Wednesday, April 6, 2022

3S Bonus Scene: Interlude With a Vampire

Interlude with a Vampire was originally released in 2021 as a preorder incentive for Pretty Little Lion and sent only to those who provided proof of purchase. Since it is now 2022 and I assume you've all bought PLL by now, I'm sharing this very steamy menáge à trois with everyone old enough to read spicy content. 

 Interlude with a Vampire

A special bonus scene showing a sexy turning point in Finian, Grace, and Nate’s relationship, set between Big Bad Wolf and Pretty Little Lion.

He’d fucked a lot. More than a lot. Fucked. Been fucked. Every possible way from here to Sunday and back again.

When he counted it up, really took stock, Finn Conlan reckoned he’d spent more of his existence horizontal than vertical. Even including instances where the act took place against a wall or a tree—or, on one memorable occasion, against the railing of a closed-to-the-public elephant enclosure at the Bronx Zoo. The poor elephant hadn’t consented to witnessing such debauchery. He’d come round later with a pocket full of peanuts and apologies. But despite all that experience, all those shagging hours logged, he was completely overwhelmed by the beautiful humans putting him to bed.

Nathaniel, with his silver-white hair and flinty blue eyes. Gorgeous Grace, still wearing that severe scraped-back high ponytail, but every other part of her soft and open and worried. “Don’t you dare die on me,” she’d said just hours ago with her hands coated in his blood, practically willing him to wake up, ordering him to come back to her. “Finian Thomas Michael Conlan. If you don’t get your useless ass up right now, I will nail you to a cross at midday…and I don’t mean a St. Andrew’s one.”

Now it was his turn to give orders. Except the words came out more like a plea. “Don’t leave,” he said in a tone he’d never known himself capable of. Desperate. Plaintive. Lonely. Afraid. “Don’t leave me.”

Eighty-odd years on this planet, both alive and undead, and Grace and Nate were nearly more than he could bear. Stripping him of his clothes. Pressing him back against the mattress. Nate’s touch ghosting over the fresh bandages on his gut wound. There was no pain, and there would be no scars, but he winced nonetheless. The memory of the bird shifter’s attack was as sharp as their claws had been. The latest in a long line of close calls. One day, his number would be out of service for good.

“Hey. You.” Nate grasped his chin, forcing him to focus, and then kissed him full on the mouth, which most assuredly snapped Finn back to the delightful occupants of his bedroom. It was no-nonsense, firm, genuine, and kind. Just like the man himself. “You finally get me in the sack, and you’re a million miles away.”

“Kilometers,” he corrected automatically, because wordplay was the one thing he could always fall back on. So he always had something to say even when he had nothing to say. “We only speak metric in this house.”

“Oh, that’s a new one,” Grace scoffed, crossing her arms. “Mr. Eight Inches Flaccid. ‘I’m a grower and a show-er.’”

He vaguely recalled offering up that crass detail at some point in the past four years. Likely trying to rile up Elijah or Danny. Which was 50 percent of why he did anything. God, he really was an inappropriate bastard in the workplace, wasn’t he? And his cock rose to the occasion in response to the attention. “You’re welcome to fact-check, love,” he offered without one ounce of shame.

It was Nate who moved. Nate who did the confirming, closing his grip around Finn’s length, thumb gently sliding back his foreskin and stroking the bared tip. Fuck, that was grand. Like Nathaniel Feinberg had been born to give hand jobs. And Grace…the Grace of his heart…she wasn’t one to sit idly by. Not for long. She stretched out beside him fully dressed, so they were face-to-face. Peering into his soul with those dark-brown eyes while Nate did his level best to pull said soul out through his cock. “Do you want me to kiss you, Finian?” she asked softly. “Is that a part of what we’re doing?”

Did she think they were playing by Pretty Woman rules? Why would he deny himself the gift of her lips? Of Nate’s? He was a fool in many ways, but not in this. “Do I want you to kiss me?” What an easy answer to give. “Gracie, I’ve been wanting you to kiss me since the day we met.”

