Venice Vampyr (Venice Vampyr #1)

Eight
     
    Raphael had never had such an elaborate dream as this one: of angels and heaven, of ripe woman and sexual bliss. Even his sense of smell was still drugged with the scent of her, the beautiful Isabella who’d rescued him. He couldn’t even remember how he’d gotten home after their intoxicating encounter. Had he taken her again after she’d ridden him into oblivion? And to think that it had been his hands and his mouth that had coaxed all that passion out of her.
    He shifted in bed and encountered lush curves and warmth so familiar, he instinctively pulled her into the arc of his body, delighted to realize that his dream wasn’t over yet. Yes, he could indulge once more, take the sleeping woman in his arms and make sweet love to her again while she slept. He could drive his aching cock into her and impale her with it until his orgasm claimed him. And then he would do what he couldn’t do to her in reality: drink from the plump vein on her graceful neck, gorge himself on her rich blood.
    Yes, even in his dream he could feel the draw her body had. And even now, with the ghost of her form pressed into him, he was getting hard. Hard for her body and thirsty for her blood.
    Raphael took a deep breath. Her scent was still around him, and it felt so real it nearly undid him. Not wanting to wake up from this, he kept his eyes closed. His hand traveled to the soft globes of the imaginary woman in his arms and squeezed. Her nipple rubbed against the palm of his hand and tightened.
    His cock pressed against her warm buttocks, and he pulled back to readjust himself. Yes, he could slide into her, his dream woman. Because in his dream, she’d be all wet and ready for him, open to any kind of debauchery he had in mind. He could ravish her even without her knowledge, because she was merely a figment of his imagination. A very beautiful figment.
    With his hard length poised at the entrance to her cave, he noticed the warmth and wetness of her honey and pushed forward. Like a tight glove, she engulfed him in her dark depths.
    “Oh, yeah,” he grunted to himself. “Let me fuck you.”
    The woman in his arms stirred. Her ass moved back to take him deeper.
    “Yes, take my big cock into your cunt.” To his dream woman he could talk dirty, and it excited him. He didn’t have to pretend he was refined. “And after that, your ass is next.”
    A startled cry came from her as she pulled away. He gripped her hips harder and pushed her back onto his cock.
    “Raphael!” Isabella’s voice was so real, it made him stop in his tracks.
    Then he felt her hand on his—too real to be a dream. His eyes flew open. Despite the dim light, he could clearly make out where he was: in Isabella’s bedchamber. He’d never left.
    Raphael cursed and pulled himself out of her, for once not listening to his throbbing dick. A quick glance at the windows confirmed the worst: it was daytime, and while the shutters and the drapes kept out the rays of the sun, he could see light seep through the sides.
    He’d slept in her arms—and slept better than he’d ever had—and missed sunrise. He was in a quagmire.
    “You promised you’d leave before sunrise,” Isabella said. He couldn’t even fault her for the accusatory tone in her voice.
    When he looked at her, he saw fear in her eyes. He knew what she was thinking: if anybody saw him leave her house now, her reputation would be ruined. And if he stayed, sooner or later her servants would discover him.
    But what she didn’t know was that he didn’t have a choice in what to do. His only choice was to stay. The rays of the sun would burn him, and within minutes he’d turn into a pile of ash.  He knew, because there had been moments when he’d taken short dashes from one hiding place to another—mere seconds—but nevertheless, his skin had burned painfully. He wasn’t keen on repeating any of it.
    He couldn’t leave, no matter what. And somehow he had to make this clear to her without exposing what he was.
    “I’m so sorry, my angel. I fell asleep in your arms. I don’t know how it happened.”
    “You can’t stay here. My servants. They’ll find out. You have to leave. Please. But nobody can see you.” Her voice shook, and her eyes darted around the room as if to try and find a way out for him. Then she gasped.
    He followed where her eyes had traveled. The clock over the mantle showed it to be past ten o’clock.
    “Oh, no!”
    “Please, Isabella, calm down. We’ll find a