[Siren Publishing: The Lynn Hagen ManLove Collection: Erotic Alternative Paranormal Romance, M/M, vampires, shape-shifters, HEA]
Created two thousand years ago by Santoro Marcellino, Matteo has known nothing but carnage and savagery. It is only after Matteo kills his maker that he discovers his blood must be purified every five hundred years. The problem is, the purification can be done only by a descendant of his maker. With time running out, Matteo must find a descendant before he suffers the bloodless death.
Paris Marcellino is sent by a cutthroat, wannabe gangster to deliver a package to The Red Tower—the most notorious casino in La Vita Vegas. When the package starts bleeding, Paris is forced to the penthouse of the Don of the Vegas mafia. Paris thinks he’s about to die, but a contract is offered and a bargain is struck. All Paris has to do is survive a vampire feeding from him for the next thirty days and he’ll be rich beyond his wildest imagination. If life was only that easy.
A Siren Erotic Romance
Lynn Hagen is a Siren-exclusive author.
The man circled Paris, as if inspecting him. As much as he tried to stand still, Paris was trembling. Who could blame him? The head of the freaking mafia was breathing down his neck. He felt his stomach rolling.
Don’t pass out. Don’t you dare pass out!
Matteo lifted a few strands of Paris’s damp hair, and a knot formed in Paris’s throat. His hair was short and black, and had heavy gel in it, so the strands would stick up in every direction. Good luck trying to get it to move.
But then again, he’d sweated most of the gel out.
Paris stiffened to the point of pain when the guy palmed his ass and flexed his fingers. Really? What the hell is he doing squeezing my butt? But then again, Matteo Santino could do whatever the hell he wanted if it meant Paris would live. His rule of not sleeping with strangers would be out the window, and Paris couldn’t give a shit less.
“Does Marcellino blood run through your veins?”
Oh boy. Paris shivered even though he hadn’t planned to, even though he’d fought not to. Matteo’s voice was as deep as whisky and as thick as honey. It was the voice wet dreams were made of. It also held a thick Italian accent.
Matteo snapped his fingers, and the doors to the penthouse immediately opened. Jeez, was Suit Man pressing his ear to the door in order to hear that?
“Send for the doctor,” Matteo commanded in an even tone.
Doctor? What the hell did he need a doctor for? He was curious, so he asked. What the hell. If he was going to die, it couldn’t hurt.
“Is the doctor for me?” The thought was ridiculous unless Matteo planned on giving Paris a lethal injection. Maybe the Don wanted a doctor on hand so he could beat him and draw out his torture, keeping him alive as long as possible.
That thirty-floor drop to the hard ground below was starting to look pretty damn good.
“Remain quiet,” Matteo said in his cold tone.
That had to be the mantra around this place.
“Look,” Paris said as he fortified his backbone, “I’m fully aware of who you are and what you can do to me, and trust me when I say that I’m more than terrified right now. I might have peed a little in my pants. But if you’re gonna kill me, can I at least ask for it to be quick since I had no clue the box I was carrying would start bleeding.”
Matteo’s nostrils flared, and Paris curled his lips in. He glanced up, peeking into the man’s eyes before looking down at the floor. The last thing Paris wanted to do was piss the man off. Instead of a quick death, he’d probably dangle Paris off that balcony as someone used him for target practice.
It could happen.
Matteo walked away, leaving Paris standing there perplexed and relieved that the man was no longer standing in his personal space, although he wasn’t sure if he should follow or stay put.
He decided to stay put.
The more space between them, the better. But he did chance a peek in the direction Matteo had walked. Paris had to be delirious with terror because he could have sworn he saw slight pain in the guy’s eyes before he had left the room. He had also seen a red ring around the man’s green irises. Nah, no way. It was definitely terror making him delusional.
He turned and looked over his shoulder when the white and gold doors opened. Suit Man brought in a short, plump, and friendly-looking guy with a head full of white hair and a cute, button nose. Oh, look. It was a short version of Santa.
The newcomer gave Paris a warm smile before he asked, “Ready to get started?”
“Uh…ready for what exactly?”
“Your exam of course.” The doctor waved Paris to a door behind the bar. Paris rubbed the back of his neck as his gaze darted toward the double doors leading out of the penthouse. He blew out a series of short breaths and wondered if he could make a break for it and get away.
The doctor reappeared. “Please come this way.”
Time seemed to slow to a crawl as his breathing accelerated. He walked into the L-shaped room. Paris turned left, and the room expanded into a spacious area. There was a full bed with a cranberry-colored comforter, large pillows, and a few decorative ones as well. There was a dark wood dresser to the left of the room with a large mirror attached and a nightstand on either side of the bed. That was it. Although the room seemed warm and inviting, it also appeared sparse.
He saw a door on the side of the mirrored dresser and assumed it was the bathroom. There were double doors on the opposite wall. That had to be the closet.
“Have a seat on the bed.”
