Black Desire

Evernight
Publishing

www.evernightpublishing.com

Copyright© 2012 Karyn Gerrard

 
ISBN:
978-1-77130-008-7

Cover Artist: Sour Cherry Designs

Editor: Marie Medina

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

WARNING:
The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is
illegal.
 
No part of this book may be
used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission,
except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

This
is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any
resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or
dead, is entirely coincidental.

DEDICATION

To every paranormal romance author I have ever read. You
all have been such an inspiration for creating my own small corner of the
supernatural. (Glossary at end of this book)

To my hero, my Hubs, who constantly and continually
encourages me and offers his broad shoulder when I need it.

To anyone and everyone who has bought my books, I
appreciate the support so much.

BLACK DESIRE

Karyn Gerrard

Copyright © 2012

Chapter One

Blood and Sex. These needs lay at the foundation of Tristan
Black’s existence and his base nature clamored for it. His needs and senses often
combated for his attention.

Intense emotions in his presence were easy to ascertain.
After one hundred and ninety years Tristan was attuned to these, primarily in
females. His perceptive sense of awareness determined how these women observed,
studied, fantasized about and lusted after him. He could feel it and smell the
desire.
Conceit
did not play any part in his musings.
 
His
Vampire blood elicited this reaction, blood inherited from his father.

Sitting at the bar of
the Rusty Anchor Pub, he took a long languid mouthful of his drink. At best such
emotional reactions amused him, but at worst they were tedious. He hoped
tonight would not be one of those evenings. Tristan wanted a quiet, unobtrusive
drink. Perhaps in the depths of his male vanity he savored the attention,
blatant or otherwise. What man wouldn't?

"Another
Hennessey, Tris?" the bartender offered.

"Thank you,
Greg," Tristan replied. He took a quick look around. "Not overly busy
tonight."

Greg reached for the
bottle and expertly poured one snifter of the honey amber liquid Tristan loved.

"No doubt most
went into Halifax tonight, being it’s Saturday. I do more business during the
weeknights than I do weekends. I can't compete with some of the bigger clubs in
town," Greg replied with a shrug.

"Ah, but some
people do prefer a smaller venue. More intimate. Join me, Greg, and pour
yourself a cognac."

Greg laughed. "I
think you and I are the only ones that drink XO, Tris. No one else has ever
ordered it."

"No accounting for taste these days." Tristan smiled
cynically.
"Oh oh, Tris, female zeroing in on you, I'm afraid."

Tristan closed his
eyes and exhaled, his nostrils flaring almost imperceptibly and panther-like. He
inhaled and smelled her need and desire. The woman wanted him, desperately.
He ran his hand through his hair, leaving it tousled and more appealing. Women
always loved his long locks and he used it to best advantage. Was he in the
mood tonight to indulge himself? After all these decades he knew what women
wanted and what they found sexy. It was all a game with him the ultimate
winner.

The woman's gaze
drank him in, her eyes burning with lust.

The woman sat next to
Tristan. She trembled and her nerves sparked under her skin. He sensed that and
so much more.

"Can I get you a
drink, or perhaps it is not a drink you desire?" Tristan crooned.

"No. I-I don't
want a drink. Thank you," she whispered.

"No, sweeting, I
know what you want."

"No, Tristan,
not here," Greg said.

Tristan's large,
expressive gray eyes burned and his hollowed cheeks worked furiously.

"My dear friend.
Do not despair. I wouldn't, not here." Tristan turned toward the woman.
"Perhaps I can persuade you to dance instead."

Tristan led the still
trembling woman onto the dance floor. A song from the ‘80's, “Flesh for Fantasy”
by Billy Idol, roared from the speakers.

The driving opening
beat of the song reverberated off the dark wood paneled walls. Tristan's eyes
narrowed with a dangerous glint as his gaze captured the woman's in a searing
connection.

Moving closer, he gathered
her in his arms and kissed her. His tongue probed and explored every inch of
her mouth. The woman moaned. Quite loudly.

His slim hips swayed
in time to the sensual tune. His hand splayed on her back and held her tight
against him. His cock was rock hard but not from this woman.

