Warning: blood sucking
From MLR Press
A traumatic, barely believable experience in his past has turned Matt into a recluse. He very rarely goes out of his apartment and absolutely never goes out at night.
But then his boss invites him out for dinner. He’s only ever heard Wolfe’s sexy voice over the phone and has only seen pictures of the gorgeous man, but Matt finds himself sorely tempted for the first time in two years to leave his apartment.
But is Wolfe all that he seems?
©2008 Jet Mykles, all rights reserved
A knock on the door startled him.
“Matt, it’s me.” Wolfe! “Open up.”
Matt stared, frozen. Inky twilight had almost given up the ghost to night’s dark, and it could have been that color — or lack of it — that kept him rooted to the spot. His door had not opened except in the full light of day for so very long.
“Matt!” Knock again. “I know you’re in there.”
Matt found himself at the door, staring at the blank wooden panel. On the other side stood a man he very much wanted to know better. Fear paralyzed him.
“What are you doing here?” Matt’s voice, when he found it, was rusty and soft.
Wolfe heard him anyway, his voice tempering. “I came to apologize.”
“You didn’t need to do that.”
“I brought food. You like Italian? I’ve got this pasta with garlic sausage that’s simply marvelous. You have to try it.”
Matt placed both trembling palms on the door, noting the contrast of the pale skin of his hand and the dark wood panel.
“I…” His jaw worked as he tried to force reason over fear. Wolfe was here.
“I…” Heaving a sigh, he rested his forehead on the door between his palms. “I can’t.”
“Why not?” Wolfe’s voice sounded so close. Impossibly close considering there was a wooden barrier between them. Matt could almost imagine the breeze of its passage on his neck.
He sighed again, closing his eyes. Coward. “I can’t let you in.”
“Matt.” Low, sultry. The very sound oozed down Matt’s spine to pool hot, like lava, in his belly. He pressed up against the door, trying to get closer. “Open the door.”
His hand dropped to caress the knob. Only the lock kept him from turning it fully. “I can’t.”
The knob won’t turn. He shook his head, even though Wolfe couldn’t see it. That wasn’t right. There was another reason. “I can’t.”
“Matt.” Slow, reasonable, with that delicious purr. How did he do that in one syllable? “Open the door. Talk to me.”
Vampires. Can’t open the door. “No.”
“Tell me why.”
Wolfe isn’t a vampire, what’s the harm? “You won’t believe me.”
“Matthew—” His full name sounded so seductive through that voice. “—there’s something that keeps you holed up every night. I’d very much like to know what it is.”
He rolled his forehead on the stained wood, his hand gripping the doorknob. Warm gratitude flooded his chest. Not since his last friend had tried in the month after Daniel’s death had anyone wanted to know what was wrong with him. No one had cared.
He so very much wanted this man to care.
His fingers toyed with the lock.
“Open the door, Matt, and talk to me. Whatever it is, I’ll believe you. I promise.”
He said garlic sausage. Is the myth about vampires and garlic true? Wait, what are you thinking? You’ve talked to him during the day. He’s no vampire.
He turned the lock, hearing the soft scrape of metal on metal in the hushed blue twilight. Slowly, he stepped back, staring at his hands: one on the knob, one still splayed over the panel at eye level. I can do this. It’s just Wolfe at my door. Just Wolfe.
He twisted the knob and took another step back to let the door slowly open.
Lust stole his breath. Lit only by the twilight and the night lamps that illuminated the street below, Wolfe was every bit as gorgeous as the pictures promised — and then some. Tall. His sharp chin would rest easily on top of Matt’s head if they embraced. If he did that, the silky, curly black hair that fairly floated loose about his head and shoulders would drift down to caress Matt’s cheeks. Sharp, sculpted black brows swept up sharply from the bridge of his narrow nose toward his temples. His pale cheekbones followed a parallel line. The eyes between them were by far the most amazing, impossible green that Matt had ever seen. How could he see that color so very clearly in this lighting? He stared, captivated by them and the thick, curled lashes that surrounded them.
For a moment, Wolfe stared, eyes a little wide, lips parted. He looked almost as stunned as Matt felt. But it was brief. He smiled, and Matt’s attention was redirected to his full, red lips. “Hello, Matthew.”
He couldn’t talk. He should talk. He should say something. Anything. He couldn’t just stand there, gaping at the man. How transparent and hopeless was that?
But he couldn’t stop himself. His heart swelled in his chest, and his dick started to swell in his pants. His hands itched to reach out and touch, and his legs wanted to give out and take him to his knees for some justified worship. The man was simply beyond belief.
Still smiling, Wolfe raised to eye level a plastic bag with a full brown paper sackwithin it. “Dinner?”
Matt blinked. It did nothing to dispel the vision. “Yeah.”
Wolfe chuckled. “May I come in?”
Another blink. Geez, where was his head? “Yeah. Come in.” Matt stepped aside.
For the first time in what seemed like forever, another person crossed Matt’s threshold. A shiver of fear passed over his skin, but it was quickly erased by the sight of Wolfe’s long legs and high, tight butt encased in snug denim. A simple long-sleeved T-shirt in a deep green bagged around a slim waist but most definitely hugged a broad back and nicely muscular shoulders and arms.
“You must try this garlic bread,” Wolfe told him, digging into the bag right after he’d set it down. “I don’t know what they put on it, but the smell alone is divine.”
Letting the front door close softly, Matt followed as though drawn by an invisible rope. He flipped on the overhead light in the kitchen for the sheer desire of wanting to see Wolfe better. By the time he reached Wolfe, the man had a big hunk of bread covered in all sorts of cheesy stuff in his fingers, holding it up for Matt. Those red lips were grinning at him again. “Taste.”
Snared by the green eyes, Matt opened up. Crusty bread touched his tongue, and he bit down on instinct. A portion of his brain told him that what was in his mouth was delicious. A larger portion of his mind told him that the luscious lips below those amazing green eyes would taste even better.
Did he whimper?
He nodded, watching those eyes linger over his face, hoping they liked what they saw. Wolfe’s smile melted in the heat between them as he leaned in closer to Matt. A pink tongue darted between Wolfe’s lips as he lifted the remaining hunk of bread from Matt’s mouth and set it aside on the counter. Matt chewed by rote, watching that beautiful face loom closer. He shut his eyes as something warm and wet eased over the right corner of his mouth. “Butter,” Wolfe muttered, breath wafting over his skin.
“Mmmm.” God, he smelled good! Even over the prevailing aroma of garlic, cheese, butter, and Italian spices, Matt could detect the dark, delicious male scent.
A smooth cheek rubbed his. “Swallow.”
Hands slid over his shoulders, partly down his arms, then around his back. “Matt,” came a whispered groan near his ear, “you’re more intoxicating than I expected.”