Vampire’s Mate NOT Camping Short
VAMPIRE’S MATE NOT CAMPING SHORT
Soren
Soren eyed the bedroom he was standing in with immense satisfaction.
This would do. This would do quite nicely.
The room was appropriately spacious, with a king-size bed, a walk-in closet, and an attached bathroom.
Everything was decorated in whites and creams and pale blues, managing to seem faintly nautical but without any tacky beach decor telling someone to “leave it all on the sand” or claiming something inane like “Salt water cures everything.”
The latter was false, of course. Nothing cured everything.
Although, fucking a beautiful, built man who knew his place certainly cured some things.
All salt water did was leave one’s hair a complete mess.
But that wasn’t the point. The point was—the room would do. It also happened to be the largest of the six bedrooms in the rental, but Soren had done all the planning, so he figured some recompense was due.
There was a knock on the door.
“Yes?” Soren called, straightening a few wrinkles on the bedspread.
Jay stepped inside the room, his hands clasped in front of him, looking so solemn that Soren felt the teeniest, tiniest twinge of guilt.
He squashed it down immediately. “Did you find your bedroom all right?”
“Yes.” Jay nibbled on his lower lip, glancing around the room. “But, Soren…”
“Mm?”
“You said we would be glamping.”
“Is that the word I used?”
Jay nodded, still solemn, his lower lip now pushed out in the faintest pout. “You said that you’d make the arrangements, but it would be more like glamping, and I’d have to prepare myself for that.”
Soren waved a hand. “And didn’t I deliver?”
“Soren…”
“Mm?”
Jay might have had a wicked pout on his side, but Soren could do this innocent act all day long. It was really too easy.
“This is a mansion,” Jay said after a moment.
“On the beach though,” Soren countered. “You requested beachfront.”
“Beachfront camping.”
Soren put his hands on his hips, straightening to his full height. If they were going to be mincing words… “There are camp chairs on the deck.”
“They’re loungers. They have cushions.” Jay said the last word with so much accusation that Soren almost laughed. As if cushions were the worst offense imaginable. And perhaps they were, for the little sweetling who wanted nothing more than to tumble around in the dirt.
That teeny twinge of guilt panged somewhere in Soren’s sternum again.
Soren supposed it was time to come clean.
He walked over to Jay, setting his hands on his friend’s shoulders. Soren was wearing flats—even a vampire such as himself had trouble walking gracefully in heeled boots on the sand—so they were basically the same height for once.
“Jaybird,” Soren began, matching Jay’s solemnity. “I couldn’t do it.”
“But you said—”
“Even in the fancy RV, or the expensive yurts, I just couldn’t.
” Soren met Jay’s gray gaze with all the sincerity he could muster.
“I need amenities, Jay. A full shower and standing bath. Ice that doesn’t come from a dirty cooler.
A large bed and equally large floor space on which to debauch my frankly insatiable mate. ”
“Hear, hear!” Gabe called from the walk-in closet, where he’d been putting away some of Soren’s immense vacation wardrobe.
Speaking of.
“I need outfits,” Soren continued, giving Jay a little shake.
“And hangers on which to hang them. Tiny shorts and silk coverups and enough variety that I’m never wearing the same clothes for more than two hours at a time.
That’s what I need for a proper vacation.
There’ve been too many camping trips. Too. Many.”
“There’ve been three,” Jay argued. But his tense stance had softened, his lower lip no longer pushed out into that absurd little pout.
“That’s three more than I ever thought I’d agree to.”
Jay cocked his head. “Why didn’t you just say so?”
Gabe’s voice rang out again. “He thought you’d be upset, and he can’t resist your puppy-dog eyes.”
Soren scowled in the direction of the closet. “Your input is no longer needed here, Highness.”
He began steering Jay toward the door. “Listen, your bedroom is on the ground floor; it opens right up to the beach. You can throw the doors open at night, hang a tarp, and it’ll be basically the same thing.
” He was maybe starting to sound desperate, but he couldn’t help himself.
“We can’t always be roughing it, Jaybird.
It’s too much to ask.” Soren waved toward the window, where the waves were crashing gently against glittering white sand.
“Plus, look: plenty of dirt to roll around in.”
Jay frowned. “That’s not dirt. It’s sand.”
“It’s messy, and it’s all over the ground. It’s dirt for our purposes.” Soren opened the door, making a shooing motion. “Go frolic.”
Jay gave Soren a look, one he must have learned from Colin.
“I’ve been told the waters here are very calm in the mornings,” Soren tried. “You can practice your swimming.”
