Bob’s morning

The phone by Bob’s coffin goes bzz. The lid opens, a hand reaches out and, by mistake, presses the snooze option.

Ten minutes later, the phone goes bzz, again. Once again, the lid rises and the hand presses the snooze button... again.

Ten more minutes and the phone goes bzz. This time it’s the whole cover that falls on the floor and a very angry vampire stands up.

“Fuck me!”

Bob is awake and he knows there is no way in hell he will find sleep again. The phone goes flying across the room and crashes against the brick wall. The display of gratuitous **** will not give him his sleep back but it helps with the frustration... a little bit.

Up the stairs, he checks the blood pot in the fridge: empty. Of course, they were supposed to sleep until early afternoon and by then the interior decorator’s team would be around with a few juicy necks to sink his teeth in, alas it’s still ‪7 AM‬.

They should have saved some from Meredith before sending her home.

Outside his house, just across the lawn, a lonely jogger passes. Bob can already imagine the smell of the sweat, the grip of the firm ass, the taste of the sweet blood. But by the time he puts on the sunscreen she will be long gone.

This is definitely not his day.

Bob has lived for nearly two and a half millennia and it is not the first time he has to skip breakfast but these situations tend to make him cranky. Out of spite he takes a shower, applies some sunscreen and off to work.

***

After a stop at a coffee shop, Bob feels much better. Of course, the double latte Macchiato with extra cinnamon and extra chocolate in the cup holder is mostly that: lame coffee with milk, chocolate and spices, but the warm mixture is also spiked with the blood of the young barista who attended Bob. Under the old vampire’s influence, she managed to cut her wrist with one of the plastic sporks the coffee company gives away with their overpriced salads. Feeling the rich blood on his taste buds, Bob almost regrets not taking a bit more time to enjoy it directly from the source, then again the place was crowded and, from experience, Bob knows that fast food restaurant bathrooms cannot be considered quiet and peaceful places to sneak a dick into a welcoming pussy and sink a pair of fangs into a pulsating throat.

He parks his car in the reserved parking spot by the entrance he negotiated the day before with the local branch manager of his company. A painter is covering the former “Mr Byrne” sign and replacing it with a new one claiming the spot for “Mr Sinclair”. Bob waves, the painter waves back.

The curtains in the office of Elizabeth are still drawn. No lights are on. His personal assistant, and now thrall, is sitting behind her desk face buried in the neck of that cunt from HR... What was her name?

“Oooh Samantha... you are such a bitch but you taste sooo good...” Elizabeth moans between her teeth.

Ah, yes, Samantha!

“Good morning Elizabeth.”

“Good morning Master, I am sorry for the mess...”

“You can call me Bob and don’t worry, I really don’t mind... I know how it is...”

“Thank you, Master Bob.”

“Just Bob, please...”

“Bob... Bob, weren’t you supposed to come in this the afternoon?”

“Had an issue with my alarm clock... talking of which I will need a new phone, could you see to that? And also have someone nice bring me the files I need to investigate, since I am here maybe I can start working on them right away...”

“Yes, of course Master... I mean Bob...”

“Thank you very much Elizabeth. I will have some of Samantha if you don’t mind.”

“Please do...”

He approaches the table, grabs Samantha’s wrist, plunges his fangs in it and refills his double latte Macchiato with extra cinnamon, extra chocolate, extra barista and now a dash of HR bitch.

Twenty minutes or so later, Bob browses through the files brought to him by the delicious intern sucking his balls under the desk. Her tongue is agile, her lips are plump and she is quite eager, so, in the back of his mind, Bob is contemplating the possibility of offering her a more permanent position in the company. But that might or might not happen later as for the moment he must choose his first case.

To his left the discarded files with male contacts, to his right the files with female contacts.

Bob has not always been on an exclusively heterosexual diet and to be perfectly honest he did have a couple of slips over the last few centuries. But when Electra and himself decided to welcome Summer into their family and make the resilient and volatile thrall into a Master Vamp he realized that he would be better off leaving the males to his two female companions. He does not regret his choice as generally women’s blood is more subtle and carries more variety.

Back to the files.

“No... too old... too fat... why not... mmmh...”

He stops for a second looking down.

“Please Gina darling, I do love some teeth but you are a bit over zealous there... much better thank you...”

He goes back to his files.

“No... no... no... mmmh… nice!”

The last file he finds is quite promising. Young widow claiming a ninety-thousand-dollar life insurance, **** of the husband... shady. That’s the one. He rests back, closing his eyes and letting Gina finish him.

***

A little under an hour later, he rings at a nice mansion’s door.

“Mrs. Dalewood?”

“Yes?”

“I am from the insurance company, I had a few questions for you, do you mind if I step in?”

“Again? I thought this was over... but please do come in...”

The woman is smart, she fakes grief perfectly and her explanations make perfect sense. To any human eye, the mischief would have gone unnoticed. To Bob Sinclair on the other hand... but Bob is neither a moral man nor an unreasonable monster. For a small share - not so small actually - of the loot, a good fuck and a pint and a half of blood he can write whatever report you want.

Generally, the clients are **** at first but when confronted with the alternatives (major lawsuits, prison and even, in certain very few cases, ****), they usually accept the offer.

As previously stated, the young widow is smart and she accepts the offer. Bob smiles as she starts to undress offering him her neck.