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Road Trip With a Vampire

Book by Jenna Levine · 15 quotes · Vampire Romance, Hot Sex, Vampire

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Road Trip With a Vampire Quotes

“Is that what my scent does to you?" He leaned in closer until I was all but bathing in the heady cocktail of sex and desire pouring off him. Despite my earlier admonition, his vampire beacon still blazed like a lighthouse at dawn. Damn him. "Does it make you want to take off your clothes? Sit in my lap?" He tilted his head a little to the side, dark eyes fixed on the side of my neck. "Offer yourself to me?" He was looking straight through me. Wetness was already pooling between my thighs. No, no, no. This was not happening. "No?" I cringed at how breathy and unsure I sounded. Peter's eyes darkened as he leaned in even closer. His presence, his scent--- If I let him taste me, the pleasure would be unlike anything I had ever known.”

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“Peter. Miles and miles of pale, muscled torso. A skimpy, threadbare motel towel slung dangerously low on his hips. And nothing else. He looked like he'd been carved from marble. His body certainly belonged in a museum, anyway. He was big everywhere, his thick body suggestive of a person who'd earned his muscles through regular strenuous physical activity rather than in the gym.”

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“I moved closer and made a show of sniffing him. The joke was on me, though. This close, his scent was potent, enticing--- and it was pouring off him in waves. He smelled like sex and the promise of almost unbearable pleasure. I could all but feel it reaching inside me, tugging me towards him. Despite myself, I squeezed my thighs together, doing my best not to imagine the ecstasy that would come if I just gave in and let him drink from me. Vampire venom worked like an aphrodisiac, making victims experience a kind of pleasure unlike anything else in the world.”

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“My reflection--- or Zelda's reflection--- stared back at me. Technically speaking, my body and my face were essentially the same as they'd always been. I still had the same smattering of freckles across the bridge of my nose, that same star-shaped birthmark just beneath my right ear that no amount of concealer--- or magic--- had ever been able to completely hide. I'd stopped dyeing my hair garish colors a few years back to let my natural auburn shine through, but my hair itself was the still the same wavy texture and thickness it had been in the seventeenth century and every decade since. Yet despite everything about me that had not changed, the person I used to be would hardly recognize the person staring back at her now.”

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“There was my set of wooden stake-tipped daggers, gifted to me in Philadelphia during the American Revolution by a handsome vampire whose name I'd never known. I loved those daggers beyond reason, not only because they were exactly as long as my middle finger--- which was awesomely meta--- but because they were so versatile! The wooden stakes could be taken off and put back on as easily as a Barbie doll's head, which meant you could use them to fight frisky vampires as well as any other non-vampiric asshole who might get in your way.”

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“His hoarsely whispered encouragements sent me straight to my cresting, gasping release and I came with a shout and an indescribable burst of pleasure. My body pulsed once, then again and again, the power I kept tucked away racing down my spine and bursting out of me with every sharp thrust of his hips. Peter groaned brokenly, and then he howled, his body as taut as a bowstring beneath me as the energy rippling from my body wrapped around us both. It pulled him more deeply inside me, stroking him, recognizing him as the source of my pleasure and reciprocating in kind. I was distantly aware of a large gust of wind buffeting the room, of lamps being knocked off end tables and wineglasses shattering, but I didn't care. All that mattered was our bodies writhing together and our mutual, all-consuming pleasure.”

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“A hoarse cry, and then his teeth were in my neck, the puncture wounds from his canines the most excruciating kind of pleasure-pain I'd ever known. This, right here, was why people were so obsessed with vampires. Why they wrote countless stories about them. Why they fantasized about taking vampires as lovers. Every long pull of blood Peter took from me sent screaming pleasure sizzling down my veins, through my blood, between my legs. My eyes went wide, unseeing, as I came a second time, even harder than the first. Peter came unglued beneath me, snarling now as he drank, and fucked, and drank.”

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“I hardly recognized the sound that escaped me when his cock slid home. It was raw, primal, and my back bowed off the bed, body arching up, up, up against his as I urged him on. It was like we had never been apart when he began moving, his body pistoning into mine with so much pent-up desire, the force of it knocked my head against the headboard. I didn't care; the small blossom of pain just ratcheted up my pleasure, made me want him to go a little harder, a little rougher. I gripped his ass in both hands and dug the sharp points of my nails into him as he moved and swore above me, coaxing him forward, willing him to never stop. "You feel... so fucking good," he gritted out. The tendons in his neck stood out in sharp relief as he strained above me, his dark eyes cloudy with desire as he fought to maintain eye contact.”

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“He reared up, pulling one of my legs over his hip, changing the angle, driving deeper, harder. I tangled one hand in his hair and reached up with the other to touch the side of my neck, tracing my fingertips teasingly over the spot I knew he wanted. His eyes darkened, narrowing on the place where I was touching myself. His nostrils flared. "You can bite me," I said. His thrusts sped up, became erratic. "Zelda---" he begged. "I want you to." He made one last incoherent keening sound--- -- a moment before he reared back and sank his teeth deeper into my neck. My senses exploded into infinite points of brilliant light. I felt my scream more than heard it, the venom that was already slipping through my bloodstream amplifying my pleasure a thousandfold. There were no words to describe the ecstasy that flooded my senses, and I came instantly, and then a second time before I'd even stopped convulsing. I heard Peter's distant moans, felt his thrusts quicken and become even more erratic as my bliss stretched on and on. I was gasping, mindless as Peter grunted and suckled at the wounds his teeth made in my neck, his rough hands digging into my hips so hard bruises already blossomed beneath his fingertips. "Peter," I managed as I reached up and pressed at the back of his head, encouraging him to drink more. A moment later every muscle in his body locked up tight, even as his mouth stayed latched on my neck. His release pulsed inside me in time with the movement of his tongue, and gods-dammit, I came a third time, our bodies a tangle of scrabbling hands and limbs as we succumbed to the pleasure coursing through us both.”

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“The hat was hideous, but the man could wear a garbage bag as a dress and look amazing. Truly unfair. "Green matches your complexion." He placed a hand over his heart in mock offense. "My complexion? You wound me," he said in a theatrical voice I didn't think he had in him. I was just about to tell him the chicken hat matched his complexion even better”

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“I smelled blood. You were hurt." And then, with a hesitation in his voice I had never heard from him before: "I... don't like the idea of you being hurt." My heart hammered in my rib cage at the reluctant admission. He'd been about to rip that kid's head off. All because he thought I might have been injured. How was I supposed to process this? It had been a wild, indefensible reaction to a negligible injury. So why did I find his going feral like that one of the hottest things I'd ever experienced? If he'd reacted like this when I'd barely hurt myself, what might he do if I were really threatened?”

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