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Twilight leaving you hanging? Try vampire erotica.

sweetest_kiss

Depending on whom you ask, the lack of sex in the Twilight saga is either the essence of its appeal or its greatest flaw. If you’re squarely in the latter category, then you might want to turn to the new book The Sweetest Kiss: Ravishing Vampire Erotica, edited by D.K. King, to satisfy your blood lust. It contains all the naughty stuff that the Twilight vampires would probably be getting up to if Stephanie Meyer wasn’t so, you know, Mormon. Here’s a taster (sorry…) from one of the stories in the collection, “Red by Any Other Name” by Kathleen Bradean, which combines S&M and power play with vampire lovin’:

“You came out in daylight,” I praise him. “It is possible,” he admits. He breathes calmly. My weight is nothing to him.

Maybe breathing is an affectation for a vampire. Why would the dead need air?

“Will you be okay?”

My concern triggers an alien response in his mind that I can’t fathom. Is he insulted or touched?

“I will not be completely comfortable until darkness falls, but I can endure it.”

I slap his bared cheek with my gloved hand. “Then take off the damn clothes, boy.”

Underneath the coat and scarf and layers of other protections, he wears chinos and a golf shirt. No capes or tuxedos for my vampire.

There is the air of autumn to him. Wholesome as hayrides and apple cider, yet tinged by winter cold.

His thick blonde hair is sun-kissed in wide streaks. I wonder if the tan on his chest will fade.

His hands ball into loose fists. He waits for me to make a joke about his white bread, Country Club looks.

Instead, I draw a knife lightly across the bend of my elbow. A thick, warm trickle snakes down my forearm.

He stops, pant fly unbuttoned and unzipped, light blue briefs showing. He lifts his nose slightly, moves it barely right and left. His nostrils spread wide as he scents me in the air.

He transforms into a pure predator. There is nothing human in his eyes.

My hand goes to my whip resting on the small table. “Finish undressing now,” I growl.

I will not fear, I remind myself. I must not fear. Fear is the little death, the mind killer. Where did I learn that quote? The little death. La petite mort. Every orgasm is a little death. Death and sex, that beast with two backs. My mind is free associating in hysterical bursts. I must not fear. Fear will be the death of me.

Burgundy, wine, claret. This is his mantra to keep control. Red drinks, I notice. It may have been a mistake to tempt him with blood.

From “Red by Any Other Name” by Kathleen Bradean, published in The Sweetest Kiss: Ravishing Vampire Erotica, edited by D.K. King

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