So she did, closing the inches—and the centimeters—between them and pressing her soft mouth to his. Gentle at first. And then seeking. Finally, said a voice from somewhere deep inside him. Yes. This. Finally. Was it strange that their first kiss would coincide with their first fuck? That they would experience these milestones one after the other? Perhaps. But Finn had never quite trucked with normal. So he gave himself wholeheartedly to the sensation. To the heat of her, the slide of her tongue against his. To how it went from sweet to searing so fast that he was glad fire didn’t really make vampires burst into ashes. No, the only imminent explosion was in Nate’s hands, with Grace’s kisses the accelerant.

There was no hesitation with these two. Not right now. Maybe he needed to be trounced by rogue avian shifters more often. Whatever it took to make them stay. Whatever it took to keep them. Grace saw a little bit of that sentiment in his eyes—because she always saw too much of him. “You’re milking this for all it’s worth, aren’t you?” she asked as she pulled back for a breath.

“No, that’s what I’m doing,” Nate chuckled, his strokes growing more vigorous. Just the way Finn would do it himself. Rough. Punishing. All the way down and teasing his arse. There weren’t enough saints to call on for all the pleasure it gave him.

“You two are still dressed,” Finn pointed out raggedly, instead of giving into the urge for blasphemy. “You have me at a disadvantage.”

“Probably the only time I’m ever going to have the upper hand with you,” Nate bantered back. “I plan to enjoy it.”

What had he done to get this lucky?

Oh, right. He’d almost died.


This wasn’t Nate’s first threesome. It wasn’t even his fourth or his fifth. Law school had been wild. But it was the first time he’d slept with a vampire after a knockdown, drag-out fight with shifters in a Brooklyn warehouse. The first time he felt completely out of his depth. The first time he was worried he might be intruding on something he had no right to get in the way of. So of course he threw himself into giving Finn Conlan a truly spectacular hand job. Because what was the point of doing something if you weren’t going to give it your all? Plus it wasn’t exactly a hardship. Finn was gorgeous, even with the bandages covering his abdomen. They were just a few shades lighter than his marble-smooth skin. A trail of near-black hair led from the dressing down to the thatch at his groin and the cock that currently had Nate’s full attention. Eight inches flaccid. Ten at full mast. Engorged with what was probably all the blood in the vampire’s system. Heavy against his palm.

He couldn’t help himself. He had to use more than just his hand. He needed a taste. A lick of the salt, of the sweat and the pre-come. “Ah, Christ!” Finn cried out, hips bucking up off the bed. “You’ve a wicked mouth, Councilor.”

He’d definitely heard that before. But it had never sounded more like a compliment. No, like an endearment. And that was a lot. Maybe it was too much. Overload. And the only thing he was sure he could take right now was the dick between his lips. All the way to the back of his throat. Nate breathed through his nose, inhaling the scent of sex and the wintergreen chill that always seemed to cling to Finn. It was addictive. He was addictive. So were the sounds Nate drew from his throat. Curses and gasps as he twisted the sheets in his hands and shuddered in Grace’s arms until he spilled, and Nate swallowed every drop.

Nate swiped his hand across his mouth as he sat back on his heels. They’d removed their shoes at the door, but he was otherwise fully dressed. Still in the suit from earlier. Rumpled. Tie unknotted. Reeking of gun oil and fear and Finn’s come. That should’ve made this feel sordid, but somehow it didn’t. No, it made it safe. Because he needed a little armor, one small barrier between him and these beautiful people.

Grace had undressed at some point during Nate’s tour of Finn’s southern region. Baring what seemed like miles of flawless deep brown skin. Or kilometers, since metric was apparently the house rule. Her legs went on for days. And he wasn’t so queer that he couldn’t fully appreciate her breasts. Pear-shaped and perfect with large, dark nipples. And of course none of that could compete with her face. Those beautiful brown eyes that missed nothing. The lush line of her mouth. Softer than he’d ever seen it. Already kiss-swollen. Nate was painfully hard just looking at her and Finn. Tangled up. Touching and whispering. They were temptation incarnate.

