Vampire Assassin League Bundle Five - Loneliness (7 page)

And...wow.

Wystan hadn’t been idle. His knee breeches were gone and he was stretched out on his back, displaying a cock that was erect, and filled, and pretty damned enormous. Rachel’s jaw dropped, and her eyes widened. Holy shit. Wystan was unbelievably well-built. Thick. Hard. And ready.

Rachel hiked her chemise up, flung a leg over him, aimed, and then...

Oh my!

Nothing had prepared her for the sensation of fullness. Wystan lurched upward as she encased him, the move shoving further into her, while the groan that resonated from him filled the enclosure with sound. And he was shaking. The bedstead rattled with it.

“Oh, love! Oh
...Rachel. Oh...love!”

He matched the words to his motions. His hands grabbed her ass and lifted her. Held her po
ised above him for countless moments where everything seemed to halt, and then he hauled her back down. Impaling her. Filling. Creating.

The throbs of sound got louder. Harsher. Deeper.

Wystan must be hearing it, too, for his rhythm matched every beat. Every thump. Again. More. Harder. Every move slid ridges of definition into her. Again. And again. And then faster. Something sparked into being within her. It grew. Became an all-out wave of tension. And it came closer. Rachel grabbed onto his arms, tightened her thighs, flung her head back.

And careened into wonder.

Her cries had joy at their core. Laughter accompanied it as her body finished shuddering through throes of absolute delight. Mountains of ecstasy. Rivers of physical pleasure. And through it all, Wystan continued thrusting into her. Pulling her back down onto him. Lifting his hips to join them more fully. Raising her up again. Matching every one of her movements.

His dark eyes were waiting for her as the pleasure peaked and subsided, becoming once again a thrum of tension. Only this time, he shifted, rolling her beneath him, and pushing himself up, to put all that physique in perfect line-of sight.

And what a view!

Rachel caught her lower lip between her teeth, and ran both hands along every inch of him she could reach, before gripping her fingers into his upper arms. And still he continued pumping into her. Again. More. Harder. Rachel tightened her legs, and met each thrust.

Little grunts began to accompany his movements. They began as short pants of sound. They steadily grew in length and volume. Her heart heard them first. Then her ears. And then her entire body. They accompanied his movements, pumping with a strength that shook the bed-frame, and jolted the mattress. Again. Harder. Deeper.

The mattress became a storm-tossed raft. An avalanche-tossed boulder. A tree in a hurricane’s path.

Wystan’s grunts grew keener. Sharper. Every muscle on display went tighter. Even more defined. And then he shoved a final time, and arched backwards, lifting her, while the longest, deepest groan emitted from his throat. Snakes of veins stood out just beneath his skin.

His entire body pulsed volcanically, beginning within him, but ending in her.

Rachel was spellbound. Rapt. It was impossible to look away. Her heart was hammering like a wild thing within her chest as she watched.

And was caught watching.

She’d had sex before. She’d been the naïve one. She’d never had anything like this.

CHAPTER NINE

“Hey! Berne? You ever waking up? Or, do I have to come in there and fetch you?”

Rachel opened her eyes groggily. Blinked on a span of what looked like striped mattress ticking. Despite the dimness, she didn’t have any trouble seeing perfectly. Better than perfectly. She could make out individual threads in the fabric weave.

Where the hell was she?

“You’re missing some fantastic grub out here!”

Munson’s voice filtered through the drapery framing the bed. The room was windowless and dark, except for the sliver of light where the door had been cracked open. It didn’t hamper Rachel’s vision at all. She could pick out all kinds of furniture pieces without squinting. There was a myriad of silver candelabra atop every surface. Everywhere.
Man
. That Wystan sure did know how to impress a girl. Dried wax had congealed in drip patterns all along the candle holder and trays. That was messy. Looked difficult to clean. Somebody was not going to be happy with that chore.

Rachel stretched. Sat. The comforter wrapped about her slid off her shoulders to her waist. She jerked it back up.

She was naked.

Oh. Shit.

Images of Wystan were immediate and fierce. All that man. All that muscle. All that bare flesh. Secured between her thighs. She almost expected to see him.

“I’m having a real English breakfast out here. I could use some help! I’ve got fried back bacon. English sausage. Grilled tomato. Fried bread. Poached eggs. Beans. And they delivered it on silver platters! This has got to match anything served at a five-star hotel! I am so not joking. You coming sometime today, or what?”

Rachel fought a gagging reflex. Everything Munson described came with an instant aroma. It smelled horrid. Stomach-turning. That was odd. She loved bacon. She rolled onto her belly, fishing beneath the lone pillow at the headboard. Her stun-gun was missing. Not a problem. So were the other eight or so pillows. She and Wystan had done some pretty fierce rocking in here. More than once. No doubt it had fallen somewhere. She’d just have to check...

