She dropped the blouse and crossed the room, verifying before opening the door that no one but the single human waited on the other side. The cottage’s low light cast a yellow square of illumination on the man who stood on the narrow porch step. He was taller than she was—most men were anymore—although this one was not by much. She judged him to be in his late twenties, pretty, slender and boyish in the way she liked her men to be these days. His dark good looks and soft brown eyes reminded her of the lovely young men so common to the cafes and clubs she frequented in Rio de Janeiro. She eyed him appreciatively, up and down, frowning when she saw that his hands were empty. Maybe this wasn’t her blood delivery, after all.
“Mistress,” he whispered, those big eyes lingering briefly on her face before dropping submissively.
Sophia barely managed to hide her grimace of distaste. She’d forgotten Lucien’s penchant for blood slaves, which meant he rarely had bagged blood on hand. Not that his slaves weren’t willing donors—Lucien didn’t keep any other kind. And it wasn’t that she objected to taking blood from the vein. Quite the contrary. All of her young men in Rio were very much aware of what she was and more than willing to spend a night, or longer, with her. It was a rare thing that she resorted to bagged blood anymore.
But none of her lovers were blood slaves, either, those men and women who existed solely to be used by their vampire masters, humans who hungered for the sexual release that such use provided. It was an addiction every bit as powerful as the drugs sold in dark alleys all over the world. And like any addiction, it could be used as a weapon against the addict, forcing them to perform unspeakable acts, to endure horrific treatment that too frequently crossed the line into torture.
Lucien’s slaves were all well cared for, however. She gave him that much. Abuse was never tolerated, not in this house. Even so, his slaves were so . . . pathetically eager. With an emphasis on the pathetic.
She sighed. It was too late to arrange for something less personal, so it was either this lovely young man or she’d have to wait until tomorrow night. She suspected tomorrow would be even worse than today because the one thing she knew, there would be nothing good in that elegant envelope of Lucien’s.
She stepped back. “Come in, gato.”
* * * *
The slave was certainly skilled. Sophia wondered if Lucien had perhaps trained this one himself. Her Sire was quite the hedonist when it came to his lovers, choosing men and women equally. And always the pretty ones.
Aurelio—probably not his real name, but one chosen to appeal to her—moaned softly as she pulled him away from her na**d breast, fisting a hand in his dark hair and tugging lazily. He twisted his head away obediently, baring his neck in a fine, taut line of golden skin. There wasn’t time for a true seduction, but she had played with him a bit, letting him earn his pleasure, building the anticipation. She might not keep any blood slaves of her own, but she understood them, understood their need to earn their reward. An odd sort of reward in her mind, but, as the French were wont to say, chacun ses goûts. Although she was fairly certain that not even the most esoteric of gourmands had actual blood drinking in mind.
Pretty Aurelio whimpered when she teased him, rolling him over until he was beneath her, licking a long line down his neck and breathing against it softly, smiling when the skin prickled with goose bumps. Her fangs punctured the soft velvet of his vein without warning. He groaned, a guttural sound of pure pleasure as his already stiff c*ck hardened even further against her thigh. Sophia drank deeply, relishing that first hot rush of blood down her throat, feeling it spread throughout her body, replenishing tissues dehydrated by the long flight and the stress of everything that had happened since. She was suddenly glad Lucien kept his stable of blood slaves. She’d needed this; no bagged blood could have nourished her so completely.
One more long draught and she began to slow, careful to take only what she needed, only what the human male could afford. A few more delicate sips, savoring the bouquet of his blood, untainted as it was by alcohol or drugs, and she withdrew her fangs slowly, pausing to nip playfully as his flesh before licking his skin clean and closing the small wounds.
Sophia closed her eyes, sated and ready to rest, the long journey catching up with her at last. But there was Aurelio to tend to. He lay perfectly still beneath her, so careful to make no demand for his own completion, but she could feel his heart pounding, could hear the heated thrumming of his blood as it headed in a single direction. Toward that ever hardening shaft between his legs.
Sophia let her gaze travel along his sweat-sheened body, always willing to admire a beautiful male form. She trailed her hand slowly over the curve of his collarbones, down past the flat, hairless planes of his solid chest until she encountered the silky line of hair arrowing straight to his groin. She purred quietly in approval as her fingers closed around his straining erection, feeling him tremble beneath her as he struggled to remain still.
She stroked him slowly at first, admiring his discipline, admiring even more the fine piece of flesh she held in her hand. As hard as marble, it was satiny smooth and elegantly shaped. Long and thick with a well-formed head, the narrow scar of his circumcision so exquisitely sensitive that he shivered every time she touched it, which she did again, delighting in his moan of entreaty, begging her wordlessly to release him.
“Sssshh, Aurelito,” she bent to murmur against his ear. “Are you ready to come for me?”
His eyelids fluttered, his c*ck jumping in her hand. “Yes, please, mistress,” he whispered.
Sophia tightened her hold on him, squeezing and releasing as she played her fingers over the warm, golden skin. “Then, come for me, gato. Come now.”
Aurelio’s eyes flew open, rolling back in his skull until only the whites were visible, grunting low in his throat as he thrust uncontrollably against her hand, his long-delayed orgasm spurting between her fingers, onto his thighs and belly until he was spent.
Sophia remained still, giving him time to recover, letting his heart and breathing slow to something approaching normal. She waited as long as she could, but the sun was very close now and she wanted to be underground before it arrived.
“Aurelio,” she said softly.
His eyes opened, cheeks flaming red with embarrassment. “Forgive me, my lady,” he said immediately. “I didn’t mean—”
“Be calm. You served me well.”
“Thank you, my lady,” he said fervently. He grabbed the loose, linen pants he’d worn to the door and wiped himself quickly before standing and pulling the now sticky garment up his legs and tightening the drawstring closure.
Sophia eyed his tight ass appreciatively as he did so, wishing she’d had longer to play tonight.
But it was not to be.
She stood, barefoot, but still fully dressed, except for her shirt, which gaped open, her br**sts displayed, the ni**les flushed and hard after Aurelio’s dedicated attention. The blood slave cast surreptitious glances at her, but Sophia made no move to cover herself. She took pleasure in the knowledge of her body’s appeal to males, whether human or vampire.
“Thank you, Aurelio,” she said, opening the door to the garden. “I am very pleased.”
“Thank you, mistress. It was my honor.”
Sophia watched him hurry into the cold night, shivering in sympathy of the few clothes he wore. Perhaps one became used to these temperatures if one lived here long enough. Closing the door quickly, she locked and bolted it, then turned and stared at Lucien’s envelope where it sat on a charming antique bureau.