Page 32 of Road Trip with a Vampire

Everything that came next was pure instinct.

Lifting up onto my knees before taking him in my hand, then sinking back down again, impaling myself on his cock, inch by delicious inch—I could no more not do these things than I could stop breathing.

Every slide of his cock inside me pulled raw, guttural noises from him, his hands gripping my hips tight as he roughly guided my movements.

This was raw; this was dirty. But gods, it felt so good to be with this gorgeous man.

To forget about the responsibilities waiting for me back home, the problems I had with my magic—everything in the world besides this exquisite pleasure.

Peter needed the same escape, I realized.

We writhed together for endless moments, his hands on my hips guiding me as he thrust up into my body with increasing abandon.

This was Peter unleashed—his head thrown back against the couch, his dark eyes glazed with a feral lust that kindled the flames of my own desire.

His mouth hung half-open, and his fangs were on full display, the self-control that had him hiding them behind his lips when we’d started slipping a little more each time I lifted myself up and then took him deeper inside.

Gods, it had been so long. My climax hovered, fever bright and just out of reach.

My power, simmering just beneath the surface, rose up inside me.

It threatened to burst forth, cracking me open and splintering everything into a thousand brilliant pieces.

I buried my face in Peter’s neck, wanting to draw this out as long as possible as he continued to fuck upwards into me.

I’d had some fumbling hookups in the past few years, but I hadn’t actually come with another person in a long time. I tended to lose control when I did. Peter accepted what I’d told him about my past, but what would he think if I—

“Let go,” Peter rasped against the sensitive shell of my ear, the pitch of my breathing and the way my body now clenched around his telling him how close I was. He gripped my hips tighter, moving me up and down as his thrusting grew faster, more erratic.

“I can’t,” I whimpered. It was all I could do to get out the words. Everything inside me was tight as a drum. “If I let go, I’ll—”

“I want to see it,” Peter growled. He leaned forward, attaching his mouth to the side of my throat, right at the pulse point.

The tips of his vampire canines pressed gently against my skin, just hard enough for me to know they were there.

He wouldn’t bite me unless I wanted him to; the words to tell him anything at all, though, were beyond me.

“Show me what you can do, Zelda. How powerful you are. I want to see.”

His hoarsely whispered encouragements sent me straight to my cresting, gasping release and I came with a shout and an indescribable burst of pleasure.

My body pulsed once, then again and again, the power I kept tucked away racing down my spine and bursting out of me with every sharp thrust of his hips.

Peter groaned brokenly, and then he howled , his body as taut as a bowstring beneath me as the energy rippling from my body wrapped around us both.

It pulled him more deeply inside me, stroking him, recognizing him as the source of my pleasure and reciprocating in kind.

I was distantly aware of a large gust of wind buffeting the room, of lamps being knocked off end tables and wineglasses shattering, but I didn’t care.

All that mattered was our bodies writhing together and our mutual, all-consuming pleasure.

“Please,” he begged against my throat. “ Oh gods , Zelda— please.”

I collapsed against him as my climax receded, the warm afterglow of it leaving me boneless and blissed out.

But he was still on the edge, frantically chasing a release he’d be unable to reach from this alone.

He needed my blood—as much of it as I was willing to give him.

His thrusts into my body were desperate now, erratic, his mouth glued to the side of my neck like the flesh there held all the secrets to his happiness.

He would never find release from this alone, but I knew he’d fuck his fist endlessly before demanding anything I didn’t want to give.

Convenient, really, that we wanted the same thing.

I grabbed the back of his head, pulling his face even closer. Offering myself to him. His loud intake of breath was cool against my sensitive skin. It sounded like agony and ecstasy all at once.

“Do it,” I breathed. “Now.”

A hoarse cry, and then his teeth were in my neck, the puncture wounds from his canines the most excruciating kind of pleasure-pain I’d ever known.

This , right here, was why people were so obsessed with vampires.

Why they wrote countless stories about them.

Why they fantasized about taking vampires as lovers.

Every long pull of blood Peter took from me sent screaming pleasure sizzling down my veins, through my blood, between my legs.

My eyes went wide, unseeing, as I came a second time, even harder than the first.

Peter came unglued beneath me, snarling now as he drank, and fucked, and drank. And then he pulled away, not wanting to take too much, burying his face in my shoulder as he shuddered and shook through his own release.

We lay together like that for what might have been hours, with me still perched on his lap and his arms wrapped tightly around me. When our breathing finally returned to normal, I turned my head to check in on what all that crashing glass had been.

I burst out laughing.

Peter cracked open an eye, frowning. “What?”

I pointed behind me at the wreck I’d made of the room. “That.”

It was worse than I’d expected but not as bad as it could have been.

That had been shattering glass I’d heard, if the pile of shards where the wineglasses used to be were any indication.

The lamp from the entryway table was on the floor, its lampshade clear on the other side of the room.

Strangest of all, the cushions from the room’s other couches and chairs were standing on end.

I had no idea how that had happened.

But nothing had caught fire, and other than the wineglasses, nothing in the room had been destroyed. We could afford to replace the glasses, I thought.

I decided to take it as a win.

I rested my head on Peter’s chest again, reveling in how good it felt to be pressed together like this, skin to skin. “I’ll keep better control next time.”

He lifted my chin so I could look at him. “Don’t.”

“No?”

He shook his head. “No.” Then he whispered, low and dirty into my ear, “I love that you lose control when I fuck you.”

The way this man spoke would be my undoing. I swallowed thickly before murmuring, “Yeah?”

