Free Daylight - Book 1 (No Death for the Wicked) by Karli Rush Page B

I'm here for one thing and one thing only , the Daylight Serum . I slap back the curl bouncing freely in my face and decide to appear, well-behaved .
    Music possesses the room, as a slow tantric sound lures everyone to dance. The unfamiliar faces all begin to blur with copper, crimson, gold, and white Paper Mache masks meshing together. And before long, I'm swept into the flood of people. A swanky uptown male leads me across the glossy onyx floor with one intention. His hand starts at my back but slowly wanders down. My quickness halts his roaming hands, as we waltz around, he grins, “Were you unable to find a mask?”
    “Yeah, I'm wearing it now, can't you see it?”  I make a face as if he is a moron and he drops the interrogation. He doesn't react well to my approach towards his ego and he grabs me hard by the wrist and begins pulling me through the crowd.
    The soles of his expensive dress shoes barely tap the numerous steps of the spiral staircase. He’s a man on a mission. He comes to a stop once we reach the top of the stairs. The little jaunt doesn't help his breathing or his heart rate, plus he's thoroughly pissed off. He quickly locates a room at the end of the corridor toting me along with a vise like grip.
    He slams the old wooden door closed behind him and lays it out.
    “I paid fucking good money to be here tonight.”
    I had no doubt in my mind that he did, the diamond engraved cufflinks he wears are worth the sum of what Sammie's rich uncle made in one year.
    I reply dryly, “Okay.”
    “Okay?!”
    His chest heaves, he's so irate right now I think he might pop a blood vessel. I glide my tongue across the top of my teeth and smack my lips at him.
    “What would you have me do?”
    He rips off his mask, “Get on your knees.”
    “I'm sorry? What?”
    He's not overly hot, if you took away the crooked nose, beady little eyes, and the deep scar that runs the side of his jawline, he might not be too bad. His hand snakes out and grips the bundle of hair I have piled on top of my head.
    “You're going to suck me.”
    I collide him hard against the wall. I have to study his pupils to see if they still focus. Satisfied, I snarl, fully caught in the moment. “I don't suck, I bite.”
    I flick my tongue along his neck, as I unbutton his collar. He unclasps his belt and roughly chokes out his approval, “That's it bitch just move down a lit...”
    My fangs extend. Penetr ating the soft, succulent flesh as my mouth forms the perfect rhythmic motion and I draw in his blood fast and hard. My hand clutches his neck, feeling the elevated vein, and the hammering pulse. I monitor myself, careful not to add a toe tag to him and end the night with hauling him to a morgue. I've learned our affect is different but the end results are typically the same for males and females. Both have extremely stimulating orgasms. The females reach their peak faster and multiple times than the men, usually .
    Drinking in deeper , he begins to moan, his engorged and swollen erection strains for release. His hands relax their tight hold which was threaded through my now loose hair, and drops to my hip as he grinds himself against me. His head lags to the side giving me more exposure. He builds to the next stage, faster the friction between us escalates. His pulse rate and blood pressure mount and I know he's close. His short breaths try to maintain itself with the rapid beating of his accelerated heart. And then the sudden tension of all his muscles and nerves experience the most intense physical pleasure one can have. I retract my fangs, lick the punctured marks, the tiny amounts of my saliva will restore and leave no trace he had been bitten. I try to make it quick and painless, a skill I've promised to keep. I have watched too many throats being torn out by mother dearest that I have lost count. 
    I drag his half comatose ass over to the bed, leaving his stylish belt clasp open and the distant fuzzy memories of me. I close the door.