Twilight Phantasies

She didn't need to tell him that the first thing she had to do was to wash the memory of the vile man's touch away from her body. It amazed her that he could read her so well, but he did. He took her to his home, parking the Cadillac within the fence, and around a bend in the driveway, so it couldn't be seen from the highway. He then suggested she call Daniel with a plausible explanation for her lateness. She told Daniel that she and Hilary were heading to a nightclub after dinner, and that she didn't know how late she'd be. He grumbled, but didn't throw too much of a fit. She had to give him credit. He was trying.



When she replaced the receiver of the telephone, Eric reentered the living room, carrying a tray with a bottle of brandy and a delicate-looking long-stemmed bubble glass. She eyed it, unconsciously rubbing one palm over her breast where the pig had touched her.



"His filth can't touch you, Tamara. You're too pure to be sullied by one so vile."



She realized what she'd been doing and drew her hand away. "I feel dirty... contaminated."



"I know. It is a normal reaction, from what I understand. Would you feel less so if you bathed?"



She closed her eyes. "God, yes. I want to scrub myself raw every place he-"



"I sensed as much. I drew a bath for you while you spoke to St. Claire."



Her eyes opened then. "You did?"



He lowered the tray, poured the glass half-full of brandy and brought it to her. One arm around her shoulders, he led her down a long, high-ceilinged corridor, and through a door.



The room glowed with amber light from the oil lamps, and the tall, elegant candles that burned on every inch of available space. A claw-footed, ivory-toned tub brimmed with bubbly, steaming water. He took the brandy from her unresisting hand and set the glass on a stand near the tub. He picked up what looked like a remote control from the same spot, thumbed a button, and soft music wafted into the room, as soothing as the steam that rose from the water, or the halo glows of light around the myriad of tiny flames.



She leaned over the tub, touched an iridescent bubble and felt the spatters on her wrist when it popped. His hand touched her shoulder and she turned, staring up at him in wonder. "I can't believe you did all this."



"I want to comfort you, Tamara. I want to erase the horror that touched you tonight. I want to replace it with tenderness. I cherish you. Do you know that?"



She felt a lump in her throat. His words were so poignant they made her eyes burn.



"I won't lose control. I couldn't unleash my passions on you after what you've experienced tonight. I only want to pamper you, to show you. . ." He closed his eyes, lifted her hand to his lips. He kissed her knuckles, one by one, then opened his eyes and turned her hand over and pressed his lips to her palm.



She gave her consent, without parting her lips. He heard it, it seemed. He gently removed her tattered blouse, and set it aside. He reached around her, unhooked her bra in the back and then drew the straps down over her shoulders. Her right breast was bruised, and she felt the marks of the other man's fingers would never go away completely.



"The marks are only skin-deep, and they will fade." He pushed her still-damp jeans down, lifted his hands and she held them, to balance while she stepped out of them. She removed the panties herself. She didn't want him to look down at her body. She still felt dirty, despite his words. He kept his gaze magnetized to hers, holding her hands as she lifted one foot, then the other into the bubbly water. She sank slowly down, leaning back against the cool porcelain and closing her eyes.



She felt the touch of the chill glass in her palm and she closed her hand on it. "Sip," Eric instructed. "Relax. Let the tension ebb. Hear Wolf gang's genius."



She tasted the brandy, not opening her eyes. "Mmm. This is wonderful."



"Cognac," he replied. She heard the trickle of water, then felt a warm cloth moving over her throat, and around to the back of her neck.



She frowned, still keeping her eyes closed. "There used to be a legend about vampires and running water. . . ."



She heard his low chuckle. The cloth left her skin to plunge into the water. He squeezed it out, lathered it with soap and returned to his gentle cleansing-of her soul, it seemed. "Completely false." He moved slowly over her chest, washing her breasts as her heartbeat quickened. But he didn't touch her in passion, only in comfort. "And so is the one about the garlic, or wolfsbane. And, as you already know, the crucifix."



"But sunlight..."



"Yes, sunlight is my enemy. It is one of the things I try to work out in my laboratory. The how of it, and the why. What I might do to change it." He sighed, and lathered her stomach and abdomen. "I can't tell you how much I miss the sun." His hand, covered by the wet cloth, moved over her rib cage beneath the water, and down her side.



"The wooden stake?"



"It isn't the stake that would do me in. Any sharp object could, if used properly. A vampire is almost like a sufferer of hemophilia. We could bleed to death quite easily." He ran the cloth between her legs all too briefly, and then moved on to rhythmically massage her thighs.



