Groaning, I sit up and reach for my phone on the nightstand, squinting as the bright screen nearly blinds me. It’s after ten o’clock, and I have two missed calls and several text messages from Callie. The texts seem to revolve around how she’s going to be late because Mei’s parents aren’t too keen on the idea of Callie coming over to my place when my parents aren’t home. About fifteen minutes ago, she messaged to say she was able to sneak out and would be here soon.
It’s as if my subconscious knew she was close and woke me up, because only moments after reading her texts and turning on my bedside lamp, my bedroom door bursts open. A litany of apologies fills the air, along with the thumping of Callie dropping her belongings near the door. A warmth that I don’t want to examine fills my chest over how comfortable she’s become in my space. The soft feeling is followed by a possessive urge to claim her for myself. Blaming it on the recurring dreams, I stuff it all down and attempt to rearrange my face into something neutral and pleasant.
“You know, I really like Mei’s parents, but I seriously miss Mildred,” Callie announces as she reaches the top of the stairs. “It makes sense why they wouldn’t want me to come. It’s not like I can tell them that I’m really coming over to feed you, so it looks like I want to ditch Mei to do salacious things with my boyfriend unsupervised. When I told them you’re not my boyfriend, they didn’t seem convinced.”
“Salacious?” I echo with feigned amusement, while disgusted with myself over the primal relief that flows through me when I see her face.
It’s not the relief of a friend seeing another friend—or in my case, a person with feelings that look a lot like love seeing the one they desire that should stay a friend. It’s the relief of a drug addict seeing their next fix. My body is a live wire, and she’s the only one who can satiate me.
When she plops down on the bed beside me to pull off her boots, I move behind her, my hands already skating down her sides and my nose seeking the side of her neck. She smells divine, her normal fruity, flowery scent overwhelmed by the exquisite power that saturates her blood. It’s an odd duality to both hate magic while being thoroughly intoxicated by the taste of hers.
She releases a breathy chuckle while tilting her head to the side. “Hungry, huh?”
“That’s one word for it.” I laugh darkly, the predator inside me delighted to have such willing prey.
Thanks to that damn dream, my darker half and normal self want the same things, but for completely different reasons. I want to touch and taste and use every trick I know to make her moan in pleasure. I want to kiss her and make love to her in a way neither of us has felt before. My predator wants to consume her, making her as addicted to me as I am to her. In the end, my motivations seem to matter little, because my want is nearly impossible to deny.
Slipping my hands under her green sweater—the one I liked so much on Yule—I delight in the smooth heat of her skin. Callie releases a tiny gasp, all sense of mirth dashed away under my wandering touch.
“Is this okay?” I ask in a way that invites only one type of answer, my hot breath feathering against her neck. My conscience is yelling for her to run, but it’s buried so deep under my own needs that I barely hear it.
She shivers while swallowing heavily. “I, uh... I mean, yes, it’s okay,” she stutters out. “Are you… um, okay?”
“I am now,” I whisper in her ear before I let my fangs slide out over my incisors. She lets out another gasp as I gently scrape the tips against her neck.
“That’s good… that we’re both okay. Yup,” she babbles, her hands tightly gripping the black comforter.
Her nervousness empowers my conscience, and my hands pull out from under her sweater. Moving away enough so I can turn her face to look at me, I meet her gaze. Trying to keep the normal sexual purr out of my voice, I ask gently, “Are you sure you’re okay with this?” Due to my fangs being out, my “sure” has a lisp on it that makes her giggle, breaking some of the tension.
“Yes, I’m ‘thur,’” she answers with a widening smile, then shrugs. “It’s just, we normally have a routine we go through before we get to this point. I was surprised, but not in a bad way.” She pulls on her sweater, and while looking down, comments, “I do, however, want to take this off. I don’t want to get blood on it.”
If I were a better man, I’d offer to start again, go through the ritual of gathering towels while making small talk, but I’m not. Instead, I want to drag her into this lust-filled haze that I’m already drowning in and fill the air with the sweet sounds of her moans.
Heat ripples down my skin as my excitement builds over the thought of seeing more of her tantalizing flesh. The purr firmly back in place, I murmur in her ear, “I can help take your sweater off.”
“I bet you can.” She laughs, her normal pre-bite snarkiness back in place.
Disappointingly, she removes her sweater on her own, but I take the opportunity to straddle her from behind, pulling her back against my chest and perversely enjoying the pain/pleasure of her denim-clad ass grinding against my trapped, rock-hard cock. I’m still wearing a black undershirt that probably won’t make it through the night, but right now the thin fabric between us leaves another level of teasing excitement.
After carefully moving all of her thick, golden hair to one side, my lips are once again pressed to her neck. “Ready?”
“Yes,” she answers, freely leaning back against me.
Like sampling expensive wine, I slowly sink my fangs into her neck and savor the first taste of her blood. The addictive agent of her magic zips through my system, destroying what little civility still lingered inside me.
Callie sighs with pleasure, dragging her hands along the outside of my thighs, while mine immediately seek her bare stomach. She arches up into my touch, the need inside her already demanding more skinship.
Normally, I’d tease her, tracing my fingers around her body but never touching her in ways that would catapult us into new waters, but this night is different. Tonight, we’re shrouded in near darkness, the curtains blocking out any light from the moon and stars. Tonight, she’s wearing the lingerie I bought her—a silken, lacy bra that matches the color of her skin, making it appear like only some scraps of lace protect her breasts from my gaze. Tonight, every part of her answers a begging desire no longer safely locked up inside me.
“Oh,” Callie moans when my touch reaches her chest.
My fingers gently pinch her peaked nipples while my palms cup her through that delicate lace. She bows her back, wiggling her ass against me while pushing into my hands. I suck harder on her neck, and her nails drag down my thighs.
“Nolan, I need…” She trails off, her breaths shallow and desperate.
I know exactly what she’s asking for because I want it too—her skin against mine.
Quickly retracting my fangs, I lick up enough of her blood to seal the wound and keep it from dripping, even though that’s a new sight I hungrily want to see. After ripping my shirt off fast enough to bust some seams, I maneuver us so Callie is on her back and I’m cradled between her thighs. Tucking us beneath the maroon sheets adds an intimacy that is as wonderful as it’s dangerous. The bedside lamp light is a soft yellow that heightens the experience, painting her form in a way that reminds me of candlelight.