“Come join the fun,” Finn urged, raising his head from Grace’s throat. Nate almost expected to see blood on his teeth and welling from puncture wounds but no…no, he’d just been worshipping her as was her due.

Fun. Was that what this was? Or something else? Something much more dangerous? He was unbuttoning his shirt and kicking off his pants long before he found any answers. And then he was too busy to question anything at all.


Of course Grace had wondered what it might be like to go to bed with Finian. The thought had crossed her mind once or twice. Three times. Okay, more like a half dozen. Mostly because he brought the subject up often enough to keep it in the ether. The vampire was the very definition of sex on a stick, and he knew it. If you looked up “sexy” in the dictionary, there was a picture of him. Coincidentally, the same picture could be found under the listing for “bad idea.” And Grace had gone and done it now. Made the bad idea a reality.

She wasn’t sorry. Because god, it felt good. His hands on her. His filthy, unrepentant mouth. Calling her “beautiful” and “so hot” and “Gracie, Gracie, Gracie” in a way that made the childish nickname sound like pure porn. She’d almost lost this man, and now, she had him inside her, rocking into her with slow strokes. His dick had still been wet and shining from Nate’s handiwork when she stretched the condom over him. He’d recovered quickly, hard for her almost immediately. As eager for more as she was. Like now that they’d started this, it was full throttle. Years of pent-up tension, of what-ifs and whens, all coming out in their mingled sweat.

Maybe they would regret it in the morning. But right now, Grace had no reservations about having sex with her best friend. About gripping his shoulders as she met his thrusts and kissing him until she needed to break for air. And then Nate grabbed his own supplies from the drawer in the nightstand and joined them. “May I?” he murmured, ever so polite as he drizzled lube on his fingertips.

“Yes.” Finn’s voice was high and reedy, laced with the same frantic notes that had kept them in his bed. “Please, yes. Fuck me. Want you both to fuck me.”

Was there an etiquette for threesomes? A how-to handbook for a ménage à trois? Grace had no clue, but this seemed to be the right way of it. Asking and giving and taking and asking again. If Finn wanted them both, he would have them both. For as long as he needed them. And she knew exactly when Nate was done prepping him. Because Finn flexed against her and hissed. And the angle and rhythm of his cock changed, as if he was syncing to Nate’s inside him. Then they were all moving together, a messy, gorgeous thing made of lust and want and affection.

“The middle name and the confirmation name? For fuck’s sake, woman. You could just say you love me.”

No. No, she couldn’t. Because some things were bigger than words. There were some confessions you could only make with your body in the dark. I don’t ever want to wear your blood again. Don’t make me watch you die. I don’t think I could take it if you died. This was what she told him with every passionate collision, every clench of her pussy around his cock, every kiss she pressed to his lips, his cheek, his jaw. She said it over and over during the night. Your life belongs to me now, Finn. And I don’t give you permission to go.

Maybe she should’ve provided Nate with similar parameters. Because when she and Finn awoke in the aftermath of all that glorious post-crisis sex, he was gone. The handsome attorney, so bold just a few hours ago, had hightailed it out of Finn’s quarters without speaking a word. While it was still dark out. Before anyone at HQ had to report to Command. Condom wrappers and uncapped lube and the twinging of their sore muscles were the only proof that he was ever there beside, between, and inside them. He’d gathered up all his clothes and stolen out of Finn’s lair like a bar hookup they might never see again. And the empty space in the bed was like a chasm. 

“Why does everyone leave me?” Finn wondered aloud, turning those stunning blue eyes on her in utter despair. All that passion and joy and affirmation of the past few hours turning into instant devastation.

Oh, Finian. “I’m still here,” she reminded him. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Because their bodies weren’t remotely done with this conversation. And Grace had no intention of leaving anything unsaid.

--Suleikha Snyder, 2021.

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