The look softened, just a little.
“And the kitchen is top-rate,” Soren added. “And there’s a farmer’s market tomorrow. Fresh berries. You could bake us a summer cake.”
Jay arched a brow in a look he’d definitely learned from Soren. “I might make a mess of your mansion though.”
“Have at it. I’m only using the kitchen to make cocktails.”
And then Jay giggled, hugging Soren around the middle. He gave Soren a little shake of his own. “You could’ve told me, you know,” he said softly. “What you want matters too.”
The sweetness was a punch to the gut, worse than any accusation Jay could have thrown Soren’s way, but Jay was already skipping out the door, either to unpack whatever sartorial atrocities he’d brought or to beg Alexei to defile him in the sand.
Gabe sauntered out of the closet, looking far too smug. Handsome and extremely kissable, but far, far too smug. “How terrible do you feel right now?”
Soren cocked a brow. “I planned an amazing, luxurious, wholesome family vacation for our whole den. I deserve a goddamn medal.”
Gabe approached him with a grin, then placed a soft kiss on Soren’s cheek. “I agree. You do.”
His sincerity had Soren deflating the tiniest bit. “Thank you.” He sniffed, turning to the bed. That was enough guilt. Soren wasn’t spending the whole vacation wishing he was somewhere else—especially when it was somewhere he didn’t even want to be.
He went over to the bed and began taking items out of the pile he’d placed there, holding them up to Gabe.
“These shorts. This shirt.” Soren held back the shirt before Gabe could take it, giving him a look.
“Unbuttoned.” When he was sure Gabe had received the message, he handed it over. “And these sunglasses.”
Gabe eyed the pile in his hands. “I feel like a Ken doll.”
“A Ken doll wouldn’t argue.”
But Gabe made no move to change.
Soren huffed. Why was everyone on earth determined to give him a hard time today? “You’re looking for a reward, Highness?”
Gabe smirked.
Soren tapped a finger against his cheek, pretending to consider. “Let’s see… If you agree to let me choose your outfits every day of this vacation, I’ll let you eat me out in the shower tonight.”
“Done.” Gabe grinned like he’d won something. “But you know I’m just going to be in a swimsuit half the time.”
“Still worth it.”
“Well, yeah, of course it is, brat. You’re getting what you want and getting your ass eaten.”
Soren narrowed his eyes. “Would you like me to change the prize?” he asked, his voice full of false sweetness.
“No,” Gabe said immediately, his grin dropping. He placed his pile back on the bed and grabbed Soren by the ass, pulling him close. “I’ve earned it.”
“You haven’t, actually,” Soren told him, though his arms were floating up without permission to wrap around Gabe’s neck. “You’ve only promised to.”
Gabe nuzzled his nose along Soren’s hairline, murmuring, “Same thing.”
He started walking them backward, toward the bathroom. Soren pulled back. “Ah, ah, ah.” He pointed a finger at the bed. “Change.”
Gabe’s hands tightened on his ass. “Shouldn’t we shower first?”
God, he looked gorgeous when he was trying to manipulate Soren into bed. Gabe didn’t need the vacation sun either—he was already golden, perpetually sun-kissed from his many runs in the woods.
But Soren had to stay strong.
“The others are arriving,” he said curtly, as if he wasn’t two seconds away from letting Gabe toss him wherever he wanted and have his way with him. “And I’m the host.”
Gabe gave him a sulky look, which he shouldn’t have been able to pull off at his age, but which made Soren want to bite into him anyway.
Soren pulled out the big guns. “You want your brother to come looking for us and stumble into hearing distance while you’re getting your reward?”
Gabe blanched, releasing his hold. “Jesus. Okay, fine. Your personal doll is getting dressed now.”
Soren patted his shoulder. “There’s a good Highness.”
Soren hurried into his own outfit and then slipped out the bedroom door.
It was time to make the welcome margaritas.
Jamie
Jamie whistled as he and Luc stepped into the beach rental.
They’d all been told they were going to be glamping—a word Luc had strictly forbidden Jamie from speaking out loud—but this was some sick-ass mansion shit that Soren had organized.
Of course, Jamie had already known they wouldn’t be glamping. He’d gotten a vision of them all at the house already. But he’d kept it to himself, wanting to surprise Luc, who’d been such a grumpy fuck about roughing it again with the den.
And this was a nice fucking house.
It was one of those places that tricked someone into thinking it wasn’t a mansion, with homey touches and a rustic design. But it was definitely big enough to hold a bedroom for each couple, and that wasn’t an easy find, especially on prime beachfront real estate.