An instant later she was standing at the side of the canopied bed. Rachel pushed the hair off her shoulder.
Oh yeah
. She remembered. Wystan had taken the braids out and finger-combed her hair. That had been erotic. A shiver whispered across her skin as she remembered. The man was amazingly gifted, packing some serious equipment, and majorly talented. It was almost a shame to relegate what had happened with him to the one-night stand file in her head. She really needed to get dressed, though. Find her taser. Join Munson.

Get back to reality
...

She held the blanket about her with one hand while the other lifted the mattress. Nope. Nothing. She lifted the bed frame next, bending at the waist to look beneath it. Her holstered taser was just in sight. She reached in and snagged it. The structure creaked. It did worse when she released it. The posts thumped when they hit the floor. Now. To find her attire.
No
. Probably not. He’d shredded the chemise. The corset was a wash. The skirts were crumpled somewhere, but how could she wear them topless? And she could only see one boot. Maybe he had clothing in some of the drawers. Or the wardrobe closet-things. She was starting to get annoyed. This was so not funny.

Rachel took a step toward a dresser and arrived there on the next step. That had to been a good ten feet in distance. She blinked twice as she regarded the wax-coated candelabra sitting atop a five-drawer bureau. She moved that quickly?

Wait a minute. She’d just lifted a bed. What was it made of? Polystyrene? Was it a fake like everything down at the renaissance faire? It sure looked authentic. The feeling of unease that she should have listened to earlier was back, sending a solid chill up her spine. It was stronger than ever and twice as cold.

She put her holster on the dresser and started opening drawers. The top one contained socks and panties. Really sexy panties. In her size. Weird. She grabbed a pair of each. The second drawer held an array of bras, cups nestled together, packed in rows that resembled a color wheel. It looked like a lingerie display. Rachel sucked in on her bottom lip before lifting the nearest one. It was pink. It had beige lace all about it. She didn’t see anything except the size. 36DD.

Hers.

Okay.

This was going beyond weird. It was getting downright bizarre. And slightly scary. Rachel donned the bra. Stepped into the panties. Shoved her feet into the socks, one after the other. The next drawer down had a selection of ankle-length pants. They were the kind that zipped up the back. They’d been sewn without a waistband, but had darts to shape them. And look. They were all in her size, too. She snagged out a dark pink pair.

The bottom drawer held mock-neck turtleneck sweaters. Good thing. She needed the warmth to counteract the shakes. She grabbed the first one and shoved it over her head, tugging her hair out with a move that made it sizzle with static electricity. Great. The top she’d picked was in another shade of pink. She probably looked ridiculous. She was beyond caring. Everything fit perfectly. No. Better than that. It fit like everything had been sewed to her exact dimensions.

The first armoire door she opened held shoes. Little ballet flats in patent leather black. They fit perfectly.
And...what do you know, Rachel?
There was also a little, quilted pink jacket with pink-shaded fur. And a matching hat.

She shoved the jacket on. Then the hat. Secreted the stun-gun in a lining pocket just beneath her bosom. She really needed some air. Some light. Some reassurance. Some grounding for reality.

Cripes!

Munson had every light lit in the outer room. Every single one. Rachel shaded her eyes when she stepped out. She’d been right. The smell of food was nauseating. Munson looked over and then started laughing. She almost choked on her bite. It wasn’t funny.

“Wow, Berne! That is beyond cute. You look like something out of a 60’s ski-bunny movie. All you need is a pair of skis and a guy in tight black pants and a fair-isle sweater. Or a tuxedo. I wonder if we could get your new man to oblige?”

“Get up. We’re leaving,” Rachel said.

“Now?”

“Yeah. Right now.”

“Well. I have a car coming for me. Should be here in...,” Munson checked her phone. Shook it. Then put it back in her skirt pocket. “Damn thing’s dead. Should have brought my charger cord, but who could have foreseen this?” She lifted an arm to encompass the room about her before going back to her plate.

“You have a car coming? Here or the faire? And when? When is the car coming?”

Munson tilted her head and regarded Rachel for some time. Rachel actually shifted, leaning her weight on her other hip and back. Damn! The woman was a good at interrogating.

“Yes, I have a car coming. They’re sending it to the castle door. It will be here in about ten minutes. Fifteen, maybe.”

“Too long.”

“Surely we can compromise, Berne? Sit down. Drink some coffee. Have some bacon. It’s perfectly fried.”

Munson lifted a slice. Rachel swallowed on a vaguely ill feeling.

“Ten minutes. You said ten. Right?”

That might be enough
. She’d be away from here long before the sun set.