"Why do we have this mental link?" She took another long, slow drink of the cognac and opened her eyes to watch his face as he answered.



"I will try to begin to explain it to you. You see, not just any human can become a vampire. There are, in fact, very few who could be transformed, all of whom have two common traits." He moved to her calf, kneading the back of it as he soaped it for her. "One is the bloodline. It traces back to a common ancestor, but I suspect it goes back much farther, even, than that."



"Who?"



He captured one of her feet in both his soapy hands and lifted it from the water to rub and caress and massage it until the foot and his hands were invisible beneath a mound of suds. "Prince Vlad the Impaler... better known as-"



"Dracula," she breathed, awestruck.



"Exactly. The other trait-" he rubbed her big toe between his thumb and forefinger "-is in the blood itself. There is an antigen called Belladonna."



She sat up fast. "But I have the Belladonna antigen." He turned his face toward her, his gaze momentarily locking onto her breasts, jiggling with the sudden movement just above the water's surface, bubbles clinging, sliding slowly down.



He licked his lips. "Yes, and you have the ancestor, as well. Such humans with both traits are rare. We call them the Chosen. Always there is a mental link between us and them, though in most cases the humans are unaware of it. We know if they are in danger, and we do our best to protect them. The incident in Paris was not the first time Roland had saved my life, you see." He forced his head to turn away again, she noticed, and he went to work, with his magic hands and fingers, on her other foot. "That is where our link began. It became much stronger, and that part of it you must remember on your own."



She lowered herself into the water again. She believed him. She no longer doubted what he'd told her. The sensation of being able to see what was in his mind was awesome to her, but very real. She knew, for instance, that it would do her no good to insist he tell her more of their past and this link. He wouldn't. For her sake, he wouldn't. And she knew, right now, the effort it was costing him not to jerk her roughly into his arms and to kiss her until her head swam with desire. He held himself in rigid check, knowing the terror she'd felt tonight. For her sake, he held back.



He loved her.



His love was like a soft, warm blanket, enveloping her and protecting her from the world. Nothing could touch her with this feeling around her. It was heaven to be loved so much. Cherished, as he'd told her. The emotions touched her almost physically. Their warmth was palpable.



"Roll over," he said, his voice very deep and soft in the tiny room. She did, folding her arms on the tub's rim to make a pillow for her head. His powerful hands worked the soapy cloth over her back and shoulders. He massaged and caressed and washed her all at once, and his every touch was pure ecstasy. God, she wondered. What would it be like to make love to him?



He shuddered. She felt his hands tremble with it. He heard her thoughts. With her face averted she found the courage to speak them aloud. "Why do you always... hold back?"



His sigh was not quite steady. "This is not the wisest subject to discuss with you naked, wet and plied with brandy." He kneaded her buttocks with soapy hands, but removed them soon. She rolled over, studying his face in the candlelight. "Do you want me?"



His jaw twitched as he studied her, "More than I want to draw another breath."



"Then why-"



"Hush." The command was bitten out. He rose from his crouching position beside the tub and pulled a blanket-sized towel from a rack. He held it wide open and waited. "It is for your own good, Tamara," he told her.



Tamara got up, stepped out of the bath and onto the thick rug beside the tub. His towel-draped arms closed around her, then moved away, leaving the towel behind. "I'll leave you to dress-"



"You didn't leave me to undress," she snapped. She wasn't certain what made her angrier-the knowledge that she wanted him or the fact that he refused to oblige her.



"Your blouse is ruined." He nodded toward the stand where he'd placed her clothes after she'd discarded them. "There is one of my shirts for you to wear." He turned from her and strode out of the room.



"For my own good," she fumed after he left her. She reached down into the bubbly water and jerked the stopper out. "Why is everything I hate always supposedly for my own good? It's like I don't know what's good for me and what isn't."



She roughly adjusted the towel under her arms, and tucked the corners in to hold it there. She knew what was good for her. She was an adult, not a child. She wanted him, whatever he was. And he wanted her, dammit. All of this honorable restraint bull was making her crazy. The only time she felt right anymore was when he held her, when he kissed her.



Tonight. . . tonight more than ever she needed that feeling of rightness, of belonging. She moved very slowly through the door, down the hallway and back into the living room. Eric's back was to her. He knelt in front of the fireplace, feeding sticks into it. She made no sound as she moved barefoot over the parquet floor, onto the colorful Oriental rug, but he knew she approached. She felt it. She stopped when she stood right behind him, and she placed her damp hands on his shoulders. He'd removed his jacket when they'd arrived here, and rolled his shirt sleeves up when he'd bathed her. His arms, bare to the elbows and taut with tense muscles, stilled at her touch.



