Sex and the Single Vampire

I felt his touch in my mind, felt the whispers around the edges of my guards, and was overwhelmed with a curiosity to know what he was thinking. It was the sheerest folly to allow myself to receive his thoughts, for I knew he would be able to receive mine as well, but the fire that flamed within me at his touch was too strong to be quenched. He deepened the kiss as I opened my mind to his, allowing the sensations he was feeling to join with mine. His thoughts were wordless, formless images of pleasure, of need and desire and a desperate hope that were bound together until it was impossible to separate them. I responded to the need, knowing I shouldn't, knowing it would lead to disaster, but unable to keep from taking his darkness within myself and returning it with all the light I had.

His power surrounded us, permeated us, bound us together in a manner I did not understand, or even wish to examine. Rather than be stifled by it, I gloried in it, allowing his power to blend with mine just as our thoughts merged. His arousal fed mine; my desire fired his to greater heights. His tongue was everywhere in my mouth; then mine was in his, tasting him, learning him, aching for something that I couldn't quite reach.

This is not the way of a cold fish, malý váleèník, the thought echoed in my head.

I sucked his lower lip into my mouth, nibbled on it for a bit, then slowly pulled my mouth from his.

What does malý váleèník mean exactly?

I could feel the smile in his thoughts. Little warrior.

Warrior, hmm? I could live with that. What worried me was the ease with which he settled into my mind. Slowly, gently, I shut him out, replacing my mental guards. I was shaken, more shaken than I wanted to admit even to myself at just how tempting it was to throw down my guards altogether, but as I stared down into Christian's midnight eyes, I reminded myself that even if he was immortal, he was still a man. I couldn't risk trusting him with that sort of power over me.

I pushed myself off his lap and stumbled back to my chair, reaching with a lamentably shaky hand for the water glass.

"So"—I cleared my throat to try to lower the level of huskiness his kiss had generated—"what do you know about this medium Guarda White? One of the SIP people mentioned her. I'm curious as to how you know about her."

Christian touched a finger to his lush lower lip. "You will not concede defeat?"

I picked up my fork and speared a chunk of chive-roasted potato. "I wasn't aware we were engaged in battle."

He smiled and inclined his head. "Touché. It was not a battle, merely"—his gaze dropped to my lips. Instinctively I licked them. They felt sensitive and tender, as if they were swollen—"an experiment with a most interesting outcome. I begin to think I have been overly hasty in my conclusions."

My entire body went up in flames at the longing in his eyes. I tried desperately to gather the shreds of my control around me. "Please, Christian…"

He ignored my whispered plea, taking my hand in his, his thumb stroking circles on the back of my hand. "Why do you struggle so? Why do you fight to wrap shields of indifference around yourself when I can feel within you all the ardor you stir within me? Why do you deny the passion that fills you at my touch?"

I pulled my hand from his slowly and tucked it away in my lap. Unreasonably, I felt close to tears, but didn't know if was for him I wanted to weep, or me. "I'm sorry, Christian," I told the remains of my chicken. "I just can't allow any man to have that sort of power over me."

Christian was silent for a time, a long enough time that I finally had to look up at him. His eyes, always an indicator of what he was feeling, glistened brightly in the glow of the candle on the table. His voice was low, pitched only for my ears, and skimmed along me like a pair of lover's hands. "It will be my distinct pleasure to show you that not all men use power to inflict punishment." I said nothing. There was just nothing to say.

The theater rented by the Association of Research Mediums and Psychics Investigation Trust (known by the dubious acronym ARMPIT) for their cattle call of psychic talent was a small, intimate space located in the basement of an old building that looked to date back to the late eighteenth century.

"According to this," I read out of the pamphlet that had been shoved into my hands as we entered the theater, "Guarda White and someone called Eduardo Tassalerro, head of Milan Psychics, Limited, are forming a sort of brain tank of psychics 'in order to further knowledge of spirits, and spectral activity in Britain today.' Hmm. I wonder what they think they can do that we in UPRA can't do."

"UPRA?"

"It's the organization I work for. The sister organization in England is the SIP, both of which are more than fully capable of furthering knowledge about spirits and such."

"Perhaps the brain tank has another purpose?"