Vampire Erotica Blood Rush (2 page)

I slowly lowered my hand, giving up on getting my clothes back. “What will I wear home?”

“You can keep the dress. We’ll deduct it from your paycheck,” Madame Rouge said.

Jacques shot an arch look at Madame Rouge. “Besides, are you really saying that you are so attached to a navy suit, which is the height of generic? Because, if so, I suggest Madame reconsider your suitability for this work. There is nothing generic about what we do here.”

What could I say to that? Nothing. So I let him go and take my clothes with him.

“Jacques knows how to make girls look their best. If you can stand it, take him shopping to set up a work wardrobe,” Madame Rouge said with a kind smile. “He has a heart of gold, if you can get past his sarcasm. He’ll never steer you wrong when it comes to clothes. I wouldn’t put up with him otherwise.”

“But of course, I am your favorite,” said an amused masculine voice with a French accent.

I turned to see a tall, blond man step into the office. In contrast to Jacques’ flamboyance, he wore all black, which looked severe against his pale complexion.

He entered the room with an airy, “I’m Savon. I do the hair and make-up.” He set a large make-up case on the floor and opened it to pull out a hair brush and dryer. “Sit down,
s’il vous plait
.”

I sat in one of the office chairs, carefully arranging the dress so I didn’t flash anyone. Savon fluffed my hair around my shoulders. “Not too fine, not too thick. Your hair is just right. Is this your natural color?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Lovely.” He ran the brush through my hair, tugging through some snarls.

“Thanks.”

Ten minutes later I’d been brushed, moussed and blow dried into a ‘down do’ full of swirling body. Savon handed me a mirror so I could see the result and I gasped. “I look like I should be in a Pantene commercial.”

He laughed. “
Oui
, of course you do. I did your hair, didn’t I?” At my nod of agreement, he said, “Now let’s do some make-up.”

“Just the eyes and lips, Savon. We don’t want to hide that blush of hers,” Madame Rouge said looking up from her computer. She had returned to her desk and busied herself typing while Savon worked his magic.

“
Absolutement
, Madame,” he murmured in response as he looked through his make-up case. Brandishing a pair of tweezers, he said, “Your skin is like fine porcelain, to cover it with anything would be a sin.” With a deft touch, he plucked my eyebrows.

I winced and asked, “Have you worked here long?” What I really wanted to know was how someone ended up with a career making up courtesans, but I wasn’t brave enough to say it so bluntly.

“Years and years.” He dropped the tweezers back in his case and selected an eye shadow palette. He did a quick application of eye shadow followed by liner and mascara. The final touch was a subtle lipstick. As he worked, I caught glimpses of myself in the small mirror attached to his make-up case. The lipstick shade matched my natural lip color, giving it just a little something extra.

“You’re all set, mademoiselle,” he said cleaning up his supplies. “What does Madame think?”

Madame Rouge gestured for me to stand and I did another spin to show off the complete look.

“You are a lovely young woman, Miss Danson.”

“Yes, really divine.” Savon nodded in agreement.

I blushed and looked at my feet. She had to be joking. I doubted I looked as gorgeous as Madame.

“Are you unconvinced?” Madame Rouge stood up and pulled out a floor length mirror hidden in a clever compartment behind the bookcase on the side wall.

The woman who looked back at me was tall and model pretty. My eyelashes were almost as long as Madame’s now and there was a pink glow to my skin. You would never know I had fat pants at home. Or that my idea of dressing up was wearing clean jeans with a Hard Rock Cafe T-shirt from my senior year trip to London.

Somehow I’d been transformed into the supermodel fantasy version of myself. I had thought that would take plastic surgery, but really all I ever needed was the right dress and make-up.
Huh. Go figure.

“Thank you, Savon. I love what you did with my hair.” I put a hand to my head in wonder. He’d artfully tousled my locks into a sexy bed head.

“It’s easy to make good hair look great,” he said with a smile and giving a little bow. “Now, Madame, if you are done with me, I will go,
oui
?”

“
Mais oui
.
Merci, monsieur.
” She gave him a distracted wave as he left. Then, pulling a camera out of a desk drawer she said, “We need to take a picture for Kristos’ approval.”

I put a hand to my head. This was all going so fast. I couldn’t keep up.“Who is Kristos?”

“Your trainer and first client. He’s an affluent man and he loves girls like you, elegant yet passionate. Plus, the fresher the better. Maybe you didn’t just fall off the turnip truck, but it wasn’t that long ago either.” She led me to an empty spot along the wall of her office. “Why don’t you give me a few different poses?”

I smiled and clasped my hands behind my back.

She lowered the camera, shaking her head. “This is not a school picture, my dear. Remember your brand.”

My brand. Right. The virgin pretending she knew something. I slipped one leg in front of the other, stuck my chest out and tried to pout like Marilyn Monroe.

She sighed and lowered the camera. “You look constipated.”

“Sorry. I don’t really know what I’m doing.” I could feel the hot flush of bewildered embarrassment creeping up my neck.

“Yes, I can tell.” She walked over to me and pulled my arm overhead. “Put your arm up like this and look at it as if you are reaching for the most delicious chocolate. The leg should stay in front like you have it and then let your other hand trail down your neck between your breasts. Okay? Now, don’t move.”

She snapped several pictures like that and then asked me to turn around and look over my shoulder. “That will work, I think. Let me just email these to Kristos for his approval.”

She inserted the memory card into the computer and downloaded the pictures, quickly selecting the two best ones to attach to an email she had already written. I read over her shoulder as she worked.

Kristos:

I have a fresh one for you. Experienced, but barely. Never been blooded and very sweet. She blushes easily. I would guess she would go well with a Bordeaux or port brandy, but would like your thoughts on that once you’ve had a taste. As always, I trust you will go gently with her audition.

