Keyboards and Kink (25 page)

“The
Queen of Happy Endings
huh? That has a
nice ring to it.” she said. It was the perfect tagline for her ad.
After all, she needed something snappy and sassy to catch the eye
of potential customers.

Chapter Two

The Big Move

Dominic Trevino had just settled into his new digs.
He’d sold off most of his possessions back home and hopped on a
one-way flight from Boston to Los Angeles, ready for a fresh start.
New beginnings were something Dom was used to by now. Vampires
tended to live as gypsies, moving from one place to another every
few years in order to stay under the radar. Dom was no exception.
The last thing he wanted was for someone to get too close,
stumbling upon the notion that he drank blood for sport. Or that
his rock-hard physique and chiseled good looks hadn’t aged a bit in
more than a quarter of a century.

It had been twenty-seven years since that fateful
night when Rosabelle, a recently-turned vampire, had gotten sloppy
and almost drained him dry. Dom had been wrestling on the verge of
death before the bumbling bloodsucker slit her own wrist and forced
him to drink. Her clumsy attempt at saving his life had turned into
an insufferable curse, one that forced him to live the life of a
vagabond. Dom’s only consolation was the fact that the incompetent
twit met her own demise a short time later, leaving him to fend for
himself.

Good riddance!

Nonetheless, Dom’s dark, curly hair and olive skin
tone always seemed to get him in trouble. He had a knack for
attracting clingy women with borderline Multiple Personality
Disorder. Some might say that he was drawn to psycho bitches like
iron to a magnet. No matter how hard he tried to avoid them, they
always seemed to find him. That was exactly what precipitated his
recent exodus from the east coast.

Before the move to California, Dom had done his best
to maintain a low profile. He’d rented a flat above O’Callahan’s,
an Irish pub in the heart of South Boston. Most days he kept to
himself, and only ventured out in search of sustenance. One winter
night three months ago had changed everything. He remembered it
like it was yesterday. After a particularly heavy snowstorm, the
streets seemed more dark and desolate than usual. Not even the
homeless roamed the alleyways, so Dom had no choice but to procure
blood from one of the patrons inside O’Callahan's. It was near
closing time. As he opened the heavy, distressed oak door, his
attention became riveted on the petite brunette behind the bar
serving drinks. Her brilliant blue eyes matched the color of her
v-neck sweater. Instantly, he recognized her as prey.

Look at me,
Dom commanded. His irresistible
powers of persuasion forced her to obey. Her body jerked upright as
she stared back at him, as helpless as a mouse trapped under a
cat’s vicious claw. He sat down at the bar and ordered a drink,
reading the moniker off her nametag.
Maya.
She poured him a
shot of tequila, then watched intently as the warm liquid oozed
down his throat.

“Last call,” Maya yelled to the crowd, licking her
full lips as she glanced at Dom out of the corner of her eye. The
smell of booze infused his senses. It seeped out of every crevice
of the bar. But underneath the stench of stale beer, he detected
the scent of a woman’s arousal. Fragrant and musky. Suddenly,
sucking her blood seemed like less of a priority. He needed to fuck
her. Hard and fast.

As soon as the last customer swaggered out the door,
Dom was on her. He yanked Maya over the counter onto his lap, and
pressed his rough, weathered mouth to her supple lips. The cocky
bastard demanded surrender, forcing his tongue into the heat of her
embrace. He removed her sweater, then watched the bartender melt in
his arms as he kissed and sucked his way down her trembling torso.
Dom raised her up on top of the bar and lifted her scant miniskirt
past her hips, eager to trace a similar trail back up her body.
Until he was stopped dead in his tracks. Mesmerized by the
pulsating femoral artery on the inside of her right thigh.

God damn it. Not again!
For some Godforsaken
reason, that particular part of a woman’s anatomy did him in every
time. Dom had planned to go slow, bringing his lover to the edge of
ecstasy before he wrought his own pleasure. Unfortunately, the
beast inside him wouldn’t be denied. His vision clouded—a sure sign
that his eye color had already shifted from honey brown to deep
garnet. Elongated claws dug into the grooves of the wooden
countertop. His jaw protracted, revealing two razor-sharp canines
ready to pierce the tender flesh between her legs.

