Fresh out of NYU’s School of Journalism, Savannah Blake is hungry for a story to catapult her career as a serious news reporter. She’ll do whatever it takes to get the scoop, even if it means sleeping with the enemy.
Vampire fledgling Bobby DuBois recently relocated to the Big Apple from the Louisiana Bayou. Taking a job as a bartender at The Crypt, a bar crawling with creatures of the night, he tries to stay under the radar. The task, however, is made difficult by a smart-talking blonde with killer legs and a million-dollar smile. Savannah struts up to the bar fishing for information on his boss, Andreas Kristopolous, the notorious leader of New York City’s vampire coven.
For the life of him, Bobby can’t figure out why the beautiful snitch looks so damn familiar. By the time the mystery is solved, it’s too late. He’s already addicted.
Be Warned: spanking, anal sex.
Bobby swiped his hand through his hair and groaned. The thought of drinking Savannah’s blood left him horny and hard as steel. His eyes roved over her curves, trying to decide which mound he’d sink his fangs into first. Her breasts? Her pussy? Her ass? Maybe all three.
He glanced at Savannah’s creamy thighs, then followed the path upward. His attention was drawn to the soft, supple skin just below her ass that poked out from the hem of her short skirt.
The sweet spot. That’s where he’d take her. In more ways than one.
Once they‘d entered the fifth floor Manhattan flat she called home, Bobby took a moment to acclimate himself to his surroundings. The room was mostly dark, cast in shadows by the tiny rays of moonlight that shone through the windows. Shiny wood flooring reflected the light and bounced off the ground to give Bobby a glimpse of the apartment’s layout. All four walls were painted in a shade of pale pink. The headboard and armoire had been stained with a white-wash finish. A stark ivory-colored couch sat in the corner of the room, without a single spot to blemish its subtle elegance. Everything about the room oozed delicate femininity, in absolute contrast to the seductive vixen dressed in black who’d come on to him in the bar. Savannah was definitely a mystery, one he intended to solve before the end of the night.
Bobby kicked the door shut and turned her in his arms, her heaving breasts pressed against the adjacent wall. With his foot, he spread Savannah’s knees apart, and prepared her for his assault. Already, he could smell the musky scent of her arousal. The distinct aromas of sex and blood swirled about in his nose. He felt like a connoisseur of fine wine sniffing a glass of rich, fruity goodness moments before he consumed it. Bobby reached between her legs and swiped a dollop of feminine juices onto his finger, then sucked it into his mouth. He heard Savannah gasp, saw her body shudder in response to his touch.
“Hmm. You taste sweet.” Bobby let out an audible sigh. Would Savannah’s blood taste as scrumptious as her sex? Just thinking about it made him drool. Her lush curves deserved to be worshiped, yet he knew he couldn’t do them justice in his current state of mind. Already, he felt the beast rise to the surface, and if he didn’t act fast, he’d bite her before he could fuck her.
Bobby’s fingers delved inside her pussy, his movements desperate. Erratic. She was already wet, but he wanted her drenched in desire. Drizzling with need. He counted on that moisture to lubricate Savannah’s ass before he took her there. Her breath grew shallow and labored. Her womb clamped down on his digits, drowning them with sticky, sugary nectar.
“Don’t stop. Please don’t stop,” Savannah cried out. Too bad. Bobby had other plans. He jerked his fingers from her folds, then released the clasp that kept her skirt intact, and let it drop to the floor. In one swift motion, he slapped her plump ass cheek with the inside of his hand. Savannah winced, then moaned, the sound almost a growl in her throat. Within seconds, a bright red blotch marred her derrière.
“Move to the bed,” he said, nudging her to the edge of the frilly, pink and white floral comforter. As she stumbled across the room, the remnants of her undergarments dropped onto the wood like splatters on a painter’s canvas. “Bend over. Lift that bodacious booty in the air so I can spank it again.”
Savannah followed his instructions to the letter. As he accompanied her to the bed, Bobby slipped his jacket from his shoulders and stripped off his clothes a piece at a time. Other than Savannah’s three-inch suede pumps, they were both naked.
The only thing sexier would have been a pair of shiny, steel-toed cowboy boots.
The reporter licked her bottom lip and cocked her head sideways, probably to see him better. Lust swam in the depths of her deep, blue irises. Then Bobby raised his hand over his head and released it. Whack! Palm to ass. The sting of skin-to-skin contact shot up his arm before it shifted in reverse and settled in his groin.