EcstasyEntwined

Ecstasy Entwined

Ju Dimello

A siren whose voice can kill and a vampire who strips her
fears along with her clothes. Over the phone or with sex toys, this vampire
hopes to deliver some
fangtastic
orgasms.

Elena is lonely, until she meets Gregory. The hot,
mysterious vampire shatters the barriers she’s erected around her heart. She
sheds her inhibitions, reveling in her sexual surrender. But a true
relationship is out of the equation since her voice might kill him.

Gregory has never allowed his lust and need for blood to
mingle. The mind-blowing sex with Elena not only strains his control, but also brings
out a hidden dark streak. Does he dare hope she can assuage the dangerous need
she’s ignited in him?

Ecstasy Entwined

Ju Dimello

Dedication

To everyone who can’t get enough
of vampires.

Acknowledgements

Special thanks to Lucinda for
pushing me to do my best.

Author Note

Dear Reader,

When the idea of a siren in a
contemporary world popped into my head, I admit I was a bit stumped. How can
the heroine talk to someone without bringing him under her spell? How can she
have a normal relationship when her voice kills? And if she’s living for
eternity, wouldn’t she be in constant fear—of her powers and of harming others?
Thankfully, modern technology makes it easier for her talk over phone without
anyone dropping dead at her feet. Enter the vampire who is powerful enough to
resist the siren’s allure while coaxing her to take a chance on him. Will she
dare let down her guard? I hope you enjoy reading the story and finding out.

Chapter One

“My voice kills people.” Her sultry voice faded into a
whisper as she delivered the truth he’d been waiting for.

Gregory Lathrop covered the mouthpiece with his hand and
swore. What were the freaking odds?

Elena.

Her name whispered across his brain and settled in his
chest. Intrigue warred with the overflowing, yet inexplicable, emotions she
sparked in him.

He leaned back into the chair, hoping to ease his fierce
erection. Instead, the movement backfired.

Shit!

The slide of the zipper against his cock, even through his
briefs, made him ache as much as her voice did.

She was so controlled and spoke so damn softly that he
wondered what it’d take to make her scream. He wanted to be the one who
unleashed all her pent-up passion.

Fascination was a mild word for the curiosity she evoked.
The shades of beige and brown—colors he’d chosen specifically for their calming
properties—decorating his office barely reined in his clashing emotions. An
eternal war raged within him, where hope battled caution. Hope persuaded him to
take a chance, not let his potential mate slip by him, while caution born out
of memories of vampires slaughtered by humans held him back.

Since he’d started the midnight helpline as a cover-up to
provide a hope of refuge for preternatural beings, nothing
should
surprise him much. The vampires he employed to work the night shifts directed
any mortals who called in to a different section while working to earn the
trust of immortals.

He’d been obsessed with her from the moment she’d called his
helpline. The unbidden attraction could fall into either category—good or
very
bad.

He clutched the phone as tightly as a lifeline and let out a
strangled growl. “That’s the secret you’ve been holding out on me for months?”

He sensed her hesitation. Of course she’d be wary. Anyone
would be. Inevitably, they came together in the end. Elena was no different.
Once she opened up completely, he’d let her know about their underground
immortal network and bring her in. Until then, he’d keep up the charade.

Any paranormal calling the nocturnal helpline needed a lot
more than a vampire’s thrall to let down their guard. As one of the oldest
among his kind, he’d perfected the art of coaxing the information he wanted.

“You can trust me with anything, Lena.”

Her breath hitched. “Yes.”

Even the slightest sound from her lips sent his imagination
toppling over the cliff. She stirred his lust and taunted his hunger as if she
were born for the sole purpose of tormenting him with fantasies.

Try as he might, he couldn’t prevent the surge of bloodlust,
even on the phone. Not even when she’d just admitted who she was, or rather,
what
she was. Though his life spanned millennia, he’d never encountered a real
siren.

Even in the middle of his work night, all he could think of
was her—naked and sprawled for his pleasure. Spreading her pale thighs. He’d
lick her glistening juices while working his fingers into her tight ass,
driving her mindless with frenzy. She’d moan, beg him to fill her, to fuck her.
His control would be sorely tested with her mewling cries and throaty demands.
He wouldn’t give in, no matter how much he wanted to bury himself in her
tightness again and again. He’d hold on until she shattered beneath his sensual
onslaught and then he’d start all over. He’d…

He shook his head, clearing the dangerous, yet enticing,
images. Over the centuries, he’d never met anyone who could churn such emotions
within him. And now, all he could think of was getting her naked. Impossible
over the phone, but he hoped she’d give him more details. Eventually.