Slowly he rose. He turned, and when he looked down at her, his eyes seemed almost pain filled. "You are not making this easy."



His white shirt's top two buttons were open. She touched the expanse of his chest visible there. "Make love to me, Eric."



So hoarsely she wouldn't have known his voice, he answered. "Don't you know that I would if I could?"



"Then tell me why. Make me understand-"



"I'm not human! What more do you need to know?"



"Everything!" She curled her hand around his neck, her fingers moving through the short, curling hairs at his nape, then playing at the queue. "You want to love me, Eric. I feel it every time you look at me. And don't start telling me what's best for me. I'm a grown woman. I know what I want, and I want you."



His eyes moved jerkily over her face. She felt his restraint, and her bravado deserted her. She began to tremble with emotion, and she went all but limp against him. Eric's arms came around her. His hands stroked her shoulders above the towel, and the damp ends of her hair. "Oh, Eric, I was so afraid. I've never been so afraid in my life. He held my face down in the snow-I couldn't breathe-and he-was on me-his-his hands-"



"It's over now," he soothed. "No one will hurt you again."



"But I see him. In my mind I see him, and I can still-smell-God, he stank!"



"Shh."



"Make me forget, Eric. I know you can." She spoke with her face pressed into the crook of his neck. Her hands moved over the back of his head, and she turned her face up. She saw the passion in his black eyes. "I need you tonight, Eric."



His lips met hers lightly, trembling at the fleeting contact. They lifted away. His gaze delved into her eyes, and she saw the fire's glow reflected in his. He moaned her name very softly, before his mouth covered hers again. She tilted her head back, parted her lips to his voracious invasion. His tongue swept within her, as it had done before, as if he would devour her if he were able. It twined around her tongue, and drew it into his mouth to suckle it. She responded by tasting as much of his mouth as he had of hers, as her eager fingers untied the small black ribbon at his nape. She sifted his shining jet hair, pulled a handful around to rub its softness over her cheek. She tugged her lips from his to bury her face in his long hair and let its scent envelop her, drowning out the memory of the other. She turned then, to kiss his neck, and then a warm, wet path down it, to the V of his shirt. He trembled, his hands tangling in her hair. She brought her own down, to clumsily unbutton and shove aside the cotton that stood between them. She flattened her palms to his hard, hairless chest. She moved them over its broad expanse, her lips following the trail they blazed. She paused at a distended male nipple and flicked her tongue over it, nearly giddy with delight when he sucked his breath through clenched teeth. Her hands moved lower, over the pectorals that rippled beneath taut skin, to his tight, flat belly. Her fingertips touched the waistband of his trousers, and she slid them underneath.



A moment later her hand closed around his hot, bulging shaft. Eric's head fell backward as if his neck muscles had gone limp. He groaned at her touch and she squeezed him and stroked him, encouraged by his response. His head came level again, his eyes fairly blazing when they met hers. He brought one hand around to the front of her and caught the corners of the towel she'd wrapped herself in. With a flick of his fingers the thick terry cloth fell to her feet. His arms slipped around her waist and pulled her body to his, flesh to flesh. The sensation set her pulse racing. His hard, muscled chest and tight, warm skin touching her soft breasts. His strong arms around her, his big hands moving over her bare back, crushing her to him. She clung to his shoulders, further aroused at the sinewy strength she found there.



Attacking her mouth once again, Eric lowered her gently to the floor. She lay on her back, stretched before the fire, and he lay on his side beside her, one arm beneath her, pillowing her head for his plundering mouth. His other hand moved hotly over her body. He cupped and squeezed her breasts, gently pinching her nipples until they throbbed against his fingers. He moved his hand lower, trailing fingertips over her belly, and then burying them in the nest of hair between her thighs.



With a slowness that was torture he parted the soft folds there. She closed her eyes when he probed her, and felt the growing wetness he evoked from her. She wanted him. She parted her legs and arched toward his exploring fingers, to tell him so. She closed her eyes when he took his mouth from hers and lowered it to nurse at her breast. She felt him tremble when his teeth scraped over her nipple, and she pressed his head to her with one hand and fumbled for the fastenings of his trousers with the other.



He helped her push them down, and then he kicked free of them, lying naked as she was. She opened her eyes to look at him in the firelight. She thought him the most beautiful man she'd ever seen. Every inch of him was tight, hard, corded with muscle. His skin was smooth and taut, elastic and practically hairless. Her gaze moved down his body, up it again, and met his smoldering eyes. Are you certain? he seemed to ask, though he never said a word.



