and down the underside 64

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of my erection then slid down to my balls, his tongue lapping at each one, before lifting them into his mouth.

My hips rose in ecstasy at this sensation, my hands tangling in his thick curly hair. He lifted my legs over his shoulders, his tongue pushing at my opening, darting in and out of my anus, making me whimper. My breathing almost constricted with desire and lust. His tongue was deep inside me, and I writhed in ecstasy as he bored into me, causing sensations I had never before experienced—never dreamed could even exist. Just when I thought I couldn't stand any more, his mouth moved back to my balls then to my cock, taking it all down his throat. I groaned, feeling the heat of my approaching orgasm.

"Not yet," I whispered.

He released me from his mouth, enclosing my cock with his hand. With the tip of his tongue he traced an erotic pattern over my body until he reached my lips, claiming them with a hungry kiss. I reached between his legs, drawing his rock hard shaft into me, pushing against it, forcing it into my moist depths made slick with his saliva. Now it was his turn to groan as my ass muscles closed around his hard cock, anchoring him to me as he thrust forward, and I arched my pelvis upward to meet him. We moved to a gentle rhythm at first, his lips a tantalising inch away, his eyes locked on mine, our breathing in unison with one another. But as our lips met in a kiss born of carnal passion, our rhythm quickened, his thrusts became stronger, longer, deeper, and I, biting back the scream that threatened to erupt from my throat, clung to him, my arms and legs holding him in a vicelike grip.

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His hand now urged me towards my climax. It began deep inside my core, surging through me like a miniature tsunami.

His mouth on mine stifled the cries of sheer animal ecstasy that my orgasm tore from me, and as I lay panting in his arms, he covered my face with hot sweet kisses.

 

"My beloved Roger," he murmured, moving himself even deeper inside me.

"I love you, Marcus," I whispered, writhing beneath him to bring him even more pleasure. He began to move over me again, and I cupped his glorious butt in my hands. As we gazed at one another through a sexual haze, I slipped my middle finger into my mouth, coating it with my saliva then probed between the cleft of his buttocks, pushing past the wall of muscle there and bringing him ever closer to the edge.

His breath caught in his throat. He let out a great choking cry as he came, and I buried my face in the hollow of his throat, kissing him long and hard, almost sobbing with joy as his semen poured into me.

 

Afterwards, as we lay in each other's arms, I, purring like a contented kitten, and he, stroking my chest with his fingertips, I dared to ask, "So, when are you going to tell me about my alternatives?"

 

His fingertips stalled on my chest, so I grabbed his hand and started rubbing it over my chest. He chuckled from deep in his chest and tweaked my nipple.

"Ow! Well, are you going to tell me or not?"
A long, heavy sigh followed my badgering. "I suppose I must, or you will nag me until I do."
"Me, nag? Never."
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He rose from the bed, treating me once more to the magnificent sight of his muscular back, the curve of his butt, the strength in his thighs and calves. Perfection personified.

Did I mention his feet? Also perfect.
He returned carrying two glasses filled with red wine.
Hmm
... why not the instant appearing act?
"Sometimes," he said, with a smile, "I like to pretend I am a mortal man and have to fetch and carry like everyone else." Oh yes, again with the mind reading. "I wonder if I'll ever get used to that."
"Of course you will, then we will cease to converse aloud."
"But I like the sound of your voice. It's sexy. Do I sound too whiny?"
"You sound delightful," he replied, handing me my glass.
He sat cross-legged on the bed facing me. "So, you are sure you want to know all the gory details."
"Are they gory?"
"Well, there is a certain amount of blood involved, Roger."
"Right. So Kurt didn't get to first base?"
"No, he did not. He might have had cause to think he did, but he did not."
I stared at his beautiful face, and wondered again for the umpteenth time since we'd first met how time had not ravaged him. I mean,
eighteen hundred years
. Vampire blood must be very powerful stuff.
"It is."
"Will you please stop that?" I protested, half-heartedly.
"Sorry. I can hear your thoughts, you see, as if you were speaking them aloud. It is just a natural reflex to answer."
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"That's okay. So, go on, let me have all the gory details."

"Well, as I said last night, I can change you completely, so that you will take on the persona of a vampire. It is a gradual transformation, preferably done over a period of three of four days. When you awaken from what appears to be an extremely deep slumber, but is in fact, death, you will become aware of many differences. Some of these differences you will adapt to very quickly. Others take time. Your vision, hearing, and sense of touch will all become greatly enhanced.

It can be very disturbing, at first."
I put my hand on his arm. "May I interrupt?"
"Of course."
"You said I would awaken from death. Would I really die?"
He nodded. "You must die in order to be reborn, Roger.
That is the hardest part to come to terms with, I know. When I was changed, Polonius did not tell me I would physically die. He said I would fall into a deep sleep. But I cannot lie to you.
You will die before you become like me."
"So you knew that you had not just been asleep?"

"Indeed. Sleeping and dying are two very different experiences. To die is not an easy thing, Roger. You will resist it, and you will be afraid. I cannot lie to you about that, either. If I did, you would hate me when you awoke."

 

"I could never hate you, Marcus."

 

He moved closer to me, his eyes glowing with a preternatural intensity that made me tremble. "You love me now, Roger, but if I allowed you to take this step without warning you of all its consequences, believe me, you would grow to hate me. Vampire emotions are no different from 68

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humans. We feel rage, hatred, and fear—yes, fear, Roger. All these human failings come with us from the grave."
"But, love too, Marcus. Surely, that did not die with you?"
He gave me a gentle smile, his eyes clearing as he did so.
"No, love did not die with me. It was reborn, just as I was.

