Skin Trade

I put my hands on his belt to steady myself, then leaned up and licked the wound. It was blood, hot, salty, metallic. I put my mouth against the wound and sucked. It was sweet copper pe

I got to my feet, having to steady myself against Rick’s body as I stood. I wiped my mouth with my hand, and knew I needed a rag or something to get the blood.

“Most people would have hesitated before drinking a lycanthrope’s blood,” Vittorio said.

“If we hesitate, you hurt them.”

“Ava, another dancer.” This time Rocco watched the hostage leave. Only four now.

He paced in a circle, tapping the blade against his leg. “I must come up with things that displease you, or I will run out of hostages before I get to hurt anyone again.” He turned to me with a huge smile. It tugged at the burned side of his face, so that the smile didn’t quite work. “Suck on something else; you can pick any of the men, just bring them. To give you more incentive, I’ll use the holy water on your fair friend again if you refuse.”

I looked from Rick to Requiem. “May I ask a question?”

“You may.”

“Has Requiem fed?”

“No.”

“Then you know he can’t go orally or any other way until he’s taken blood.”

“Then you are left with only two choices unless you wish to include the sergeant.”

I fought not to look as uncomfortable as that extra suggestion made me. “Max hasn’t fed this morning either, so it has to be Rick. You’re only pretending to give me choices.”

“Then do him.” He was standing by Requiem now, and I realized that there was a line of holy water vials on the table above his head.

I went to Rick and started undoing his belt. Rick made a small protesting noise. I took a breath in, and blew it out. I whispered, “It’s not a fate worse than death, Rick.”

He went still in his chains and watched me undo his pants. I wasn’t sure if the patient watching was less uncomfortable to me, or the struggles and noises. I got his pants unzipped and worked his pants down over his ass; I wanted the zipper out of the way both for his safety and mine. I’d kept his underwear in place, and only moved it out of the way once I was kneeling in front of him. He was as lovely below the waist as above, and there were no cuts here yet; I was hoping to keep it that way.

I looked up the line of his body and found him watching me. His blue eyes were angry, yes, but there was something else in them now, too. Apparently, he’d taken my not a fate worse than death to heart, because there was that darkness in his eyes that every man gets at about this time. I took him in my hands and lowered him to my mouth. He was already erect enough that I had to bring him down to me, because he was pressed against the front of his own body. He slipped inside my mouth, as full and smooth and good as any. I liked giving oral sex. I liked the feel of it in my mouth, and the look on a man’s face while you did it. I liked the sounds they made, and the way their bodies reacted. I gave myself completely to the man in front of me, and the sensation of my mouth going over and around him. I kissed and sucked and licked, using my hand on him to guide and caress and squeeze. I let myself spill into the sex, and there was nothing else. I glanced up and found his eyes wide. His breathing quickened. He was so hard now, except for the soft smoothness of the tip of him. His body spasmed in the chains, and it wasn’t pain this time. He closed his eyes, head flung back, and I worked him in and out of my mouth quicker, in and out, in and out, as fast as I could. I tasted the first hint that he was close; the texture changed, ever so slightly, like a preview of what was to come.

Vittorio’s voice. “Two dancers, if you let him go on your breasts.”

I didn’t hesitate. I just yanked my shirt over my head and let it fall. I held him in my hand, working him, keeping him close; I didn’t want to lose ground. I had to let go to undo my bra and throw it over my shoulder to the floor with the shirt. Then I plunged my mouth back over him, cupping, and playing, and teasing until I felt him tighten in my mouth. I moved off him just in time, stroking him with my hand as he spilled upward, outward, in a thick, warm rain of it. It spattered across my shoulders, my breasts, and I threw my head back, thrust my breasts more forward, and it also kept it out of my eyes.

Rick spasmed above me, rattling the chains, making small noises against the gag.

Vittorio was huddled against the counter; he looked at me, at Rick, at the show of it, with a look of eager horror.

I heard Ava and Rocco go to the door to let more of the hostages go. I started crawling toward the vampire, with my breasts hanging down, and the warm liquid begi

My skin ran with that sibilant magic, and I knew that Rocco had said the words, and the ji

The glance was a mistake. Vittorio used that blinding speed to be up and at Requiem’s side. I couldn’t move fast enough, but I had one power that was fast as thought. I opened the ardeur and thrust it like a weapon at the vampire. It might not have worked except he’d just had me do one of his fantasies. The idea of me and sex was already firm in his mind. He wanted to look.

I didn’t run. I stalked, I writhed, I made everything work, and he couldn’t look away. He was still staring at me when I wrapped my hand around his and cupped the vial of holy water, sending it to shatter harmlessly on the floor.

“I will ruin him,” he whispered.

“That’s not what you want.”

“I can’t have what I want,” he said.

I put his empty hands on my breasts, and held his gaze with mine. His hands started smoothing the liquid across my breasts, as if he didn’t realize he was doing it. “Your eyes,” he said, “your eyes are full of fire, like cognac diamonds.”

“Say it,” I whispered.

He leaned his face downward, as I leaned upward. “Say it,” I whispered.

“Release, I want release.”

His mouth met mine, and we kissed. One moment it was gentle, the next he fed at my mouth, so hard his fangs cut my lips and filled our mouths with the sweet taste of blood. Blood made my hungers rise, but it was too late for any of the others; all that was left was the ardeur. I had denied it, tried to cage it, control it, but in that moment I understood why kings had offered Belle Morte their crowns, why women had offered everything for one more night with Jean-Claude; I understood what it meant to be Belle Morte’s line. The ardeur wasn’t something I had to feed to stay alive, it was the way I fed. It was my blood.

Vittorio made small eager noises against my mouth, his hands eager on my body. I felt the growing pressure of it build inside him, and I felt the ardeur mingle with the power of the beasts, all of it so warm and alive, so not vampire. His breathing quickened, his body tensed, and I drove the ardeur and the power of the tigers into him, like a seeking hand, and gave him, for a moment, a taste of it. I gave him the shadow of what he had lost, and his mouth tore away from mine in a scream, as his body spasmed against mine, his hands clutching at me. He collapsed to the floor beside the table, taking me, still in his arms, to the floor with him. He was crying and laughing. “How did you do that?”