Send a car if she meets your approval. She’s here in my office waiting.

Regards,

Madame Rouge

Once the email had been sent, Madame Rouge turned to me, her gaze settling on me with palpable weight. “So, let’s discuss the rules. Your job is to please the client. You back sell behind my back and you’ll be out of a job.”

I blinked in confusion. “Back sell?”

“Try to negotiate your services directly. Going out on your own is more dangerous than you know.” She crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair. “I offer a certain level of protection to my girls. Our clients pay a membership fee and they know to behave if they want to stay in my good graces. You go it alone and there’s nothing to stop them.”

I put a hand to my throat. “Are vampires that dangerous?” Had I just made a mistake? We knew so little beyond that they existed. They lived hidden, shadowed lives and humans seemed content with the arrangement.

She watched my hand, eyes gleaming with what appeared to be amusement. “Not generally, but living as long as they have sometimes changes them in a bad way. Or their original time period may have engaged in practices we no longer find acceptable today. I spend a lot of time ensuring clients can be trusted and that they understand the terms of service. When you work with me, you know you’ll come home safe.”

I cleared my throat as I processed everything she’d just explained. “So you said I am to please the client, what does that mean? Can I say no to anything?”

“You can say no, but I would not make a habit of it if you want to make money. This is no job for prudes. Kristos will be a good introduction to what this work entails. You’ll know after tonight if this is for you.”

Her computer gave a soft signaling that a new email had arrived. She checked it and nodded in satisfaction. “Looks like Kristos approves. He’s sending a car.”

At that, my heart began to race as I realized this was really happening. Madame Rouge either didn’t notice or overlooked my shell-shocked reaction and handed me a stack of papers.

“This is your contract. It includes a non-disclosure agreement and outlines payment terms. Also, you’ll see that, if your trainer’s evaluation is poor, we reserve the right to dissolve our relationship with you.” She flipped through the pages, marking an X where I needed to sign. “In other words, do what Kristos says. He’s trained other girls and he knows what he’s doing. Impress him and you impress me, which means more clients for you. Understood?” She gave me an expectant look.

I managed a nod as she handed the contract over to me. I tried to read the twisted legalese as I signed, but lacked the mental clarity to focus on the words. Images of what Kristos might look like and what it would be like to let him feed on me consumed my mind. My nerves were on high alert and my hands shook as I made my way through the pages, signing and initialing where she indicated.

When I finally finished, Madame Rouge gave me a bright smile. “Congratulations. You are officially a blood courtesan.”

Chapter Two

On the limo ride to meet Kristos, I sent a quick text to my mom letting her know I would be in the city at least overnight, if not for a few more days. My dad had ditched us both long before I was born and the abandonment made us close. I knew she’d worry if I didn’t check in. I’d told her I had a job interview, which was mostly true, although I’d led her to believe it was for a corporate internship that would look good on my graduate school application.

She was just recovering from her last chemo treatment and didn’t need any extra stress. Not that I would, in a million years, tell her about what I was doing. No point in saving her from cancer only to kill her with my loose morals. As far as I was concerned, what happened in New York was going to stay there.

It only took a minute to check in with mom and I was left with way too much time to think. First, about my Dad. Would things be different if he was around? I’d learned early on to push him to the back of my mind because I didn’t believe in dwelling on things that couldn’t be changed. With mom so sick, though, I felt his abandonment of us as a new loss.

Then I thought about sex. About vampires. About how the hell I was going to pull this blood courtesan thing off. I was so out of my league I was on another planet.

I’d never met a vampire. Sure, maybe seen one or two from afar, but that was it. Our society had transferred the ‘don’t ask don’t tell’ policy from gays to supernaturals. We didn’t know what was out there and we were good with it. If we had to know, fine. Like the time there had been a vampire serial killer. Or when another one set up a big philanthropic foundation for his descendants. Beyond those news bites, I went through my life as if everyone around me was human and so did everybody else.

These were the things I did know: Vampires liked blushing and there was some kind of alcohol connection. Oh and I was about to allow them to suck my blood during sex. That was already too much information. 

Fear of the unknown overwhelmed me, and by the time the limo dropped me off at a swanky restaurant named Taos, I was about ready to bolt. I never had the chance though, because a cadre of muscle-bound guards swarmed me, their expressions grim. It was early fall and still warm, but a chill went through me. This was the point of no return. There was no going back. I hugged myself, wishing I’d thought to ask for a wrap.

“Miss Danson?” asked a blond man with a buzz cut and a broken-one-time-too-many nose. Sunglasses hid his eyes and his black suit was identical to the rest of his group.

At my nod, the men closed rank around me and hustled me toward my fate. One of them even shoved me along when I paused to pull the hem of my dress off my heel.

“Is that really necessary?” I asked, stumbling. The gown was just a little too long or my heels were just a little too short. Either way, the result was the same; the mere act of walking was complicated. Worse, a game of crotch peek-a-boo threatened to break out at any second and I had to pay close attention to how I moved in order to keep the goods under wraps.

“Standard security precautions, Miss Danson.”

“Well, can we go a little slower? I’m wearing heels you know,” I snapped.

They slowed for about two seconds, whisking me through the entrance and to the dining room. The restaurant was dimly lit with candles on every table and a Zen-like minimalist decor in a mix of beige and black tones. A tuxedo clad maître d’ stood behind a marble-topped bar at the entrance. He glanced up as we crossed the threshold. In fact, judging from the abrupt silence that met my arrival,
everyone
noticed our appearance. How could they miss it? I was a woman in a very fancy dress surrounded by what looked like a Navy Seal special ops team.