The vampire in him didn’t want to wait for such formalities,
but he held on, exerting every inch of patience he possessed rather than
tearing through all of New York, ripping the ends of the earth apart to get to
her. The sane, logical part of him warned him to take it slow. She’d come to
trust him enough to share her secret. He needed to go one step at a time,
hoping for more. Knowing the sensible recourse of his actions wasn’t the
issue—controlling himself was. Insidious whispers filled his brain, logic
driven away by feral lust.

“Tell me what you’re thinking, Gregory.”

Her words brought him back to the conversation with a wry
smile. She never shortened his name, as if she still inhabited an era where
using proper names was the trend. He should know, having lived through enough
of them to tell the tales. Except, he’d never had anyone to share them with.

“Gregory? You still there?”

His name, spilling from her in that soft breathy voice, only
heightened the lust fogging his brain. Crossing his legs didn’t ease the
incessant throbbing down south. He let out a pent-up breath of frustration.
“Sweetheart, if I don’t hear from you again, it might just kill me.”

There. Let her handle the truth!

“You sure know how to make a woman feel better.” Her broken
laugh sounded suspiciously like a sob.

His instincts clamored to reach out to her, to protect her.
“Elena, are you all right?”

“I suppose I am. I’m not sure.”

“What the hell—on earth—do you mean?” He attempted, but
failed, to quell his concerned growl. What was she unleashing in him?

“I wonder why I’m living anymore.”

Concern washed over his undead heart, tension coiling in his
guts. This wasn’t about him or about the darkness threatening to consume him
whole. The one female he cared about was losing it and all he could think of
was himself and his crazy urges?

Get your shit together, Lathrop.

Cursing silently, he sat up straighter. She’d trusted him
enough to reveal the truth. He could very well deliver the practiced speech,
give her the required information necessary to hook up with other immortals and
be done with it. Done with her.

Even the thought of letting her go made him want to roar his
denial.

“There’s always a purpose to life,” he started, and gritted
his teeth. He sounded as if he was a freaking philosopher and, hoping he made
sense, he spat out the rest. “Even if we aren’t aware of it right now.”

Hopefully she wouldn’t ask him what he meant or expect further
explanations. The thrall in his voice could calm her down and he wasn’t above
using a little of his powers where, or for whom, it counted the most.

“Tell me what happened.”

She sighed. “I slept with one—a man.”

Fury crashed, mingling into his system as though a potent
poison. Did the man hurt her? If he’d even laid a finger on her, Greg wouldn’t
hesitate to tear him apart limb from limb.

“The sex was fun. Even refreshing,” she continued, seemingly
unaware of the fear,
for her
, rampaging through him.

His voice went low, dangerous to his own ears. “But?”

Her sniffles turned into hiccups as she obviously controlled
her urge to bawl and his heart squeezed. So brave, his little warrior, and so
alone. Just like him.

“He died.”

“What? How?” He bellowed right into her ears and regretted
his shout the moment the line went silent. She needed his assurance, not his
outburst. Her confusion, and the identity crisis that had propelled her to seek
assistance from his helpline, seeped through the barrier around his heart,
urging him to battle on her behalf.

“What exactly happened?” he asked. “And when?”

“Umm—a couple of years ago.”

Decades
, he surmised by the hesitation in her voice,
but waited for her to open up and spill her guts. He’d never been so affected
by another’s plight to date. Sleeping with women, yes. Embroiled in their
emotions, no, never.

Not since the fateful day he became a vampire. “Speak to me,
love.”

Her tears washed away the momentary panic that arose with
his use of the
L-word
. Each sob tore at him through the distance
separating them. She hiccupped again. “One moment everything seemed fine. I
think I cried out and then…”

“Go on.”

“Then he twitched a bit and went still. I immediately called
the cops. The coroner pronounced him dead of a cardiac arrest. But I—I know it
was my voice. I killed him, Gregory.”

Survival of a vampire depended on listening to the unsaid
and watching out for the unseen. He’d long ago learned to trust his instincts
and they now screamed to get to her, to ease her pain and keep her demons at
bay.

What would her blood taste like?

He’d heard whispers, of course, of the one woman capable of
taunting his lust and igniting a rampant need for blood. He’d sneered at those
rumors, chalking them up to old wives’ tales. Fucking was for pleasure and
blood necessary for survival. He’d never let either mingle or get out of
hand—his cock and fangs, literally. The hunger searing through him threatened
to shatter his illusions to pieces.

