Once Bitten Read online

  Title Page

  ONCE BITTEN

  LISETTE ASHTON

  Publisher Information

  Published by Accent Press Ltd

  Digital edition converted and published by

  Andrews UK Limited 2010

  www.andrewsuk.com

  Copyright © Lisette Ashton 2010

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be copied, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publishers: Xcite Books, Suite 11769, 2nd Floor, 145-157 St John Street, London EC1V 4PY

  The stories contained within this book are works of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the authors’ imaginations and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Introduction

  No one writes a book in isolation – and Once Bitten is no exception to this rule. The people who’ve helped me with this title know who they are, and they know how grateful I am for their contribution of ideas, time and patience.

  Chapter One

  Aside from the manacles, Tessa was naked.

  Her pale, slender body was dwarfed by the guards holding her chains. Her jet-black hair hung sleek down her back. Her modest breasts were uncovered and she was too defiant to conceal the smooth, hairless cleft between her legs. With her shoulders thrown back, and her jaw tilted upward, she allowed her escort to lead her past the jury. She even thanked the guards as they unfastened her chains and left her cuffed and secure in the dock. It didn’t feel right to be undressed in a courtroom filled with her fully-clothed peers. But Tessa had never been one to shy away from things that didn’t feel right. Experience had taught her that such beginnings usually provided the most satisfying outcomes. Although, she conceded, it was probably that attitude that had landed her in this trouble.

  Her smile glinted wickedly as the thought brought up a host of thrilling memories. Elongated canines protruded from her overbite.

  ‘Tessa Cameron!’ The judge’s voice boomed like thunder from the shadows surrounding his seat.

  An expectant hush settled over the courtroom.

  Not that it was a legitimate courtroom, Tessa noted. With flaming torches impaled in the soft stone walls, a dirt floor beneath them, and décor composed of Aramaic symbols and Sumerian inscriptions daubed in dried blood: the courtroom owed more to the ancient guidelines of vampire lore than anything she had ever seen on Ally McBeal.

  Tessa tilted her gaze in the direction of the judge’s voice. Her eyes were large, dark and void of expression. Because she had always had a thing for commanding voices, the familiar stir of arousal tickled inside her loins. She tried to quash that response, deciding it was inappropriate for this occasion, but the warmth refused to go. Irritated with her inability to control her body’s reactions, Tessa shook her head so her hair fell over her shoulders. She made the gesture with the hope that the locks would subtly cover her breasts and conceal the fact that her nipples were stiffening. The soft caress of tresses against the sensitive tips made her excitement more poignant. She released a sigh and silently prayed no one would notice her arousal.

  ‘You have been charged with a long list of crimes,’ the judge began solemnly. ‘The most notable of which include treason, heresy and the murder of a fellow vampire. How do you plead?’

  From the corner of her eye she could see the jury shift forward to hear her response. The council for the prosecution twisted their heads. Those figures that did not remain in shadows stared at her with crimson eyes. An involuntary prickle touched her back but Tessa wouldn’t allow the sensation to make her shiver. Her arousal was already apparent to anyone who cared to look and she wasn’t going to make the signs more obvious.

  ‘How do you plead, Tessa Cameron?’ the judge prompted.

  She flashed her most disarming grin. ‘It’s a long story…’

  Chapter Two

  We’d been drinking vodka…

  Isn’t vodka brilliant? The best stories I’ve ever told always start with the words, ‘We’d been drinking vodka…’ and this one is no exception.

  We’d been drinking vodka. Mel had found the bottle in the kitchen cupboard of my third floor apartment. It was next to a mouldering loaf of bread and a rusting tin of spaghetti in tomato sauce. The bottle wasn’t anything special – one of those made up Russian names (Glasnost, Prada, Kevorkian, or something) that are meant to make it sound authentic and as though it has been shipped direct from behind the Iron Curtain. The main thing I remember is that it was cheap, the aftertaste wasn’t too unpleasant, and it mixed well with the dregs of the Dr Pepper Mel had brought to our impromptu girls’ night in. The washing-up situation meant we had to drink from clunky coffee mugs rather than elegant glasses but neither of us was in a mood to be concerned by such trifling details. We had more important things on our agenda.