It wasn’t long before Dom relinquished all control,
sinking his fangs into soft skin at the junction of her hip and
thigh, siphoning the sweet, life-giving essence of her blood. Its
hot liquid flooded his mouth as he felt Maya’s body quiver and
shake, an undisputable orgasm that racked the tiny shell of her
existence.

After Dom took his fill, he unbuttoned his pants and
impaled his cock on her moist feminine folds. Foreplay no longer
factored into the equation. His thick, rigid shaft pummeled into
her with rough, unyielding strokes, too far gone to worry about his
partner’s satisfaction. She’d already come once. Now, it was his
turn. Before long, he felt his release fester in his loins,
painting the walls of her womb in creamy white seed.

As Dom straightened the girl’s clothes back into
place, he noticed a familiar look in her eyes. The same crazed
expression he’d seen a half dozen times. She was hooked. A nagging
feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. He knew without a doubt
that Maya would soon end up on his doorstep, begging for him to
fuck her again.

From that night forward, Maya was obsessed. She’d
knock on his door at all hours of the day, interrupting his
nocturnal sleep patterns. She even went so far as to have her
father, Frederick Winslow, a prominent Massachusetts senator, run a
background check on him. Lucky for him, he’d paid a pretty penny
for his alias. It was air tight. Although after three months of
playing cat and mouse, Dom finally packed up his belongings and got
the hell out of Dodge.

He’d sworn off women ever since. The only problem
was, he needed blood to survive and no matter how many times he’d
tried, he couldn’t bring himself to suck the red deliciousness from
a man’s vein. Drinking blood reminded him too much of sex, and sex
with a dude made his stomach turn.

“Shit! If I have to, I’ll pay for my food like
everybody else,” Dom said out loud. “There’s gotta be a discrete
escort service in Los Angeles in search of new clientele.”

Chapter Three

Oral Stimulation

Week after week, Calliope’s business saw steady
financial gains as more and more clients enjoyed the perks bestowed
upon them by the
Queen of Happy Endings
. With Beau posted
outside her bedroom door serving as resident bodyguard, the
transition to successful self-employment had gone down without a
hitch. On average, she’d seen anywhere from seven to ten customers
each week, not including the regulars she’d grandfathered in from
Bella Faccia
. After paying for supplies such a massage oil,
incense, and bath towels, she’d cleared a profit of well over five
thousand dollars in close to a month. Plenty of dough to pay rent
and keep the two of them occupied in their downtime.

“Callie, don’t forget. You’ve got a late appointment
tonight. A guy by the name of Dominic Trevino is supposed to show
up around seven o’clock.” Beau shouted the words from the kitchen,
while he fixed them a late lunch. The smell of grilled cheese and
fresh tomato and basil soup wafted past her nose. Calliope put her
hand to her stomach and felt it rumble. She was famished. She’d
been so busy with customers, she’d forgotten to eat.

“All right, slave driver. The business has been open
less than a month and you’re already bossing me around like you own
the place,” Calliope said with a hint of sarcasm in her voice. She
stood and rubbed the tension out of her shoulders, then turned and
headed toward the kitchen. She’d worked a shitload of hours lately,
and even massage therapists needed to work out the kinks every once
in a while. “Dominic Trevino, huh? He sounds like an overweight,
Italian slob.”

Beau turned from the stove and set two plates of
scrumptious food on the breakfast nook. “Now, now, Miss Crabby
Pants. You’re the one who wanted to try your hand at
self-employment. No complaints.”

****

Dom pulled up in front of the quaint little townhouse
on the corner of Colby Drive and Ohio Avenue. He parked his
newly-purchased BMW on the street under a maple tree and hopped
out. He cracked his knuckles as he meandered to the front door, a
nervous habit.

This chick better not be another whack job
,
Dom thought to himself as he rang the doorbell. That morning, while
he perused the ads on Craigslist, he’d been looking for a
particular post from West Coast Escorts, the service he had used a
few times before. But when he noticed the tagline,
Queen of
Happy Endings
, Dom simply couldn’t resist clicking on it. Once
he saw the photograph of the gorgeous redhead with the haunting
green-gold eyes at the bottom of the screen, he knew she had to be
his next conquest. His mouth watered at the thought of tasting her
and without thinking, his fingers dialed the number underneath her
picture.