She needed him; she just didn’t know it yet.

Thankful he’d had the foresight or plain common sense to
install soundproofing in his office, he readied himself to explore the
unparalleled fascination he seemed to have developed for her over the past few
months. Time to up the stakes.

“Sweetheart, I have a sure-fire way to help you forget. You
up for it?”

For a moment, he was afraid she didn’t hear him, wouldn’t
respond to the verbal thrall he’d put her under.

A terse few seconds passed before a small sound came from
her end. “Maybe.”

Battling his relief at her acquiescence and the increasing
onslaught of lust settling in his groin, he took a deep breath and let his
control slip more than a bit. “Focus on me, Lena.”

“Gregory…?”

Her soft hesitation spread as if it was a wildfire, heating
his bloodstream. The hiss of the air conditioner was the only sound in his
office before he cleared his throat and began his seduction.

“What are you wearing tonight?”

After ages of holding back, Elena Niles welcomed the role
reversal—she hung on his every word instead of being other way around. The fact
thrilled her, terrified her and loosened both her tongue and inhibitions.

The anonymity made her feel safe. She’d bared her soul to
Gregory, told him things she hadn’t voiced to anyone in her endless life. And
she hadn’t repulsed him.

Hope warmed her heart even as his low growl washed over her,
firing places long frozen. Excitement jolted her out of the brooding mood she’d
slipped into. A tingle started at her breasts, traced a path to her abdomen,
spiraling to the juncture between her thighs. She squirmed, cradling the phone
closer. As if he were there with her in the room. As if he were touching her…

Her breath hitched as her senses awakened. Her vibrators
were no match for a real man, his voice hoarse while he filled her with cock.
Sirens gave and took pleasure, and she’d denied herself the bittersweet
temptation for eons.
No more
.

Just like that, his question of what she wore lifted the
weight of the world from her shoulders. A watery chuckle escaped. She wiped her
tears, balled the handkerchief and threw it across her room.

Glancing down, she grimaced. “Trust me. You don’t want to
know that.”

“Trust me. I want to know every damn thing about you.” His
tone was a sensuous rasp. “Now, tell me.”

She tried to imagine what he’d like and opened her mouth,
intending to tell him something kinky. “I’m in my old T-shirt, which comes to
my thighs. My usual night gear.”

“Something satiny with laces might’ve been good. But this is
better.”

Did she hear a trace of an accent in his voice? She couldn’t
be sure.

“Underneath?”

She blushed. “No. Nothing.”

His harsh intake of breath spiked her temperature up a notch
or two. “A woman after my own heart.”

“What are you wearing?” she asked, plucking some courage out
of thin air. She prayed he wouldn’t consider her too brazen, but an illicit
thrill coursed through her at her own words.

“I’m wearing the same attire I wear to the office every day.
Dark slacks, paired with a light blue shirt, a blazer. And at this moment, I’m
pulling down my zipper, inch by inch, and my erection is about to spring free.”

This time, her breath caught. “Where are you?”

“Worried, my sweet? I’m in my office and I’ve locked the
door. Since I’m the boss, no one would dare disturb me. Now remove your tee and
lie on the bed.”

She toyed with the hem of her frayed garment and followed
his command. Her core clenched while want made her wet between her thighs.
Petrified by her own easy arousal, she stood at the edge of the bed, wavering.

She closed her eyes, swiping at the last of her tears while
her mind drifted. She hadn’t allowed herself to connect with anyone in a long,
long time. Her voice attracted humans—men and women alike—and if she’d dared to
have sex with them, they’d inevitably died. As an immortal, she’d resigned
herself to living alone, with only her battery-operated boyfriends for company.

Until him. She hadn’t really thought she’d find
him
when she called the helpline. This man, Gregory, managed to slip into her
guarded life, one phone call at a time.

She’d tried to resist his charm, his smooth talking ways and
the ability to make her smile. He’d bantered with her, argued with her and,
most of all, made her feel cherished. Valuable. A friend.

In time, she’d given up her resistance and simply enjoyed
talking to him, basked in his wit and allowed herself to fantasize. He’d
invaded her nights, her dreams, until she waited for the times she allowed
herself to call him. Not like he’d prevented her from calling daily, but she’d
controlled herself from forming a dangerous, yet alluring habit. Her unbidden
addiction to him.

How far was she willing to take this? Could something over
the phone be called a relationship? She hoped not. She didn’t do relationships.
Period. Not that she didn’t want to…