When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself, and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,
Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts my self almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate;
For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with kings. -
Shakespeare’s 29th Sonnet
POSTING PLACE FOR
NC-17 AND XXX EXCERPTS
"Growl and roar-it's okay to let the beast out."
Like horses? Vampires?
How about shifters?
at Whipped Cream
He’d only been given two assignments all week which meant someone else got the call. Fuck Reaper. Saturday evening rolled around again and Torch returned to Swanks. Unreasonable yearning remained for Cristophe but should he scent him, he vowed not to make himself known. Right!
After securing a beer from a bartender who wouldn’t remember Torch or what he wore, he grabbed a corner spot and remained hidden in dark shadows. He gave a cursory glance to three men taking seats two tables away before training eyes on the door. Torch overheard one newcomer rib another about not being able to hang on to his lover.
A very controlled response followed. “I could have if I wanted. A month of dating then four of jerking off and finger fucking with Cristophe was quite enough. He’d never be what I require for happiness.”
The name got his attention. Showing himself, Torch snatched a chair out and sat. “Fellas mind company.” Cristophe was an odd name and curiosity got the better of him. Times like this, he coveted Reaper’s ability to delve into minds without physical contact. “Can I buy your next round?”
“Of course.” A guy with brown hair who could have played linebacker for any pro team grinned. “How’d you get past the bouncers in that outfit.”
He wasn’t the owner of the voice Torch sought to know better. “Name’s Lex Torcher.” Should have paid more attention to surroundings instead of gluing eyes on the front entrance. Reaching to give a quick handshake, he sorted out all he needed to know. Nothing complicated or important in his mind so Torch sifted quickly through useless garbage. Slimy, Narrow minded, full of discrimination. Robert flashed into Torch’s psyche. Yeah, he looked like a Bob. Gay men rife with prejudices perplexed Torch.
Giving this bias jackass his last kiss would be a pleasure but taking out someone whose number wasn’t called happened to be the biggest no-no in his line of work. Death would be welcomed compared to what would befall Torch at the hands of Reaper. Eyeing the man, Torch replied, “Money boasts a big voice.”
Slight, young man with close cropped blond hair joined their conversation. “Can you afford it?” Not the voice. But the type he’d go for any other night had he presented strength. A flunky of the others, he didn’t even rate a handshake.
There it is. Torch twisted in his seat to examine the only man left. “Call me Torch.” Hands touched for seconds. Much more complicated mind. Cold, hard, and nasty fucker with almost black, professionally styled hair and icy blue eyes. Buried deep in the stranger’s mind Torch filtered out an encounter showing him naked beneath his large friend. Interesting because he definitely wasn’t bottom material. Damn it. He let go too soon to catch a fleeting vision of Crist and something involving the two older men.
“Tad Whitman.” Disdain twisted his face as eyes raked Torch. “We’re supposed to believe you have it like that?”
Brief contact showed both older men were sons of bitches who would eventually chew the smaller, younger guy up and spit him out without another thought. Tad and Bob wore designer suits. Old money. Not theirs. What had Crist seen in Tad? “What do you all do for a living? Wait, let me guess.” He perused the linebacker. “Bob’s legal counsel in daddy’s law firm.”
“Wait, I never told you… It’s Robert.”
Ignoring the piece of shit, Torch switched attention to the insignificant blond and grinned. “You work for Bob, or rather, his father.” Returning to observing the one who garnered interest, he remarked, “Your father’s north Jersey dealership sold me my car.”
“Impossible. Whitman’s NJ only sells European luxury and sports cars.”
Before Torch countered, the fragrance assaulted him. Cristophe.
Bob, in shallow glory, forgot Torch didn’t call him Robert. He chuckled and said, “Ex heading your way.”
“Hmm, my night might get better.”
They all watched as the gorgeous man sashayed in their direction. Fuck’s sake, the way Crist’s hips swayed, the grace with which he took each step, it pulled Torch further into his web.
“Bullshit if you think you can still pull him.” Bob’s laughter grated on Torch’s nerves and he noted jealousy. “I do get it though. He is one pretty fucker who I wouldn’t mind finger fucking.”
“Screw you.” Tad twisted and flashed a fake smile in Crist’s direction. “I can have him.”
Torch, after a quick glance at Crist, thought of knocking Tad, the entitled piece of shit, from his chair. He made a quick decision. “You mean Crist? He’s joining me.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Seeing the look of surprise on Tad’s face made Torch’s year.
What the fuck am I doing?
Thirst rode Grayson Colter like the skeleton of death, its boney knees digging deep into his soul. His dry mouth hung open catching moisture from the air. The scent assailed him and his nostril’s flared as he twisted in every direction. The smell of sex mingled with the tantalizing aroma of food—blood. Her blood.
