Authors: Joey W. Hill and Desiree Holt
Nightfall (42 page)
He slid some pillows under her to make her comfortable, and
then he settled between her spread legs and went to work, mashing his cock hard
against the bed to make it mind. In this position, he could not only slide his
tongue over and around her flushed clit and swollen labia, but work his way up
to her rim. Her cunt was still sensitive from her climax, but he knew how to
get it worked up and juicy all over again. He concentrated on the delicate
opening of her rectum, dipping his tongue inside as he kneaded her buttocks.
Reaching under her, he gripped her breasts, started to massage and manipulate
the nipples. He increased the strength of his grip to get rougher as she pushed
her ass harder against his face, making little sexy noises that had his cock at
painful rigidity.
“Quinn,” she gasped, her hands gripping the sheets. He heard
her tear the fabric as he moved back down and seized her clit gently in his
teeth, rolling his tongue over it, worrying the tight bud. He outlined her
labia, sipped, suckled, plunged and nipped endlessly, time having no meaning
until the next climax hit her. She screamed out her pleasure, working herself
against his face.
He had plans for that third climax, but his Mistress
overrode them. Still shuddering, she flipped to her back, reached for him, and
rolled them right to the floor. He hit on the bottom with a thud that sang
through sore muscles, but she was straddling him already, her fangs unsheathing
and eyes glittering with preternatural intent. Gripping his cock in her small,
strong fingers, she guided it into the blessed heat of her cunt. She was tight,
so fucking tight, still slick and spasming from her climax.
She clamped her knees against his sides, put both hands over
those marks on his chest and came to a full stop, eyes locked on his face. She
began to squeeze him with her muscles inside, not allowing either of them any
other type of movement, not until he lifted his hands, cradled her breasts,
began to stroke the nipples. Her chin rose, her lips parting, wet as she licked
them. She rolled her head back onto her shoulders at the sensation, hummed a
litany of pleasurable noises. He kept doing it as she kept milking him inside.
It was the most erotic thing he’d ever experienced, seeing her internalizing
everything he was doing to her with a bare minimum of movement, as she revved
herself up again using his body.
“I will never get enough of using your body, Quinn. I
fucking love it.” The feral gaze she swept over him told him she meant it. She
looked like she wanted to devour him. Confirming it, she caught the wrist that
held the third mark and brought it to her mouth, fingers overlapping that brand
as she bit, tasting him. He groaned, aroused impossibly further at watching her
sink her fangs into that mark of ownership. He was so fucking close, but he
kept stroking her breasts with his free hand, loving the jut of her aroused
nipples, the wet sucking noise her internal movements were causing between
their bodies. He wanted to see her rise and fall, watch her breasts quiver with
the movement, watch the flush of climax take her once more. Earn his reward and
punishment both.
She could be merciful at times, his Mistress. She began to
move like flowing water. Up and down, body undulating. When she released him,
he moved his grip to her hips, brought her down harder, loving the expulsion of
her sweet breath, the feminine grunt of pleasure.
“Quinn…now…”
She was coming, thrust over that edge once more, and she’d
given him permission to fall right along with her. His cock needed no further
encouragement. He fairly exploded, shoving up hard inside her, his body
convulsing with the violence of it, bucking his ass up off the wooden floor,
wanting to drive deeper, harder. He rolled them so he could do that, the male
animal in him taking over in truth, wanting to show her he considered her his
too, all his.
She allowed it and their cries tangled together, resounding
off the walls as the orgasm captured both of them, taking them beyond pleasure
into a realm of inexplicable bliss, a place where none of the rest mattered.
Not the Laurents of the world or vampires, not domineering fathers or the
endless white noise of the world. Nothing mattered but the love between them.
Quinn saw heaven in a vampire’s blue eyes, wide and glazed, full of him and
what they created together.
* * * * *
“I think I have splinters in my ass.”
Muffling a laugh against her shoulder, Quinn levered his
weight up enough to look down at her. Her tousled blonde hair covered one eye, the
other looking like a satisfied blue-eyed cat, amused with them both. Her
expression was also soft with even more intent emotions, ones that made him
bend, press a kiss to her shoulder. “Let me check.”
He lifted her with effort up to the bed, eased her down to
her stomach. Made a show of studying her heart-shaped bottom with great
thoroughness, eliciting a chuckle from her. She tried to pinch his cock since
he was standing by the bed, leaning over her. He evaded her, but bent to press
other kisses on the white curves as she let out a little sigh.
“Come lie with me, Quinn.”
He did, gathering her into his arms, holding her close,
pressing more kisses on her temple, her closed eyes, and then finding her lips
for a sweet, prolonged kiss that eased both of them, until he thought they’d
melted into the bed. “I need to take us down to the cellar. It will be dawn
soon.”
“Soon,” she murmured. Her arm tightened around him. “I trust
you to care for me.”
“And I trust you for the same.” It was the first time he’d
said such a thing to a woman in his life, he realized. Strangely, it didn’t
frighten him. Instead it felt absolutely right, as if he’d just been waiting
for her all of his life.
Her lips curved.
“All right then. Take me downstairs so I can get some sleep.
Caring for you is a lot of work, you know.”
