Chapter 1:
Spencer
Amber body spray. Vanilla shampoo and a green apple lollipop. I inventoried in my head.
And then there was the deliciously musky smell of her pu—
“Relax,” she said. Her voice was low. Dark and sexy like the lingerie she wore.
My eyes drifted down to the body part in question that was making my incubus-side so crazy, then drifted up to the pulse rat-a-tat-tatting in her neck. My vampire-half obviously wanted to play too.
Sometimes I hated being a NightDweller.
I switched my camera to my other hand, wiped my brow and adjusted my black-framed glasses on my angular face, hoping the budge in my pants wasn't too noticeable from her perspective.
My first lead photoshoot and I had to photographer Delilah Silva, of all people. A cruel blessing, indeed.
I took a deep breath only to regret the sexy taste of her that caressed my tastebuds. My heightened senses were a curse on days like this.
“Relax, Spencer. You’ve seen me in my underwear plenty of times.” Delilah stretched cat-like on the white satin sheets of the prop bed. “I’m sure it’s nothing new for you.” There was a hint of a question in her voice, her green eyes sparkling as she rolled them, then she peeked up at me.
I cleared my throat to dislodge the lump that had seize my speech since she'd changed into to the lingerie. Usually my boss, Samuel, was there to lead the shoots and they were always during the day, when it was easier to control my urges. “First time flying solo tonight.” I said vaguely as I snapped a few candid shots of the gorgeous model.
My beastly nature, that I’d successfully contained for most of my preternatural life, was so far from my current “mild-mannered, 31-year-old, magazine junior staff photographer Spencer Rake" identity and it was thisclose to breaching the surface.
She gripped her thick black hair and arched her back, pushing her breasts into the air. She gave me her most seductive expression. Her lips pouty. Her caramel skin glowing against the white sheets.
I snapped the camera, part of me wishing that look was for me. The other part, the saner part, knew it was better if it wasn’t.
I loved my job as a photographer, it was calm, easy-going, often solitary, which kept my NightDweller, half-incubus, half-vampire, nature in check…but this shoot just might kill me. If a man could die from unfulfilled arousal.
“You’re the boss today, Spencer.” She rolled over, pushing her lace-clad bottom into the air. I swallowed hard and adjusted my belt. “Samuel is sick and you—” She eyed me from head to toe and winked. “—are pretty good with that thing.”
My throat went dry.
Everything she says sounds so seductive.
I turned away from her under the ruse of checking the pictures on the computer.
I couldn’t remember ever being this sexually frustrated in my 105 years of living.
I could feel my canines elongating. Feel my normally brown eyes turning purple with arousal. Any more pouting or teasing from her and I’d be full-blown NightDweller, fangs, purple eyes and all. Not to mention, at full attention in my jeans.
I sat down onto the bar stool at my desk, plugged in my camera and pretended to check her pictures on the computer.
I glanced over the computer screen at her. She was still on her hands and knees making pouty faces at herself in the wall of mirrors behind the prop bed.
It should be a crime to be that hot.
She was—
"Christ—" I breathed, trying to invoke as much help as possible. I didn’t think there was a word for what she was.
Trouble. Yep, summed it up nicely.
“Afro-Brazilian heritage” her credentials boasted. She had toasted skin, thick dark hair that waved around her face and sparkling green eyes.
My head canted to the side as I watched her.
And a sweet ass.
I checked myself in the mirror to make sure my eyes had returned to normal, though I could still feel that my fangs were still slightly elongated. My cock was
Spencer
Amber body spray. Vanilla shampoo and a green apple lollipop. I inventoried in my head.
And then there was the deliciously musky smell of her pu—
“Relax,” she said. Her voice was low. Dark and sexy like the lingerie she wore.
My eyes drifted down to the body part in question that was making my incubus-side so crazy, then drifted up to the pulse rat-a-tat-tatting in her neck. My vampire-half obviously wanted to play too.
Sometimes I hated being a NightDweller.
I switched my camera to my other hand, wiped my brow and adjusted my black-framed glasses on my angular face, hoping the budge in my pants wasn't too noticeable from her perspective.
My first lead photoshoot and I had to photographer Delilah Silva, of all people. A cruel blessing, indeed.
I took a deep breath only to regret the sexy taste of her that caressed my tastebuds. My heightened senses were a curse on days like this.
“Relax, Spencer. You’ve seen me in my underwear plenty of times.” Delilah stretched cat-like on the white satin sheets of the prop bed. “I’m sure it’s nothing new for you.” There was a hint of a question in her voice, her green eyes sparkling as she rolled them, then she peeked up at me.
I cleared my throat to dislodge the lump that had seize my speech since she'd changed into to the lingerie. Usually my boss, Samuel, was there to lead the shoots and they were always during the day, when it was easier to control my urges. “First time flying solo tonight.” I said vaguely as I snapped a few candid shots of the gorgeous model.
My beastly nature, that I’d successfully contained for most of my preternatural life, was so far from my current “mild-mannered, 31-year-old, magazine junior staff photographer Spencer Rake" identity and it was thisclose to breaching the surface.
She gripped her thick black hair and arched her back, pushing her breasts into the air. She gave me her most seductive expression. Her lips pouty. Her caramel skin glowing against the white sheets.
I snapped the camera, part of me wishing that look was for me. The other part, the saner part, knew it was better if it wasn’t.
I loved my job as a photographer, it was calm, easy-going, often solitary, which kept my NightDweller, half-incubus, half-vampire, nature in check…but this shoot just might kill me. If a man could die from unfulfilled arousal.
“You’re the boss today, Spencer.” She rolled over, pushing her lace-clad bottom into the air. I swallowed hard and adjusted my belt. “Samuel is sick and you—” She eyed me from head to toe and winked. “—are pretty good with that thing.”
My throat went dry.
Everything she says sounds so seductive.
I turned away from her under the ruse of checking the pictures on the computer.
I couldn’t remember ever being this sexually frustrated in my 105 years of living.
I could feel my canines elongating. Feel my normally brown eyes turning purple with arousal. Any more pouting or teasing from her and I’d be full-blown NightDweller, fangs, purple eyes and all. Not to mention, at full attention in my jeans.
I sat down onto the bar stool at my desk, plugged in my camera and pretended to check her pictures on the computer.
I glanced over the computer screen at her. She was still on her hands and knees making pouty faces at herself in the wall of mirrors behind the prop bed.
It should be a crime to be that hot.
She was—
"Christ—" I breathed, trying to invoke as much help as possible. I didn’t think there was a word for what she was.
Trouble. Yep, summed it up nicely.
“Afro-Brazilian heritage” her credentials boasted. She had toasted skin, thick dark hair that waved around her face and sparkling green eyes.
My head canted to the side as I watched her.
And a sweet ass.
I checked myself in the mirror to make sure my eyes had returned to normal, though I could still feel that my fangs were still slightly elongated. My cock was
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