Bloodthirsty - By Flynn Meaney Page 0,20
Now, everyone’s saying he’s a vampire, but dumb Virginia wanders into his estate anyway.
For forty days and nights, she had been a prisoner of his home, her lily-white wrists bound by heavy metal chains…. But now, unchained, she had become a prisoner of Chauncey’s mysterious allure, and a prisoner of her own lust. Everything about him set her girlish heart pounding. His alabaster skin.
(Attractive, of course.)
His extensive vocabulary.
(A very sexy attribute.)
And his ironic struggle to find the right words with her, in their stolen, conflicted moments of passion.
(That’s right, give the guy a break. Not even vampires understand women!)
The gay suitors of her girlhood, with their red ascots and horse races, seemed shallow compared with Chauncey.
(Hell, yeah! Ditch those jocks!)
If the rumors were true, Chauncey Castle hadn’t left the Chateau Sangre in eighty years. Yet he was, more than any man she had known, an explorer of worlds: the worlds in his leather-bound books—Perhaps an explorer of her worlds, the undiscovered worlds beneath her silk skirt, her petticoat, the satin laces of her corset…
She pressed herself against him, with nothing between them but her young, ample bosom, quivering bare and exposed like two pheasants trembling before a hunter. Chauncey’s chest, when she raised her hand to it, was cold and hard—as cold, hard, and unyielding as his own castle walls.
“I cannot feel a heartbeat,” Virginia told him, breathless. “Do you even have a heart?”
“What does it matter what I do or do not have?” Chauncey asked, averting his eyes. When they returned their gaze to Virginia, they pierced her like swords of pleasure. It was as if the two were in a lustful duel and he had the upper hand….
“All that matters is what I am.”
“What are you?”
“I cannot tell you what I am.”
(Wow, this guy is some smooth talker.)
Luckily Chauncey didn’t talk much longer. Virginia White took over the dialogue, and jeez did she have a filthy mouth for a maid from Sheepfordshire.
“Now I know where all that blood you drink goes,” she said, rubbing his engorged…
“Oh em gee.” The two girls from the romance novel section were giggling above me.
Feeling a heavy embarrassed flush, I looked up at them. They were both raising eyebrows at the page I was reading.
“Member,” one whispered meaningfully.
I scrambled quickly to my feet and closed the book, saying, “Uh, this isn’t the fitness section?”
After reading most of Bloodthirsty, I had learned eight new metaphors for erections, but hadn’t learned much about vampire attitude. I guess I needed to immerse myself in the lifestyle in order to understand the attitude. So for the rest of Labor Day weekend, I practiced vampiric habits around my family to test their reaction.
I began by reducing the amount of food I ate in public. I didn’t plan on starving myself to prove I was a vampire, but I also didn’t want to be seen winning a hot dog eating contest or anything. So when my dad grilled me a mouthwatering pound-and-a-half burger on his new grill, I turned it down.
“Just the way you like it, Finbar,” my dad announced, flipping the burger onto the toasted bun waiting on a paper plate. The paper plate was almost immediately soaked in beef juices. “No lettuce, no tomato, no ketchup, no mustard, no barbecue sauce.”
I’m a very plain eater. In addition to my sensitive soul and sensitive skin, I have sensitive taste buds. So this burger was my Holy Grail. My stomach growled and I even drooled a little bit.
But I said, “Uh, no thanks. I think I’ll just have something later.”
What a terrible weekend for my father to buy a grill the size of Peyton Manning.
I adopted a vampire lifestyle as I lounged around the house, isolating myself from others, reading a lot of books, and glowering at my mother when she ran over my foot with the Swiffer mop. Curiously, no one seemed to notice me acting any differently.
Well, clearly I needed to step up the attitude. And I knew exactly how—with a deadly stare. Legends, movies, and X-rated books say a vampire’s stare is so powerful that by merely looking a mortal in the eyes he can bend that person to his will. I tested this theory on my brother. Don’t worry, he wasn’t hurt.
Every morning of the summer Luke would leave for a run at seven AM. He’d return at eight, pounding up the staircase like a full corps of Marines, knocking the door open with a sweaty arm and ruining my REM sleep with the latest