Whitby, North Yorkshire
“Are you really a vampire?” Ella placed dirty pint glasses into hot water
and began cleaning them. There was nothing glamorous about being a bartender,
but it was a job in a town that claimed vampires were real.
She posed the question to her co-worker that
night. Josh was young with a massive ego due to good looks. Actually, he was
hot, which had the make-me, take-me, turn me into a vamp set seeking him out in
hopes for a night of wicked sex. She wasn’t one of them, but was curious about
his claim to fame.
“Sure am, and well over a thousand years old.
Don’t I look fucking great for an old codger?” His flexing arm muscle was
hard to miss in the tight t-shirt he wore. He placed a kiss on the bulging bicep
while wiggling his eyebrows at her in invitation. She couldn’t hold back her
laughter his actions brought bursting from her lips.
“Sexy as sin and ready to claim a pet,” she
said while returning cleaned glasses to the rack. She’d dropped the pet
reference nonchalantly to see how much he actually knew about vampires and
he’d passed right over it.
“So, you’re ready to be my dinner tonight?
I have a collar waiting for you to wear. You’ll look fucking hot with it on,
and nothing else. It’s leather and full of d-rings. I’ll hook you to the
wall and keep you steady for me to fuck and suck dry.” Josh whispered how he
wanted to possess her body as he slowly stroked a finger down her exposed neck.
Ella shivered at his touch and turned toward
the shout from a delegate for the hen night crowd that had taken up the far
corner of the pub. There were about fifteen ladies, aged from eighteen to sixty,
wearing matching t-shirts stating they were attending the bride’s Last Stand.
One had obviously come forward for another round.
“What can I get you?” She wiped down the
bar and waited to hear the order.
“Twelve Bloody shots, two with an added
Barbed,” the woman shouted over the noise. The pub was busy, but not so loud
that she’d needed to holler. Looking at her closely, Ella guessed she was
somewhat sober and the eldest.
“How are the ladies holding up?” she asked
while pulling out the required glasses and lining them up across the bar. After
filling them with ice cubes, she started measuring two ounces of cranberry vodka
and a splash of both orange and lime juice.
“They’re drunk, so these are the last. I
can’t handle the modern day hen night. Mine was a couple glasses of wine at
our local the night before, not a weekend away spent getting wrecked.” The
customer laughed and then helped her put the glasses on a tray.
“I’ll carry the tray, if you wouldn’t
mind taking these two so we can keep them separate,” Ella suggested while
pouring an ounce of Absinthe in the two glasses she’d set aside. Whoever
ordered the two Barbed cocktails was in for a nasty headaches in the morning
and, hopefully, nothing else.
The corner was raucously loud, full of talk
about sex and the boyfriends, husbands, and a soon-to-be husband they were doing
it with. There were plenty of dirty details shared that Ella found hard to
believe actually took place. The ladies were probably more vanilla in the
bedroom than kinky, which Ella personally preferred.
After handing out the drinks, she started back
to the bar when one of the girls chased her down for a private word. She thought
the young woman was going to order another round of drinks and tried to think of
a way to say no. Except for Grandma, the entire group was a drink beyond over
“The bloke behind the counter, is he
available? You see, my friend, the bride-to-be, is totally hot for him and,
well, you know how it is. She wants a last shag before the ring goes on for
good. We heard down in Leeds about a guy in Whitby who has a sexy bite that
leaves you weak and a pierced willy that’s totally wicked to ride. That’s
Oh boy, that was not what she’d expected the
other woman to say. It wasn’t going to happen.
“No, sorry, he’s with me,” she confided
with a wink and went back to the bar. She picked up glasses as she made her way
through the room. Stopping at a few tables, she chatted with the locals she’d
befriended during her short time at the pub.
“Would you like another, Sean? Last call is
“Thank you, Ella.” It was dark inside the
pub and she tried to catch a glimpse of his face, but couldn’t see much. The
man was a mystery to her in many ways, which was odd since she could usually
read anyone. No, Sean was a slate wall of sorts. Cool, hard and smooth, but
everyone had a weak spot and he was hers.