  ‘Here’s to becoming lesbians, sweetie,’ Mel toasted.

  She raised her mug.

  I clinked mine against the side and we both drank greedily.

  I wasn’t sure if we were genuinely going to become lesbians, or if the toast was meant to signify that we were both pissed off at our boyfriends. Mine had elected to spend the night with drinking buddies, playing pool and watching the game on a 50-inch screen at the local bar. Mel’s latest boyfriend had clearly upset her in some serious way because she had scoured the house like a bloodhound in her search for the vodka. When she found the bottle she had whooped in delight, made some disparaging remark about booze being better than blokes, and popped its cap with unseemly haste.

  ‘Are we really becoming lesbians?’ I asked doubtfully. ‘What does that involve?’ I sat next to her on the settee and warily sipped my mug of vodka. ‘Does this mean I’m going to have to stop shaving my pits and start wearing dungarees?’ I was already getting worried and the cheap vodka did little to settle my fears. I had no qualms about making a political statement against insensitive men. But I didn’t want to do it at the expense of fashion and underarm hair. That would have been too great an investment of personal sacrifice.

  ‘Let’s start slowly,’ Mel suggested. She snatched the remote from the coffee table and switched to MTV before sidling close to me on the settee. A selection of dark and heavy bands came on the screen. Korn and Slipknot were doing their best to make the mood mean, loud and depressing: and they managed the task effectively. But despite the gloomy music, it felt good to have Mel’s body pressed close. With my boyfriend neglecting me in favour of other men and beer, I needed more consoling than could be supplied by a mere mug of vodka mixed with flat Dr Pepper. Her nearness was comforting, warm and not at all unpleasant. I could smell the peachy tang of her deodorant and I made a mental to note to ask if I could borrow the body spray because I liked the cheery, sweetness of the scent.

  Mel shifted again, turning slightly and bringing her face close to mine.

  I was surprised to notice her genuine prettiness for the first time in our friendship. Her eyes are almond-shaped and the most mesmerising brown. The colour reminded me of polished wood in an antique shop, glistening with fine and delicate striations of black and gold. Her lips, pouting softly, shimmered with a crimson colour that looked like something from the latest range of Maybelline’s gloss. But I was close enough to see the shade was completely natural. When she smiled Mel revealed Hollywood white teeth, spoilt only by a slightly pronounced overbite.

  She fluttered her dark lashes and regarded me solemnly.

  ‘If we’re going to be lesbians,’ Mel confided, ‘we have to kiss.’

  I considered this for a moment and thought it didn’t sound unreasonable. I was already halfway through my drink and my inhibitions had sunk to a nadir. With
another mug of vodka I would reach a state where bungee-jumping could have sounded like a sensible way to while away the evening. I licked my lips, already excited by the idea of kissing my friend, and struggled to pretend I had some doubts. In truth, my nipples were tightening pleasantly and there was a delicious fever warming the wetness between my legs. Trying to keep up my end of the conversation, and hoping I didn’t come across as too eager, I asked numbly, ‘Do we kiss each other?’

  Grinning, Mel reached for the side of my face. Cool fingertips stroked my cheek and she urged my mouth to meet hers. I was surprised her fingers were so chilly. I was more surprised to find myself wanting to be intimate with my best friend.

  We fell together as though it was the most natural thing in the world.

  Her lips brushed lightly over mine.

  Our tongues danced gently against each other.

  And then we were locked in a passionate embrace as we shared our first kiss. The moment was heady with the promise of a secret about to be revealed. My heartbeat raced as I realised I was doing something more daring than anything I had tried before. A fever of devilish excitement coursed through my body and I threw myself into the exchange without reservation.

  I can’t blame all the sexual excitement on the vodka.