He snorted at that but complied. When he got them settled
again, making sure the door was latched from inside so no one could
inadvertently open it to let in daylight, she wanted him right back in the bed
with her. He stretched out beside her, cradling her in his arms, marveling at
the strength in her slim body. He was sure he’d never get enough of holding
her. Of fucking her. Of lovingher. Of serving her. Despite the
intensity of the past few days, he was infused with a contentment he’d never
thought to find. They lay there for a while, saying nothing, his fingers
gliding up and down her arm, hers playing over his chest and abdomen.
“I’ve been thinking,” she said at length, sounding half
asleep.
“Three words that strike fear in my heart.”
“I have faith in your courage.” She tugged on his chest
hair. He caught her hand, but he loved that he could be so relaxed with her, so
at ease. And that she was the same way with him.
“I talked to Alan Jackson’s tour manager last week,” she
continued.
“Of course you did.” He grinned in the dark. “Should I be
jealous?”
“Only if you misbehave. I want to elevate After Hours to a
higher level. Bring in some name acts. Advertise beyond the county.”
“Exactly why would any acts of that stature want to come
here?”
“Jackson’s manager said Alan and others like him look for
some down time between the big concert halls where they can play what they like
and hang out with their fans in a nonthreatening environment.”
“Nonthreatening. Has he ever met you?”
She pinched him, and he yelped, chuckling. “So what did he
say?”
“He said Alan might be able to do a one-night appearance at
After Hours next month.”
“You really are a wonder. Should I ask how you have such a
close relationship with the man?”
“I—was able to do him a favor once. In New York.” Her voice
had a sudden, faraway sound to it that made Quinn think the less he knew about
that the better.
“And now he’s returning it,” he guessed.
“Yes. We’ll need to hire some extra help for that one night.
Pay for some advertising.”
He ran his knuckles down her cheek. “You’re the manager.
Whatever you decide.”
Now it was her turn to laugh. “But I have a very demanding
boss.”
For the next few moments, they were both silent, then she
let out a sigh that had a grumbling note to it. “Oh, and don’t worry. I told
him there’d be a cap on drinks for the band. You have to watch musicians, or
they’ll cost you more than they’re worth.”
He started to laugh.
“God, Mistress, I love you.”
Shut up and let me sleep.
I've always had an aversion to reading, watching or hearing
interviews of favorite actors, authors, musicians, etc. because so often the
real person doesn't measure up to the beauty of the art they produce. Their
politics or religion are distasteful, or they're shallow and self-absorbed, a
vacuous mophead without a lick of sense. From then on, though I may appreciate
their craft or art, it has somehow been tarnished. Therefore, whenever I'm
asked to provide personal information about myself for readers, a ball of
anxiety forms in my stomach as I think: "Okay, the next couple of
paragraphs can change forever the way someone views my stories." Why on
earth does a reader want to know about me? It's the story that's important.
So here it is. I've been given more blessings in my life
than any one person has a right to have. Despite that, I'm a Type A, borderline
obsessive-compulsive paranoiac who worries I will never live up to
expectations. I've got more phobias than anyone (including myself) has patience
to read about. I can't stand talking on the phone, I dread social commitments,
and the idea of living in monastic solitude with my husband and animals, books
and writing is as close an idea to paradise as I can imagine. I love chocolate,
but with that deeply ingrained, irrational female belief that weight equals
worth, I manage to keep it down to a minor addiction. I adore good movies. I'm
told I work too much. Every day is spent trying to get through the never ending
"to do" list to snatch a few minutes to write.
This is because, despite all these mediocre and typical
qualities, for some miraculous reason, these wonderful characters well up out
of my soul with stories to tell. When I manage to find enough time to write,
sufficient enough that the precious "stillness" required rises up and
calms all the competing voices in my head, I can step into their lives, hear
what they are saying, what they're feeling, and put it down on paper. It's a
magic beyond description, akin to truly believing my husband loves me, winning
the trust of an animal who has known only fear or apathy, making a true
connection with someone, or knowing for certain I've given a reader a moment of
magic through those written words. It's a magic that reassures me there is
Someone, far wiser than myself, who knows the permanent path to that garden of
stillness, where there is only love, acceptance and a pen waiting for hours and
hours of uninterrupted, blissful use.
If only I could finish that darned "to do" list.
I welcome feedback from readers - actually, I thrive on it
like a vampire, whether it's good or bad.
Desiree Holt’s writing is flavored with the rich experiences
of her life, including a long stretch in the music business representing every
kind of artist, from country singer to heavy metal rock bands. For several
years she also ran her own public relations agency, handling any client who
interested her, many of whom might recognize themselves in the pages of her
stories.
She is twice a finalist for an EPIC Award, a nominee for a
Romantic Times Reviewers Choice Award. Her Ellora’s Cave release Rodeo Heat was
the winner of the first 5 Heart Sweetheart of the Year Award at The Romance
Studio, as well as a two-time CAPA Award-winner for best BDSM book of the year.
She is a winner of the Virginia Romance Writers Holt Medallion. Romance Junkies
said of her work: “Desiree Holt is the most amazing erotica author of our time
and each story is more fulfilling than the last.”
Joey and Desiree welcome comments from readers. You can find
their websites and email addresses on their author bio pages at
www.ellorascave.com
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Nightfall
ISBN 9781419992872
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Nightfall Copyright © 2014 Joey W. Hill & Desiree Holt
Edited by Briana St. James
Cover design by Allyse Leodra
Cover photography by Balazs Kovacs Images, Studio10Artur
Electronic book publication August 2014
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