Michele Hauf - Her Vampire Husband

Creed sucked in his lower lip. Mercy, but the wolf had a nice pair.

“I’ll have you know there’s probably not a hooker on the streets who can afford this bit of black lace. It’s from Paris.”

“Ah? As am I, or thereabouts.”

“That’s right, my hubby the Frenchman.” She leaned forward, propping her elbows on her knees. The position did amazing things with her breasts. Creed could see the rosy circles surrounding her nipples. “Always had a thing for Frenchmen.”

“Is that so? You could have fooled me.”

“Frenchmen who don’t bite,” she said with a scratch at her neck. “So what’s the deal with you going out? I should think a rich guy like you can afford to have your bites shipped in.”

She was so gauche and, yet, entertainingly so. Tonight’s wig matched the pink marabou and it bobbed sexily against her porcelain-fine jaw as she nodded to the muted beat.

“Normally I entertain donors here at the house. I didn’t want to disturb you though, so my hunting habits had to change.”

She shrugged. “I don’t care. So long as I don’t have to watch.”

Creed stretched an arm along the plush velvet cushion and propped an ankle across his knee. No harm in marveling over her. Drawing in her delicious scent. “You know, some do like to watch. Taking blood is a sensual act.”

“Yeah? Maybe for the vampire.”

“For the donor, as well.”

“Donor? You mean victim.”

“They’re not victims if I don’t harm them.”

“You don’t consider a bite harm?”

“I use persuasion to erase their memory of our transaction. The bite heals overnight and they wake with only minor soreness.”

“Donors? Transaction? Okay, that’s enough.” She pressed the off button on the remote and stood. “You’ve thoroughly creeped me out.”

“And you continue to intrigue me, Blu. Did you intend to seduce anyone in particular tonight with that clothing choice?”

“This little thing? Dude, this is what I wear to bed.”

He rubbed his throbbing brow. “I am not a dude. Your language skills impress me little.”

“Oh, that’s right. You’re an old man who’s lived it all, seen it all, and must be so cultured and refined. Ha! I can actually mean it now when I talk to my girlfriend about my old man.”

“Do you speak of me?”

“Hell, yeah. I told Bree all about our skyrockets-and-lightning wedding night.”

“Blu, do you ever tire of this front you put on constantly?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Sex incarnate had no idea how hot she made him merely by standing there, one leg out jauntily and twisting on the heel of her shoe. Or maybe she did.

Yes, she must be aware of every single move she made, and how best to move for the optimum impact on the opposite sex. And yet—

“You keep people back with your blasé attitude and your snotty comments. Why is that? Are you afraid to allow people close to you?”

She stepped across the aisle. Legs spread and hips high, she bent over him. Her breasts were level with his line of vision, but he instead looked into her eyes. There in the depths glittered a sadness Creed was beginning to realize may have been there a very long time.

Why he realized that, he did not know. Because she came off as hyperfun, sexy and all about the flirt. Truly, was it a facade?

“I let a lot of people close, Creed,” she said precisely. “The ones I trust.”

“How does one go about cracking your exterior? If you won’t accept the trust I offer, then I’ve no means of winning this game.”

“That’s your problem. You think this is a game.”

“And you don’t? You’ve played the Tease Card yet again. I’ve known you but a few days, but already I’ve learned that’s your favorite one.”

“Is not.”

“Prove it.”

The pink wig bopped at a jaunty angle as she cocked her head, considering. She had to know she played him. The sexy clothing was a dead giveaway. Who wore an outfit like that to listen to music? No, she had been expecting him.

Blu leaned closer, the tips of her pink hair dusting his wrist. Red lips hovered near his and her breath played over his mouth, his chin. Coconut air surrounded them. Beyond that scent though, something darker and sweeter lingered. Werewolf blood.

Creed’s heartbeat slid across the plate and hung suspended, waiting for the next play.

“I like to tease,” she whispered, her eyes dazzling across his.

“That is apparent.”

He would not reach for her, though it killed him to remain aloof and uninterested with her warm, enticing flesh so close.

No. Werewolf blood interested him little. Let her have this hand. Let her see she could trust he would not always need to be in control. That was how the masters gained enemy ground.

But it was difficult to restrain himself. Her breasts were right there, barely enclosed with mere wisps of black lace. A flick of his fingers would splay them across that luscious, tan flesh.

“You’ve been drinking blood?”

He nodded.

“Thought so. No kisses tonight, husband.”

With that, she strode out in a sweep of flowing sheer fabric and bouncing pink marabou.

No sympathy for this devil tonight. Creed eased a hand over his erection. Each time, her teasing play made him harder. The werewolf princess was getting under his skin.

And he liked that just fine.

But no man was a rock. Nor could any sane vampire avoid the lure of the exotic. Damn, but her blood smelled delicious. A dark sweetness he would know, and soon.

BLU CLOSED THE BEDROOM door and tugged off her wig. Sliding a hand down her neck, she traced her fingers over the warmth between her breasts and down her stomach where she absolutely flamed.

“Insufferable vampire.”

That man—that vampire —had gotten her hot. And he hadn’t even touched her.

It was the way he had looked at her. Those dark irises, surrounded by impeccable white. Focused. Delving. Promising. And maybe bemused. Like, if she had touched him, he would have touched back. And that touch would have so been worth the effort of waiting in the theater room for two hours before he’d finally found her.

And when had she ever been turned on by a man’s voice? Creed’s was calm and measured, but had a burnished edge of darkness that vibrated at the base of her throat. Mercy, he could fuck a woman with that voice.

“This is so wrong.”

And yet, she’d set out this evening on a quest to gain control. And strangely, she’d earned some. He now knew it was she who would set the pace between them.

Maybe.

She turned her cheek against the wall. It was papered in old-fashioned flocked arabesques, and whispered against her skin. Sighing, she eased a finger down inside her black lace panties. She was wet. For him.

“Wrong, wrong, wrong!”

But while flirting with a vampire should be disgraceful, it didn’t stop her from satisfying the ache that yearned for appeasement. She stroked herself, slowly, steadily.

The image of Creed’s sexy stare haunted her. Let him look. Let him hunger for her. Let him…make her hot and horny.

She didn’t need a man to feel good. She could take care of business by herself.

And she did, bringing herself to a climax, clinging to the wall, yet wanting it to be a man’s broad shoulders she clung to instead.

CREED PAUSED AS HE PASSED the guest bedroom door. Whimpers, moans, a huffing sigh. The sounds inside were unmistakable. She was…

“Pleasuring herself?”

Had she been turned on just now in the theater room? Had the saucy pink princess gotten as hot as he had?

“Oh, my sweet, wicked werewolf.”

He turned to grip the doorknob but stopped himself.