  Mel touched me in ways that were devastatingly arousing.

  Her fingers moved from my cheek and stroked the soft flesh beneath my jaw. Her kisses were hungry, interspersed with nibbles, and playful nips. She shifted position on the settee and rubbed her leg slowly between my thighs. I couldn’t recall any previous experience that was so painfully exciting. The warmth in my panties became feverishly hot and suddenly demanding. The seam of my jeans – that thick wad of denim that lay over my pussy – was painfully obvious to the sensitive lips of my sex. The muscles inside my loins trembled as though they needed to devour something.

  I returned Mel’s caresses with matching enthusiasm.

  I delighted in the sensation of combing my fingers through her hair and stroking the smooth line of her neck. My fingers traced the slender shape of her shoulders and moved boldly down to the swell of her breast. Hearing her soft sounds of encouragement was enough to have me sweating with need. It was exhilarating to know we were equally aroused and likeminded enough to desire the same things. When I explored the shape of her breast through her blouse, discovering the thrust of an erect nipple pressed into my palm, I understood exactly what we were doing and I realised I wanted to experience more.

  ‘Take your clothes off,’ Mel whispered. ‘I want you naked.’

  My hesitation lasted long enough for me to drain the vodka from my mug. By the time I had stripped out of my jeans and T, Mel was already undressed. She looked skinny and out of place on the lumpy familiarity of my settee. Yet, at the same time, she looked like the most wonderful thing I had ever seen. Her breasts are larger than mine: plump, firm and round. Her colouring means her nipples and areolae are the shade of a freshly served latte. Set against her ice-white flesh, the dark skin on her breasts looked particularly inviting. I licked my lips as I thought about stroking my tongue there. The prospect was enough to make my pussy muscles quiver and I marvelled at my audacity.

  Yet, as bold as the idea seemed, I wanted to taste her breasts.

  My gaze trailed lower.

  Her flat stomach was decorated with a single gold-coloured BCR in her tummy-button. She sat with her legs crossed and I was frustrated to realise she was keeping some parts of herself secret from me for the moment. I figured it wouldn’t be much longer before I got the chance to discover exactly what she was hiding. But my arousal was accompanied by impatience – and a greedy need to sample everything Mel had to offer.

  Then my focus was torn away by another detail.

  My eyes grew wide with surprise and I shrieked and pointed at her leg.

  ‘You’ve got a tattoo!’

  Mel laughed and placed a defensive hand over the black ink drawing on her inner thigh. Her nails were long and the same crimson colour as her pouting lips. She moved so quickly I couldn’t work out if the design had been a bird or a butterfly. I only knew it looked dark, dangerous and outrageously exciting.

  ‘You’ve got a tattoo. You never told me you had one.’

  ‘Do you want to see it?’

  I nodded.

  She parted her fingers slightly. She used the same wary caution I use to part my fingers when I’m trying not to watch the scary part of a horror movie. Slices of the winged drawing were made visible from between her knuckles in agonisingly slow glimpses. I could make out crude black lines and the glimmer of something vibrantly red. But the overall shape remained a mystery. Shifting position on the settee, and still watching me, Mel drew a deep breath and asked, ‘Do you want to see a little more?’

  I was no longer looking at the tattoo.

  When she parted her legs I could see that Mel kept her sex completely free of hair. The smooth skin of her stomach went down to a pale V between her open thighs. There, the lips of her sex were an appetising shade of flushed pink. I marvelled at the sight of her labia, glistening wetly and pouting as though they were expecting something from me.

  Unconsciously, I licked my lips again. When I swallowed I could taste the electric tang of excitement that filled the air between us.

  Mel giggled. ‘What do you think?’ she asked, moving her hand away from her thigh. She lay back on the settee, allowing me to admire every glorious inch of her bare body. Her legs were long and coltish. Her stomach was flat and her breasts were maddeningly tempting. Spread out before me – naked, pliant and willing – she looked like the most arousing thing I had ever seen.