Master of this land, he wouldn’t allow anyone else to have what he wanted. Astor’s henchmen escaped this time but would pay dearly for what they’d done. First, he needed to find her. Weak from battle, his senses weren’t as sharp as they should be and he wouldn’t be able to hold the shape of his raven long. Where was she? The heartbeat, faint, slowed even more and made it harder to locate but Gray had to find her before she died. Her life’s force would be no good to him then. His eyes swept the barren, stony landscape. Why couldn’t he see her? No holes or craggy rocks to hide behind. The Joshua trees were green and full. Could she have climbed one in her condition?
Time ran out as sunrise peeked over the horizon. Only minutes left before it would be too late. Using what strength he had, he became mist and floated invisibly across the dust basin. This would give him a little more time. A glint of something shiny protruding from the tree closest drew his attention. He streaked toward it. The ring she’d stole from him. Its glittering jewel is what would save her.
He needed to hurry. Her body lay draped over a limb, blood streamed down her arm. Weakness for sustenance overtook him. Gray materialized and gently lifted her from the tree holding her close. God forgive him for his need, but he was helpless to fight the pull of her sweet blood. Her fingers were drawn to his lips and he suckled ruby red liquid dripping from them. He savored the taste of her as it soared through his veins. Vowing to take only enough to save himself and get them to safety in a nearby cave.
Rays of light burned his skin. Her life’s force gave him energy to clothe himself and keep the sun at bay for a short while. Enough. The voice whispered in his head. He released her fingers and He lifted straight into the air leaving a whirl of dust as he sped toward a cave he’d used often when caught by daybreak in his desert home. Skin puckered, forcing a groan of anguish through dry lips. A ragged sound escaped his throat in a whoosh of air when he spied the cavern’s opening. His pain eased at hearing water lap against rock. Dank, musky darkness welcomed him inside the cocoon of safety. The warm pool of alkaline water would help him heal. Their clothes vanished and he dropped neck deep into the wetness holding her gently in his arms. Though she barely moved, Gray yet smelled life in her. He wouldn’t let her die.
Saliva pooled in his mouth. Drink. He must quiet the hunger.
His tongue licked out, tantalized by lingering sweetness on his lips. He looked forward to the task of cleansing her, his mouth touching every crevice. His dick hardened at the vision in his mind of sinking into her body. Christ, he hoped he could at least wait until she healed. Gray used cramped fingers to brush damp hair from her forehead wishing he could see her blue eyes. Dark lashes fluttered on pink cheeks. Why had she run from him last night? And why can’t I read her? He’d have to wait for her to gain consciousness for the answer to his first question. The second baffled him. Only one other could help him understand that. The bastard he’d pledged to kill for letting his brutes hurt her. Astor Cade. Another master vampyre who visited Colter lands often.
They were best friends—the oldest vampyres in the States.
He went over last night in his mind.
His and Astor’s parties always got out of control. Humans arrived in droves, hangers-on looking for drugs and excitement. He didn’t know why he continued to put up with his best friend’s bullshit. But he did because they’d spent decades hunting and living together.
Gray lived on inherited money. Millions. He managed it well and and had never done an honest day’s work in his life. Astor was blue collar when made by a maniacal vamp who later died, deservedly, at the hands of a scorned human woman.
Tired of his life and the same crap every day, Gray had decided not to host the parties any longer. When Astor turned up last night followed by three or four hard core blood and drug addicts, his first instinct was not to allow them entrance, but bored and in need of diversion, he relented.
Where she came from, or when she arrived, Gray didn’t know. He spotted her across the room and his dead heart damn near struck a beat. Hair deep red, styled short and close to her face, looked feathery soft. His fingers itched to run through it. Sparkling blue eyes gazed at him, and when she turned, she presented him with the tightest ass he’d ever seen. His sharp vision saw no tracks on her arms which were bare. A skimpy royal blue outfit hugged her like a second skin and hid very little. Breasts mounded out of the top.
Gray’s nose pinched as he drew a deep breath into his lungs. Fresh, clean soapy scent assailed him, but it was the smell of sex that almost toppled him. Mystified, he couldn’t wait to get closer. Sex over the ages had practically become a bore and he partook only when he wanted to. He tried to enter her mind without success. What the fuck! Puzzled, he kept her under close scrutiny. Everyone else’s thoughts dripped into his mind, cluttered his head. He usually had no trouble blocking voices out. Tonight, she distracted him.
She glanced nervously about and when she moved to the stairs, he followed her. Taking the steps two at a time, she disappeared. He stayed close behind her cloaking his presence. She peeped in door after door, ending at his room. She’s a damn thief.
Lucky, or she knew gems, she took the best piece from his jewelry box. The antique ring belonged to someone very special from his past, someone who’d been dead for centuries. Humans were easily manipulated and had he been able to reach in her mind, Gray would have stopped her. He’d spent too much time learning to blend in with society to strike out as he would have done decades ago.
But that’s another story.