I better not regret this
. He was about to turn
around and get back in his car, when a big burly fellow in a tight
black t-shirt and jeans jerked open the door.

“You must be Dominic,” the guy said, smiling from ear
to ear. His piercing blue orbs roamed up and down his body. It
almost felt as if the other dude was checking him out. Propping the
screen door ajar with his foot, he motioned for Dom to come inside.
Then, he turned and shouted over his shoulder. “Callie, your
appointment is here. And you were wrong. He isn’t a fat, Italian
slob.”

Dom heard footsteps as the masseuse made her way down
the hall. Still, he wasn’t prepared for the breathtaking beauty
that came into view before him. She had long, luxurious locks the
color of cinnamon that cascaded down her hips. Full, pouty lips
simply begging to be kissed. And the curves.

Oh Lord, have mercy!
Calliope Handler was by
far the most delicious morsel he’d come across since stepping foot
on California soil.

“Don’t mind him. This is Beau, my protection detail.
As you can imagine, it’s hard to find good help these days,”
Calliope said as she cocked her hip to one side and waved her hand
dismissively in Beau’s direction. Then, she stuck her other arm out
in front of Dom, and offered to shake his hand. “Nice to meet you.
I’m Calliope. Are you ready to get started?”

“Nice to meet you, too. You can call me Dom,” he
said, accepting her outstretched hand. The simple skin-to-skin
contact tickled his nerve endings. A wave of sensation headed
straight for his cock. In an instant, his shaft shot to attention.
Revved up and roaring to go. “I’m
definitely
ready.”

Dom followed Calliope as she led him to a back room,
her overblown bodyguard not far behind. He watched her as she
walked, her voluptuous hips sashaying from side to side in the red
Japanese kimono she wore. As they entered the dim-light space, soft
music and the smell of lilac washed over him. Candles flickered in
every crevice of the room. Soft white linens and a comfortable
massage table had been strategically positioned in the corner, next
to a black partition with colorful purple and gold orchids. Most
likely, the contraption had been set up as a makeshift dressing
room.

Dom couldn’t believe his eyes. The atmosphere seemed
stark in comparison to the loud bass and alcohol-laced club scene
he’d become accustomed to. On the few dates he’d went on with women
from West Coast Escorts, the seedy establishments they’d frequented
left a bitter taste in his mouth. On the contrary, the surreal
ambiance Calliope had created was the perfect mix of sensuality and
relaxation.

From a distance behind him, Dom heard the bodyguard
clear his throat. “Callie, I’ll be right outside the door if you
need me,” Beau said as he shut the door without a sound.

Calliope turned to face her customer. Her arms were
crossed over her chest as she tapped her fingers on her elbows in
what appeared to be a nervous gesture. After a moment of awkward
silence, she moistened her lips with her tongue, then sighed.
“You’ll need to remove your clothes before we get started. If you
want to, you can change behind that partition. But I’m not shy. It
won’t bother me a bit if you drop your drawers right here. Once
you’re done, you can set your things on the chair by the sink.”

“Isn’t this a little weird? What with your boyfriend
on the other side of the door?”

Calliope put her hand to her lips and giggled softly.
“Beau? He isn’t my boyfriend. He’s my best friend. My
gay
best friend.”

Dom’s lips turned up into a mischievous grin. He
shook his head, amused with the masseuse’s blunt remark. He rather
enjoyed her sassy banter. Without further discussion, he unbuttoned
his dress shirt, watching as Calliope’s pupils dilated the moment
she took in the sight of his bare, muscular chest.

“You might want to take a picture. It’ll last
longer,” Dom said, goading her.

Suddenly, Calliope’s cheeks burned bright red, almost
the same color as her kimono, and she turned away from him. “Sorry,
I didn’t mean to stare. But you’ve got an incredible body. At least
the parts I’ve seen so far.”

Dom muttered something unintelligible under his
breath. Then, he dropped his slacks to his ankles, slid out of his
loafers, and tossed the last remnants of clothing onto the chair.
He stalked over to the massage table, his junk swaying back and
forth as he lifted up onto the white sheet and proceeded to lie
down. His washboard abs rested flat against the padded cushions. “I
assume we’re starting with the massage, right? Unless you want to
skip right to the happy ending?”