Free King's Blood: Vampire Lust (A Serial Novel, Part 3) by P.J. Day

fun and exploration. We got into a cab and headed straight for a club called Lynx. According to what I read online, it was a pretty hard club to get into. However, that is what connections are for. I called Ted and asked him if he could get us in somehow. In a bit of coincidence, the V.P. of Psytech was really good friends with the owner of Lynx and Ted. My boy called in for one last favor.
    The line for Lynx was around the block. The crowd was pretty mixed. The majority of course, were probably 10 years younger than both Holly and I, but he V.I.P. line was full of sophisticated, beautiful people in their late 20’s to early 30’s. We walked right up to the the tan, ’roided-out bouncer, wearing a skin-tight, short-sleeve cotton t-shirt and skinny jeans. He had razor-shaped eyebrows and massive jowls. “How can I help you,” he asked, in a cockney accent.
    “ Jack King,” I said.
    “ Hmm...let me see.” The bouncer used his index finger to scroll down the list that was attached to the aluminum clipboard. “Nope, don’t see a Jack King.” The bouncer gave Holly an eyeful. “But, since you brought a supermodel to the party, I have no choice but to let you in.”
    Holly’s cheeks turned red and she was visibly appreciative of the comment as she flashed me a vernal grin. He lifted the velvet rope and Holly and I walked right in. “I was kidding, you’re on the list,” said the bouncer, his voice trailing off as we continued toward the club. What a scoundrel , I thought, but how could I judge a man who just pulled off something that I would do if were in his position? I’d do it with more tact, and subtlety—who was I kidding? Holly looked absolutely stunning. It’d be hard to show any kind of restraint, I probably would have done the exact same thing as dude-huge just did. Give the supermodel’s date a hard time, just for fun.
    We could hear the loud bass from inside the club reverberating throughout the walkway leading into the V.I.P. section of the club. A scantily clad hostess greeted us at the entrance. Holly caught me checking out her backside. “Those eyes of yours sure are quick,” she said.
    “ I can’t help it. It’s right there for the visual taking. Her outfit is meant to do what it did to me. It’s science.”
    We walked to our table , which was one of many in a row lining a large balcony that hung over the dance floor. The music was thumping at the highest decibel that was possible for humans to bear without running away screaming. It sounded like a combination of trance and hip-hop. The rhythmic motions of the hundreds of dancers below created a metrical wave of flesh. Holly began bouncing a little as she couldn’t resist the pulsations emitted by the tribalistic compound of beats we found ourselves in. The bass was so powerful, I could feel its beat in my body. I pointed to the really expensive bottle of vodka on our table and then pointed to the dance floor. “You want to hang up here or dance?” I yelled at Holly.
    “ What?” she asked, my question obscured by the loud music.
    “ You want to dance?!” I shouted.
    “ Yes!” Holly yelled back, her whole body moving as if it were possessed in a trance-like state.
    We made our way down an elevator to the dance floor. Holly pulled my arm and led me to the bar. As soon as we arrived at the bar , she wrapped her arms around my neck, grabbing and pulling my head toward her thick, rose-colored lips and placed them against mine. The soft, supple velvety feel of her delicate mouth was now pressed against my my face, just millimeters away from some incredibly sharp fangs. I kept telling myself...Holly, don’t use your tongue...please, don’t use your tongue. She then frenched me passionately and I made sure to open my mouth as wide as possible, hoping she didn’t slice her tongue with my naturally sharpened cuspids. I held her tightly in my arms, enjoying every second of our oral embrace. She then turned her torso forward, her soft