Over the years, I have loved—not many men—a few really, if judged by the standards of my longevity. But always I gave myself completely to whomever I loved, sometimes to my own detriment."

His eyes took on a faraway look, and I knew he was thinking of the time when he longed for death.
"What was his name?" I asked quietly.

He fixed his gaze upon me, as if seeing me for the first time, then he rose from the bed, returning a moment later with a gold-framed photograph. Not a photograph, but a portrait so exquisitely painted, it could not have been more lifelike.

 

"The painting is by Allan Ramsay," Marcus said, quietly. "A famous Scottish artist employed by the royal families of Europe."

The young man who smiled at me from the painting was definitely a head turner—not beautiful in the true sense of the word but very hot. I figured him to be about my age, maybe a year or so younger. Light blond hair fell across his brow in a most becoming fashion and was tied back behind his neck. A lace ruffle at his throat and the patterned silk jacket he wore told me this was an eighteenth century painting. His eyes, a sparkling blue, were filled with laughter and mischief.
Oh yes,
I thought,
I just bet you were a handful
.

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"His name was Thomas."
"What happened to him?" I asked, my eyes riveted to the painting.
"He died many years ago."
"So he wasn't a vampire? You didn't change him?"

"Yes," he said, not looking at me. "He was a vampire. No, I did not change him. He came to me already changed, some one hundred years before. A fledging, really. He left the one who changed him for me." A certain bitterness had crept into Marcus's voice, and I began to wish that I had never broached this particular subject.

"Marcus," I murmured. "If this is upsetting you, please ... I don't want you to be sad, remembering..."

 

His gaze returned to my worried face. He seemed to give himself a little shake, then he smiled at me. "This was a long time ago, but sometimes the memory of what happened, still fills me with anger. I apologise for turning our time together into a wake."

 

I would have loved to have changed the subject, but it occurred to me that perhaps he needed to talk this out.

Rather than let it always hang between us like an impenetrable curtain, I decided I should encourage him to vent. Putting down the portrait and my wineglass, I moved to him and wrapped him in my arms. For just a brief moment, he did not respond, and then, much to my relief, I felt his arms enfold me.

"Sweet Roger," he murmured in my ear. "Do I deserve someone as loving as you?"
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"If that needs an answer," I said, trying to lighten the atmosphere just a little, "it's an unequivocal yes." Gently, he pushed me back down onto the comforter and lay beside me.

 

I put my head on his shoulder. "Tell me what happened, if it doesn't hurt too much."

 

"Imagine if you will," he began, "The Paris Opera House, a gala performance by the Paris Symphony attended by the nobility of Europe. Kings, queens, princes, dukes, earls, all vying with one another to look the most splendid.

Everywhere, a sea of silk, satin, and lace confounds the eye.
Scents of every exotic variety mingle in the warm summer air, dizzying the senses.

"Into this fantastic scene step two men, and immediately every eye is riveted upon them. The clamour and the hubbub of voices die away, and the whispers begin.
It's them
, they say,
the Comte d'Arcy and his acolyte, Thomas Lebrun
.

"I had heard of d'Arcy, of course. His fame as an artist preceded him as did the scandal attached to his name. It was said he indulged in certain practices that precluded him from invitations to many a fashionable soirée. So, it was surprising that he should have been invited to attend this gala. But what was more surprising to me was that I immediately recognised them both as vampires. Paris then, of course, had its fair share of us, just like any large city, but not many could be seen in public. I knew they both must be 'older' vampires to be able to pass as normal humans. The assembled crowd might know d'Arcy for his scandalous deeds, but no one there could possibly guess that two of the living dead stood among them.

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"The Comte d'Arcy was a handsome fellow, tall, of military bearing, and fashionably dressed, but it was Thomas who caught my entire attention. That portrait, excellent though it is, does not do him enough justice. His beauty seemed to transcend all around him. It was easy to see why d'Arcy had chosen him as his forever companion. Even though Thomas's aura overshadowed him, he could bask in the radiance Thomas cast."

At that point, he paused and tightened his arm around me.
"Excuse me, Roger, if all this sounds as though I was already enamoured of him. Truth to tell, I was. Even from the other side of the foyer, his smile entranced me. I hope you don't find this unsettling."

"No, of course not," I murmured, kissing his chest. "I want to hear the whole story, just as it happened."

"They, of course, their senses being acutely tuned to their surroundings, knew they were not the only vampires in the opera house that night. Thomas's eyes scanned the crowd around me, and on seeing me, nudged d'Arcy and nodded in my direction. They were at my side in an instant, the force of their presence both alarming and exciting. Throughout my long life, I had tended to be somewhat of a loner. There are reasons for that, but we will get to that another time. I seldom went out in company, and thus I maintained the low profile I preferred—still prefer, as a matter of fact.

"Thomas was the first to speak, introducing himself with a courtly bow, then he turned to d'Arcy and introduced me to him. The Comte was cold and imperious in his greeting, letting me know immediately, by his manner, that he did not 72

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intend to further my acquaintance. Thomas, on the other hand, was delightful and asked me to join them in their box.

On seeing d'Arcy's nostrils flare with annoyance, I declined but suggested that perhaps we could meet during the interval for a glass of wine. Red of course, I added, much to Thomas's amusement. And so, my dear Roger, I had met the one man, who in all my hundreds of years of existence, was to be the one to steal my heart for the first time."