“What exactly am I getting an exam for?” His entire day had been the strangest ever, and now some quack wanted to examine him? He refused to be a sheep led to slaughter. He wanted answers.
Paris would have accepted being punished or beaten or killed. He’d fucked up and done something shady in the casino. The outcome would have made sense.
It didn’t fit.
The man smiled that warm smile, reminding Paris of a grandfather who should be whittling on some porch—or stuffing a big, red bag full of toys—somewhere instead of making penthouse calls.
“Time is of the essence, Mr. Marcellino. Let us begin.”
After tossing the phone aside, he lay there and watched as Matteo stripped out of his suit and then slid into bed.
“You’re still not getting lucky, mister.”
“I know.” Matteo kissed his navel.
Paris sucked in a breath, his body trembling at a touch he never thought to feel again. Matteo’s movements were slow, soft, and welcomed.
His jacket was tossed aside before Matteo worked the buttons free of Paris’s dress shirt, at the same time pressing kisses along Paris’s jaw.
Paris wanted to rush things, to smack Matteo’s hands away and rip his pants off, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. He was too busy drowning in Matteo’s scent, the feel of the strong man over him, and the disbelief that he was back in Matteo’s bed again.
It no longer mattered to him that the man was a vampire, that he scared Paris at times, or that he didn’t belong in the man’s world.
He would have to be dragged, kicking and screaming, if he was ever forced to leave that world again. Matteo was his life, and Paris would fight tooth and nail to keep him.
His heart migrated to his throat when Matteo moved down the bed, situating himself between Paris’s legs. He pulled Paris’s shoes off, then his pants. Next went his boxers and socks.
He was completely naked now and was ready to beg Matteo to fuck him when the man did something Paris never thought would happen.
The vampire took Paris into his mouth.
Paris hissed and arched his back, spreading his legs wider as his eyelids fluttered closed. His hips jerked forward, a reaction any man would have when his dick was sucked, but Matteo pressed his hands into Paris’s hips, keeping him pinned to the bed.
He groaned and curled his hands at his sides when Matteo pulled back. Paris didn’t want this to ever end.
“Open your eyes, sprite. Watch me.”
Paris blinked a few times, taken aback at the request. Matteo’s smooth-as-whiskey voice couldn’t be ignored, nor could his soft command.
He gazed down at the large and lethal man between his legs, and their eyes locked. The green was completely gone. Matteo’s eyes blazed red as he gazed up at Paris. “You are the only person I have ever done this for,” Matteo said, “and I want you to watch me.”
The vulnerability he saw in Matteo’s eyes was one of the reasons Paris would never again leave the man. He reached down and cupped Matteo’s strong jaw, running the pad of his thumb over his unshaven cheek. “Okay.”
He became fascinated as his cock disappeared into Matteo’s mouth and watched as the vampire wet his fingers and then slid them into Paris’s backside.
Oh, fucking god. Paris whimpered as he arched his back, but remembered to keep his eyes locked on what Matteo was doing to him.
And Matteo watched him with an intensity that made Paris feel as though he was spiraling as his cock pulsed in the man’s mouth.
Matteo pulled back and teased the head of Paris’s cock, using his tongue to lap at the slit, before taking him down his throat.
“M-Matteo.” Paris’s body shook as his body jerked. “I can’t…I can’t hold out much longer.”
Paris cried out when Matteo thrust three fingers inside of him. His body tightened until he felt as though he was dangling over the edge, and then he shattered like he’d never shattered before.
As his climax tore through him, Paris felt a sharp pain and realized that Matteo had bitten him. Paris’s orgasm gripped him and shook him so violently that the edges of his vision dimmed.
He gasped for air, fought not to pass out, and gripped the covers as Matteo fed from him. How on earth could he survive this kind of all-consuming pleasure?
And then Matteo lapped at Paris’s shaft before pulling back. He reached for the lube in his nightstand and set it aside before gripping Paris’s hair and slamming their lips together.
Paris instinctively wrapped his legs around Matteo’s hips, pulling the man closer, clawing at his back.
“You are no street rat,” Matteo growled into his ear. “You are as priceless as the very breath in my lungs.”
Paris cried out as Matteo thrust deep inside of him. This had to be real, what Matteo said, what the man did to him. He could have sent the doctor to Paris’s apartment to collect the blood, but instead, Matteo had come for him, had picked up Paris’s broken heart and cradled it in his hands.
“Mine!” Matteo said that single word with such passion, such fierceness that Paris felt branded down to his very soul. The man’s eyes burned with possessiveness as Paris tossed beneath him, his hips bucking.
Matteo drove his fangs into Paris’s neck, and for the second time that night, Paris’s climax crashed over him as he shouted and trembled, white-hot fingers of fire tearing through him.
Matteo’s strong hands gripped Paris’s thighs, holding them apart as he drove against Paris harder, deeper, his hips punching forward as the savagery on his face deepened.