As if to prove his point, Peter gently rolled me onto my back.

He hovered above me and grinned wolfishly.

“The way you looked when you came, your power pouring out of you…the way you felt , pulsing around my cock…” He shuddered, already hardening again against my stomach.

It really was true, what they said about vampires and their stamina.

“You were yourself in that moment, Zelda. I want to feel that with you again. As often as you’ll let me. ”

The look he gave me stole my breath. I swallowed hard and mustered all my bravado. “You…liked that, did you?”

He nodded solemnly. And then, with a smirk, he said, “Now, if you’ll be quiet and let me focus, I will show you exactly what it felt like.”

He kissed his way down my body and proceeded to do exactly that.

At some point we moved into one of the suite’s two gorgeously appointed bedrooms. But we were both too wired, too happy, to sleep. As I lay on the bed cuddled in Peter’s strong arms, he flipped channels on the large wall-mounted television, trying to find something to doze off to.

This—all of it—was so unbearably domestic.

All those years, all the adventures I’d had—I’d never had this .

Snuggling after sex with a man I was attracted to, watching garbage television together.

It was a marvel what telling him the truth about myself had done.

He’d breached some massive, impenetrable wall I’d built—and all he’d done was listen to my story.

My heart clenched. I didn’t dare look at what was happening too closely. Because what if it disappeared if I did?

An idea struck me. “Want to watch goat yoga videos?”

At my question, Peter craned his neck a little to peer down at me. “Goat yoga videos?” He said it slowly, as if it was a language he didn’t speak. “I understood each of those words individually.”

I laughed. “If you understood the words individually, you understand the concept. It’s literally just people doing yoga with goats.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “That’s a thing?”

“Apparently.”

“But why?”

“No idea,” I admitted. “But it’s so popular on social media that Lindsay and Becky have decided Yoga Magic needs to cash in.

We’re doing our first goat event in a few weeks.

” I gestured to my laptop on the dresser.

“They sent me links to YouTube videos so I can see how it’s done before the goats show up.

I don’t think I’ll learn much, but I might as well humor my friends. ”

Peter’s eyes went to my laptop, then found mine again. “Ever feel like you’ve been alive too long?” he asked weakly.

I snorted. “Routinely.”

We snuggled in closer as the first video began to play.

According to its caption, it had been filmed in October in western Massachusetts.

I had to ignore the cold fingers of dread that gripped me at the inadvertent reminder of Salem and of all that had happened there to innocent women hundreds of years ago.

The backdrop was beautiful, though. An inspired setting for social media, which was likely the point. The video began with a panorama of trees with vibrant red and gold leaves before moving lower to where there were two dozen people with yoga mats spread out on the ground.

The instructor introduced herself as Sabrina, then welcomed everyone to the event.

A moment later, she led them through some basic Sun Salutations.

Given that it was autumn in New England they were more bundled up than we would be at our Northern California event, wearing leggings and sweatshirts instead of tank tops and bike shorts.

It otherwise looked just like what we did in my studio.

Then there was a loud, bleating baaaaaa , and things got ridiculous.

“Here they are!” Sabrina cheerfully exclaimed. Three of the most robust-looking goats I’d ever seen sauntered in from somewhere off-camera. They’d clearly never suffered a Polish winter in the 1700s. The students fell out of their poses, craning their heads to look at the newcomers.

“Remember,” Sabrina crooned, “goat yoga is about so much more than practicing yoga with goats.” That was news to me.

I’d thought goat yoga was exclusively about practicing yoga with goats.

“This practice is designed to put you in touch not just with your breath and movement but with nature and with the harmony of all living things.” She grinned serenely.

“Snuggling with a goat is just a pleasant additional bonus.”

“Huh,” Peter said, sounding bemused.

“And remember,” Sabrina continued. “If one of them relieves themselves on you, it is considered lucky! A blessing.”

“That has to be a joke,” Peter said. “These people want goats to do their business on them?”

“Ridiculous, right? It makes no sense to me, either.” After listening to Lindsay and Becky extolling the virtues of this nonsense for weeks, Peter’s reaction was extremely validating.

His look of disgust could have curdled milk. “I don’t have full recall of my life experiences, but when I say this is the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard of, I know it’s true.”

Once the novelty of the goats wore off, the class settled into something not unlike many of our beginner classes at Yoga Magic.

The goats wandered between people’s legs, which occasionally made it difficult for people to maintain upright poses.

More than one lucky student had received a goat “blessing” by the end.

Still, though. Dumb gimmick aside, I thought I could probably overcome my aversion to goats if it would help Yoga Magic keep up with current trends.

When the video ended, I leaned forward and closed my computer. Peter still had his arms wrapped loosely around me. He cleared his throat and shifted beside me, though he made no move to let me go.

This had been one of the most domestic evenings I’d had in recent memory. But what had it been to him?

“You’re tired,” he murmured, sounding almost shy. “I should let you sleep.”

Did that mean he planned to sleep somewhere else? I didn’t want that. “Stay.” The word slipped out before I could take it back.

Peter didn’t respond, only continued looking at me with an expression I couldn’t read. Had I pushed too far? Maybe I’d misread the signs, and it had just been some meaningless fun for him. Or maybe he just wasn’t a cuddler.

“Unless you don’t want to stay?” I asked in a much smaller voice.

By way of answer, he pulled me closer and pressed a fervent kiss to the top of my head. “I’m not going anywhere,” he murmured, voice thick with emotion. “Sleep, Zelda.”

So I did.