Every time Billy Idol
sneered “
flesh
,” Tristan thrust the
noticeable bulge in his jeans into the woman's feminine core. His hardness
ground into her, teased her and stoked her lust. She moaned louder this time.
They continued the deliciously decadent dance, oblivious to everyone. Almost
everyone. His enhanced eyesight focused on the darkened corner of the pub where
she
sat hidden in shadow and observed
his every move. He would give her a floorshow then.

The lights pounded
out a mesmerizing rhythm in time with the music. The effect was hypnotic. Tristan
pulled away from the kiss and the woman groaned in protest.

"Do you want
more?" he snarled sexily, his voice pure gravel. "I can give you so
much more."

He rotated his hips
and let her feel every long, thick inch of him. His hand moved up her bare leg.
His fingers disappeared under the hem of her short, flared skirt.
Thongs.
He smiled.
So predictable these women.
One finger reached under the slim slip
of silk barely covering her pussy.
So
wet.
He teased her hardened clit.

"Oh God,
yes!" the woman cried.

Tristan leaned the
woman back and nibbled ever so gently on her neck while his finger worked the
nub. The woman gasped, and a rush of hot, juicy liquid poured over Tristan's
finger. She was close. All it would take was for him to thrust his finger deep
into her welcoming pussy. She panted and moaned as if in the throes of a
passionate climax, which she was.

Tristan's sharp teeth
came achingly close to her carotid artery. He playfully sucked on the pulsating
vein without breaking the skin then slid a long finger into her wetness. The
woman screamed and shuddered in his arms, her climax complete. Tristan removed
his hand from under her skirt.

The song ended.

Tristan backed away
from the woman and bowed like a gentleman from another era.

"Thank you for the
dance, miss," he said gallantly.

A quick fleeting look
at the dark corner booth, and he heard a soft, feminine gasp of shock from the
woman sitting there hidden in shadow. A sly smile curved about his lips as he
walked back to the bar.

****

Katrina Hammond observed
the sensual spectacle from her corner booth. Her jaw must be hanging open
because she could not believe what she had just seen. The woman had an orgasm
in his arms right there on the dance floor. At least that was how it appeared. Obviously,
his hand was under her skirt!

She’d watched his
every move since he first strode into the place an hour ago. She glanced
around, every female focused on him as she was. They gazed at him with a
blatant longing and raw, naked lust and after that dirty dance, who could blame
them?

Taking a long,
languid sip from her glass, she let the German Riesling linger in her mouth
before swallowing. The way she all but drooled was shameless. Every other
female, regardless of age, was doing the exact same thing. Katrina shifted uncomfortably
in the booth. Wow, she was on fire from watching this man. She needed another
drink, a drink with lots of ice.
Lots.

He stood at the bar.
He was very tall, at least 6’4”, Katrina imagined. The man was slender but
there was no mistaking the taut musculature that hugged his frame. Broad
shoulders tapered to a perfect, slim waist, not an ounce of fat on this man. He
was all lean and wiry with corded muscles. She could observe that fact, as his
gold silk shirt was unbuttoned halfway down his chest showing rock hard
pectorals dusted with curly brown hair.
 
The black jeans were so tight it left nothing
to the imagination.

His face was not what one would call classically handsome,
but his features were rugged and very appealing. He had a firm, square jaw and
prominent, chiseled cheekbones. A long aquiline nose did not mar his looks at
all.
His nostrils flared as if scenting the air. The
action seemed almost feral.

A closely cropped,
perfectly shaped dark brown goatee added to the dangerous look and surrounded
the most luscious, sensuous lips she had ever seen on a man. His hair was incredibly
long, past his shoulders and a deep rich brown. His hair was the color of aged
mahogany wood and copper highlights glistened and shined under the pulsating
strobe lights. However, what drew her first were his large and expressive eyes.
 
The penetrating steel-gray shade, as far
as she could make out under the subdued lighting, resembled storm clouds over a
raging sea. The man looked cool and detached and the frosty, snowy morning eyes
just punctuated the point. The mahogany haired Adonis downed his drink and put
down what looked to be a hundred dollar bill judging from the color on the bar counter,
tapped it, nodded and left the pub. Katrina was out of her seat like a shot,
and she grabbed the bartender's arm.