  For an instant I was too enchanted to speak. My gaze remained locked on the flushed pink flesh of her pussy and I tried to imagine what it would be like to touch or taste those lips.

  ‘Tessa? Sweetie?’ she prompted.

  Her words dragged me back to the room.

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘Beautiful,’ I murmured hoarsely. ‘Truly beautiful.’

  She chuckled self-consciously and reminded me I was supposed to be admiring the artwork on her thigh. I blushed and blinked in the direction of the tattoo. Without bothering to look I conceded it was pretty cool. In truth it looked badly drawn and out of place on the splendour of her thigh but it’s never good manners to be so honest, even with close friends.

  And the tattoo was largely forgotten because the sight of her exposed sex had snared my interest. As much as I tried, I couldn’t drag my gaze away. My breathing dropped to a low, rasping drawl. My body was tormented by a physical need for the naked woman sprawled across my settee. And yet, because I’d never done anything like this with a female friend, I hesitated: unsure how to proceed.

  Mel seemed to understand my reservations.

  The grin slipped from her face and was replaced by an expression of sultry expectation. The mood between us shifted from the cheery thrill of drunken silliness, to something darker and far more adult. The electric atmosphere grew heavy, like the threat of a thunderstorm.

  ‘Are we going to do this?’ Mel asked.

  It was almost as though she was daring me.

  She used the same tone of voice that had been there when she goaded me to ride the tilt-a-whirl at the fairground. It was the same speech patterns Mel had used when she bet me I wouldn’t flash my boobs at the old guy on the subway.

  ‘Are we going to do this?’ she repeated.

  I swallowed thickly. ‘Of course.’

  ‘Then do you want to finish undressing?’

  I blinked and realised she was waiting for me to take off my bra and panties. Suddenly nervous, not sure if my body matched up to the perfection of Mel’s and fearful she might think me inadequate, I fumbled behind my back to release the clasp on my bra.

  To my dismay, my fingers had magically transformed into bananas.

  The bra’s fasteners wouldn’t give up their hold for me. My nails wouldn’t work the tiny metal hooks and my fin
gers were too large and clumsy to deal with them. I could see myself through Mel’s eyes and knew I was ungainly, inelegant and inferior. I cringed from the idea that she might be disappointed by my lack of sophistication and I contemplated offering her a fresh mug of vodka to drink while I found a pair of scissors to help with the removal of my clothes.

  The blushes I had felt before returned. But this time they were brought on by my own feelings of inadequacy as I tried to match Mel’s air of smouldering tranquillity. Gritting my teeth, and straining to manipulate the clasp, I grunted angrily with the effort.

  ‘May I do that, sweetie?’ Mel suggested.

  The words came out in a sultry purr. Before I could stop her, she was sitting up from the settee and had her arms around me.

  I stiffened in her embrace.

  But I didn’t refuse.

  A naked woman held me: and she was removing my bra. The thought pierced my vodka-addled brain and took my arousal to a fresh and unexplored level. I wasn’t just drunkenly kissing my best friend: I was suddenly sober and knew we were about to have sex.

  The inner muscles of my pussy shivered.

  The entire surface of my body was tickled by gooseflesh. The sensation was something like being caressed by a gigantic feather. Its tendrils reached every curve and contour with an exquisite and intimate caress. The surge of excitement left me weak.

  And then I realised Mel had deftly released the clasp and the straps of the bra were falling away from my shoulders. The anxiety of being exposed to my friend was a fleeting consideration. It was quickly crushed by the greater worries of whether or not she would approve, and the uncertainty of discovering what would happen next. The shiver that tickled through me was severe enough to make me tremble.

  Mel gasped when she saw my exposed breasts.

  The sound came from somewhere between surprise and encouragement. Her eyes were wider and she studied me with a broad, hungry grin. Slowly, maintaining eye contact with me as she lowered her head, she moved her lips close to the cherry-pink tips of my nipples.