“About. I didn’t have much battery power on my phone, and the reception stinks out here, but I got a message from New York. They woke me up. I’m booked on a red-eye tonight. I have to report back at the office Monday morning. I’m not on my vacation
...like some people. I don’t get another six days here.”

“I’m going with you.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“As a heart attack.”

“Okay. Sir Wystan is a stick in the sack, despite every appearance to the contrary. That probably explains why he’s a bachelor.”

Rachel actually felt the blush. “I hope you don’t expect an answer,” she replied.

“Ah. He’s puny then. Poor man.”

“Eleanor.”

“Maybe he’s too quick to the finish?”

“Will you stop with the questions, and get moving?”

“I’m just trying to get the facts here. You’re single. Beautiful. Available. You hooked up. No surprise there. Your new man has a voice that turns cream into butter, complete with a British accent. He’s a kazillionaire. Classy. Highly secretive, but hell. I don’t blame him. He’d be a paparazzo’s dream. No tabloid would be complete without at least one picture. The guy is hot, Rachel. He’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. He was born handsome, but he obviously works out, too. And now – according to you – we know he’s well-hung, and great in the sack.”

“I never said that.”

“No need, honey. I read faces and body language. You going to answer the real question? The one about why you’d leave...without even saying goodbye?”“

“What time is it?”

“Who cares? It’s Saturday. We busted the bad guy. The world is clear of one more pervert. You should be celebrating. You’re on vacation, remember?”

“When is it going to get dark?”

“Dark? It’s winter, Berne. According to that weather report I got before my phone died, they’re expecting a snowstorm. I’m sure the mead hall is doing bang-up business down at the faire.”

“I mean sundown. When is sundown?”

Rachel’s voice was rising. She ran her hands along her hips. She needed pockets on her pants. A male probably came up with these things. There wasn’t much room for anything. They were great for showing off curves. Stupid design. Women should revolt.

“I don’t know. An hour
...maybe.”

“An hour?” It was almost screeched.

“Shit, Berne. Keep your panties on. I have a hangover headache.”

“But, you’re breakfasting!”

“So, sue me. I slept in. Hell. If they hadn’t called me, I’d probably still be sleeping. And after I found the loo – which is the second door on the right out in the hall, by the way – I came back in here. Lounged around for a bit. Checked for messages. Do you know they had part of a castle explode last night? Somewhere in Cornwall. Rock-something-or-other. Didn’t get the details, but apparently a group of guys started a fire in an oil drum for warmth and ka-boom! A hunk of ruined castle gets more picturesque. Bodies burned beyond recognition.

“They’re not saying terrorist, but something doesn’t sound right. You know me, though. I would’ve read the entire newsflash, but my phone kept going in and out. That being the case, I did some exploring. Found where you’d gone to. And I have to say, you sure were sleeping soundly. Didn’t hear a thing. So, I came back here. Pulled on the braided cord thingee by the fireplace. Some guy named Roderick showed up. I requested a full English breakfast. And there you have it. You really should try some. It’s amazing.”

“Uh...no thanks.”

Munson had a bite of egg-topped toast halfway to her mouth. She stopped to look closely at Rachel. Too closely. “Something you want to tell me?”

She put the bite into her mouth and started chewing. Rachel’s stomach gurgled in revolt. She barely kept from grimacing. She opened her mouth and then shut it. What was she supposed to say?

I had fantastic sex. Incredible. Mind-blowing. Then things got out of hand. I got bit by a vampire. Or
...the shrink was right, and I’m over-stressed.

Maybe she was overreacting here. It had been years since her last one-night stand. If she remembered right, she’d always felt a little weird the next day. She might have eaten something that disagreed with her last night, hence the nausea. She could have been on an adrenaline kick that made movement and strength so odd. She could have imagined things...

Like fangs.

Maybe it
was
job stress, combined with jet-lag, and then excitement over the bust. It could be a sum total of the entire experience. She’d never been out of the states before. She’d never imagined she’d be in an actual castle. She’d never been surrounded by so much history. The entire place exuded a certain atmosphere and she’d only seen a fraction of it. It was medieval. Ancient. They’d driven through countryside that had something mystic and slightly other-worldly about it, too. Maybe she should give Wystan a chance. Find him and ask him point-blank about his claims of vampirism. The moment she saw him. That was the best time to catch anyone in a lie, before explanations could get invented.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” she finally said.

”Have a seat, Rachel. I’ll pour you a cup of java. They make fantastic coffee here. What am I saying? Everything is top of the line. Top.”

Coffee?

She’d gag.

“I’ll wait for you at the front door.”

Rachel took a step toward the door. She arrived there in a blink of time that blurred the view. She turned the knob. And Wystan was standing there.