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“You are so anxious, then? You need me to be inside you now?”
She murmured an unintelligible mmm, then said, “Yes. Oh, God, yes.”
As he dipped low to kiss her neck, he began a slow thrust of his hips and she felt what she wanted finally enter her. She had always loved sex, the connection, the oneness.
Tonight would be different as well, more intense, more meaningful, and things would happen, unexpected things. Anxiety fluttered in her stomach, but she wouldn’t think of that, not now.
Tears welled in her eyes. “I love you,” she whispered.
He licked her neck in long strokes above the vein. He shifted her head slightly to create a better angle. He slid his right arm under her chest and supported her. “I need your blood,” he whispered. “I want your blood in me, down my throat, entering my veins, strengthening me.”
He flexed his hips and reached the end of her. He drew back very slowly. Maybe it was the angle, but as his c**k dragged over her, she groaned.
The licks along her neck grew stronger until she felt her vein rise. The moment it did, he struck, a quick pierce that tightened her deep inside. His hips moved in a steady pace now as he drank from her.
Jean-Pierre, she sent, you’ll make me come again.
Yes, I want you to come. Please come. Ah, your blood, like fire. Mon Dieu.
His hips bucked into her hard now. Even the massive tree moved a little. Each thrust set his wings in motion so that the air flowed over her skin, another layer of sensation.
The orgasm came quick and fast, lightning along her flesh, a swelling ache that kept spilling over and over her. He held her pinned as he drank so she couldn’t do anything more than release a long guttural sound.
You are pulling on me, he sent. So close. So close. Take my wrist, Fiona. Let us see this through to the end.
She took his arm and with but a whisper of a thought her fangs emerged. She struck, drew blood, and began to drink. He was still buried deep, as hard as a rock, but he didn’t move.
Prepare for my mind, he sent.
I’m ready. Oh, your blood. Oh, God. Oh, God.
He tasted of his rich maleness and a hint of coffee; still, it wasn’t the flavor but the power in his blood that began to build within her. A fire, yes a fire, that burned hot, that could ignite her and burn her down to nothing.
His mind drew up against hers like a solid wall.
Ready? he sent.
Yes.
He pushed. The smallest push. Then his mind was in her mind. She had felt this before, in the grotto.
He rolled through her mind, a heavy wave of sensation, a type of joining, another connection. His wings wafted, his hips thrust, his mouth suckled at her throat. Groans swirled over her ears.
Pleasure rode Fiona, a fine horse in the home stretch. She had already come several times, but this moment, with Jean-Pierre in her mind, taking her blood, and moving in and out of her, surrounded her like warm bathwater. She could sense the orgasm waiting, as if offshore, for the wind to blow it into port, and it would be powerful.
She was so happy, absurdly happy, to have this man, this vampire, this warrior, taking her blood, entering her, rolling over her mind. She needed a new word for what this felt like, for the fire moving in her veins because of his blood.
Euphoric. Yes, she felt euphoric and peaceful and one with her man.
Come to me, he sent.
She understood his meaning and in a simple way, she pushed into his mind. She could feel how close he was to orgasm, how with the strongest effort he held himself back, waiting for her, perhaps for this moment.
I’m here.
I love you in my mind, Fiona.
I love being here. But, Jean-Pierre, this is it. We’ve done it all. The breh-hedden.
Oui. Oh, Fiona, Fiona, my darling, ma chérie.
Jean-Pierre. Tears fell from her eyes.
He moved his hips faster and suddenly he released her neck and rose upright, the sweep of his wings sending cool air over her weeping back. He held on to the branch and rocked into her, hard.
She retracted her fangs from his wrist and the orgasm barreled down on her. Unlike the others, because her body was on fire, the sensations flash-flooded her, sending series of pleasurable streaks up through the well of her body, little hits of lightning, up and up.
She screamed and the lightning kept striking, leaping, flying.
Jean-Pierre shouted into the room as he came, as he spent himself inside her, his c**k jerking. As he came, another orgasm sped through her, flying up and up and bringing another scream out of her throat.
He kissed the back of her neck, his body swaying into her, his body still connected, her mind still richly enshrined within his.
The oneness once more brought tears flowing down her cheeks.
“Jean-Pierre,” she said, her voice hoarse.
“Ma chérie,” he whispered over her neck, against her ear, into her hair. “Ma chérie. Ma chérie.”
The feathers of his wings swept over her arms.
The tears continued.
She felt very strange, not quite in her own body. She felt wonderful. She wanted to cry out, to spin in circles, to laugh, to fly.
But as his body stilled, she grew quiet as well.
“Do you feel that?” he asked.
She nodded. “Yes. I think so.”
She could feel something at a great distance, hovering, waiting. Finally, it came like a great wind, blowing hard and forceful.
Jean-Pierre, still connected to her, leaned over her, his arms around her.
The wind swept over them both.
She felt the click in the center of her chest. “Do you feel that? A click?”
“Yes, near my heart.”
“Yes.”
“Fiona, your wing-locks.”
She felt it now, the swelling of her back, the weeping of her wing-locks, nothing new and yet everything was new. She had crossed some great barrier. She felt it now as though for so long she had been an island separated from a thriving mainland. Now there was a bridge and she could cross it at will.
Her back no longer itched.
Instead she felt the power within, a new sureness of foot, and an understanding of who she was, who she was meant to be, within herself and in her life.
“I think I can mount my wings,” she said.
“Then do it, right now. Nothing would be more beautiful to me.”
He started to withdraw from her but she reached back and held his hips. “No. I want to do it for the first time like this, with you inside me. Can you do that?”
She felt him shudder and she realized he was still very much erect. Jean-Pierre, I can feel you … very firm.
It is your blood.
Her turn to shiver as he very slowly pushed inside, withdrew, then pushed, a new steady rhythm.