In answer she fastened her mouth to his, pulling his body to her. He covered her gently. Instinctively she planted her feet, bent her knees and opened herself to him. Slowly he filled her, and she caught her breath at the feeling. This was more than sex, she thought dimly, as he pushed gently deeper. This was a completion of some cosmic cycle. He belonged here with her, and she with him. This was right. He withdrew, so careful not to hurt her, and began to slide inward again. She gripped his firm buttocks and jerked him into her. The fullness forced the breath from her lungs, but she arched to meet his next powerful thrust.



His pace quickened, and Tamara knew nothing for a time, except for the sensations of her body. His mouth moved over her throat, her jaw, her breasts. He suckled and licked and bit at her, setting her blood to boiling. His hands had moved beneath her to cup her buttocks and lift her to him. They kneaded her, caressed her and rocked her to his rhythm. His rigid shaft stroked to her deepest recesses, no longer hesitant, but hard and fast. She felt a tension twist within her. His movements inside her drew it tighter, and she trembled with the force of it. Tighter, and he caused it. He sensed her body's responses and he played upon them, adjusting his movements to draw out the exquisite torture. She bucked beneath him, seeking a release that hovered just beyond her reach, and she felt a similar need in him.



He moved within her more quickly now, his breaths coming short and fast. His mouth opened, hot and wet against her throat, and she felt her skin being drawn into it. She felt the skim of his incisors and the answering thrum of her pulse. She knew a craving she'd never known before, and she arched her throat to him just as she arched her hips to meet his. She screamed aloud with her mindless need, gripped the back of his head and pressed him harder to her neck.



The tension drew tighter, so tight she thought she'd soon explode with it. He withdrew slowly, and she whimpered her plea. "Please... now, Eric... do it now!" He drove into I her, withdrew and drove again, the force of his thrusts beyond control, it seemed. He plunged so violently it would have lifted her body from the floor if he hadn't held her immobile, forcing her to take all of him, with all the strength he could muster. And she wouldn't have drawn away if she'd been able. She wanted this. . . and more. Another rending thrust and she felt herself reach the precipice. He let her linger there, drawing it out until her cries were like those of a wounded animal. His teeth closed on her throat. She felt the incisors pricking at her skin and she clutched him closer.



They punctured her throat as he plunged into her again, driving her over the edge. The pain was ecstasy in the throes of the climax that rocked her. She convulsed around him, and then harder as she felt him sucking at her throat. Her body milked his, and she trembled all over, violently, with spasms of pleasure she hadn't known could exist. He bucked inside her, and she knew he'd reached the peak, as well. She felt his hot seed spill into her as her own climax went on and on. His mouth open wide at her throat, his tongue moving greedily to taste her, he shook with the force of his own release. He groaned, long and low, and then collapsed on top of her with one last, full body shudder. He carefully withdrew his teeth.



He started to move off her, but she quickly wrapped her arms around him. His head was pillowed on her breasts, and she held him there. "Don't move yet," she whispered. "Just hold me."



He pulled free despite her words, and rolled to the floor beside her. He sat up, gazing down at her, his eyes glistening, mirroring the fire. His fingers touched her throat, and he squeezed his eyes closed. "God, what have I done?" His words were no more than a choked whisper. "What kind of monster am I that I would allow myself-"



"Don't say that!" She started to sit up, but his hands came fast to her shoulders.



"No, you mustn't move. Lie still. Rest." He moved one hand through her hair, over and over again. "I'm so sorry. So very sorry, Tamara."



She frowned, shaking her head. "You didn't hurt me, Eric. My God, it was incredible-"



"I drank from you!"



"I know what you did. What I don't know is why you act like you've stabbed me through the heart. I've lost more blood than that when I cut myself shaving!" She made her voice more gentle when the pain didn't leave his eyes. She reached up and stroked his face with her palm. "Eric," she whispered. "What ill effects will there be? Will I become a vampire now?"



"No, that requires mingling of-"



"Will I be sick?"



"No. Perhaps a bit dizzy when you get up, but it will pass."



"Then why are you so remorseful?" She sat up slowly, angled her head and pressed her lips to his. "I loved what you did to me, Eric. I wanted it as badly as you did."



"You couldn't-"



"I did. I feel what you feel, don't forget. I understand now why you held back before. It's a part of the passion for you, isn't it? It's another kind of climax." His eyes searched hers, as if in awe. "You see, I do understand. I felt it too."



He shook his head. "It didn't repulse you?"



"Repulse me? Eric, I love you." She blinked and realized what she'd just said, then looked him in the eyes. "I love you."