Hunters' Game [Paranormal, vampire, ménage]
Description

In modern Toronto, two vampires stalk the night, their hunting a game that is seductive and deadly. In a darkly compelling Goth Club, they find the prey they seek for their pleasures, and the night runs crimson with blood and unquenchable thirsts....
________________________________
“Can I get you a drink?”
The unexpected voice startled her and she reluctantly looked away from her lover. The newcomer was tall and thin, dressed in midnight-colored pants and vest. His shirt was a frothy creation of soft cotton and lace-trimmed cuffs. His hair was shoulder-length chestnut silk, haloing a face that reflected both innocence and sensual knowledge. He was rather exquisite, she conceded silently.
She nodded and allowed him to guide her to the bar. She accepted a glass of red wine and strolled toward the central row of tables. As expected, the boy followed her, but they stopped at the half wall that ringed the dance floor instead of moving into the shadows where tables afforded more privacy to the patrons. She leaned on the wide ledge that acted as a counter surface for all who stood there, and peered at the gyrating dancers who turned the area into a roiling sea of color and motion.
“You’re very beautiful,” the young man whispered, almost as if he were afraid to let her hear the words.
“Thank you,” she replied into his ear. “What is your name?”
“Felix. You are?”
“Cliantha.” Her response was vague as she searched the room for Demetri. As before, the pale glow of his presence drew her. The tingle within her began to fan outward, the warmth and longing becoming more intense with each moment that he denied her his touch.
Cliantha?
She closed her eyes and shuddered as her body ached with aroused hunger. Demetri’s voice inside her head was a caress, a promise of passions and madness to be sated and indulged at their whims. His displeasure at her companion’s attention amused her, but she wasn’t foolish enough to disregard his annoyance. She looked at the boy and smiled. Before she could utter a sound, she felt Demetri at her back.
“My love,” she murmured as he pushed aside the collar of her silk jacket and lowered his lips to the bared curve of her neck. A flush of warmth rippled her spine and she felt her stomach lurch wildly as she pressed herself back against him.
“Go.”
Demetri’s quiet command sent the boy away instantly. Cliantha squirmed against him when his hands pulled her hips more snugly to his.
“Why did you want to come to this place, Demetri?” Her voice was breathless as their bodies moved in subtle rhythm with the blaring music. She tried to turn, but he refused her movement.
Demetri’s hands shifted, slid under the concealing black silk of her jacket, and quickly covered the soft mounds of her breasts. His fingers teased rigid nipples, tugged the sensitive tips repeatedly as he pressed more tightly to her. He laughed when she grabbed his left hand and guided it to her thigh. She raised her leg, rested her foot on the bar that ran beneath the ledge a few inches above the floor, then leaned to the right. Demetri now had easy access to her. When he hesitated, she covered his hand with hers and moved it between her legs. She wore nothing under the heavy skirt. Demetri’s right hand splayed across her stomach, held her immobile as he penetrated her moist depths, fingers burrowing into her flesh as she tried not to cry out her pleasure. She trembled violently in his arms, thrilled to his touch as the heat and hunger rose to consume her.
“Fuck me, Demetri.” She wanted him with desperate hunger, mindless of their surroundings and the curious looks that were surreptitiously being cast in their direction. Demetri’s expert fingers were teasing, gliding over hyper-sensitive flesh as he kissed the side of her neck and his tongue caressed the throbbing vein at the base.
“Tell me what you want, slut,” he murmured next to her ear. His fingers pushed deeper into her pussy, sliding in and out in a rapid rhythm, while







Buy

 
Denyse Bridger
Canadian born and bred, and a lifelong dreamer, I began writing at an early age and can’t recall a time when I wasn’t creating in some artistic form. My life has had several on More...