And that, my little human, is the first promise of the rest of your life.
Moving much slower now, giving her the out she may end up taking, I lower between her thighs and nudge her legs apart, massaging the tense nerves there. Her pussy is dripping from the couple of orgasms, imprinting a scent I’ll forever use to track her.
As a hunter, I’ve claimed her scent. There’s no getting away from me. Not now, not ever. And with her blood, she’ll seal herself to me in ways she’s yet to even realize. Her taste on my tongue and her scent in my nose means she can run forever—but I’ll always find her.
Slow laps to ease her tension has her soon sighing. As much as I’d love to jab my fangs into her, that’s what she expects, so I’ll gain her faith by showing it’s her I care for, not her blood. When her weight drops heavier against the bed, and her thighs quiver, the nerves loosening, it’s time.
I brush my hand over where hers is resting, and then take her other, placing it on my head. With it, I give my prey something I’ve never given before: control. She can push me away or pull me closer—either way, it’s her choice.
After another brief lick of her skin, both warning and teasing the exact place, my fangs pierce her strawberry-scented skin. She whimpers, flinching at the initial pain of her skin breaking and my teeth sinking inside until my tongue caresses her skin.
Blood pools in my mouth and my tongue massages more along. It’s metallic—strawberries combined with a heat thatconsumes me. It’s strangely both sweet and bitter. It’s perfection and entirelyher.
Every sense that’s been controlling me for two hundred years ceases to function. Everything she is replaces them. She’s all I hear, all I smell, and now…all I taste.
Her heartbeat rockets in her chest, which makes her blood run faster, pooling more and more of it in my mouth. Her sharply inhales as she fights between pain and desire, her hand twisting in my hair in response but not pushing me off her. Instead, she pulls me even closer.
She wants this—me—and I doubt she’ll deny me more after this. I’ll spend the rest of our lives with my fangs in her—her neck, her pussy, her wrists. Wherever she wants, she’ll receive.
I massage her thighs, encouraging more blood into my mouth. It’ll be important to monitor how much I take in so I don’t harm her or accidentally drain her dry.
“Why does this feel sogood?”
I drink harder and slide two fingers inside her core, curling them until she arches off the bed. My teeth press in, warning her to remain still, and it becomes a battle of wills. A fight to either remain still…or to chase the onslaught from my fingers.
She’s tight and delicious—and probably sensitive from the other orgasms. Paired with my drinking, expecting her to come again might be the cruellest act yet, but the flavour that her blood will shift to after her orgasm is too enticing.
After only a few thrusts, she tightens around my fingers while her legs come up around my head, her keening filling the room. Her hand slaps the bed once, more in overstimulation than pain, but still after a deep inhale that forces away from her, I unhook my fangs and crawl back up her body, taking her mouth with mine to sate my thirst in other ways. It’s messy, my tongue sliding over hers, sharing both her blood and her cum until she’s panting into my mouth.
Eventually, she falls against the pillow, tossing an arm over her face. “I’ve officially died and gone to heaven.”
“Hell. Vampires are related to demons, which hail from Hell.”
She lifts her arm a fraction, until able to see me from beneath. “It’s a saying, nothing meant literal.” Her arm falls all the way off until she’s gazing at me, her smirk slow and devious as she rubs a thumb over her bottom lip, gathering what I’ve transferred to her. “You’re a bit of a mess. Taste good?”
“Goodinsults your blood. Your blood, your pussy, your skin—I’ll never get enough.” I seal the promise with a kiss to her forehead before rolling from the bed to inspect my work.
Her thighs remain parted, blood thinning the cum I’ve wrought from her. The bed requires washing, but at the rate I plan on doing that again with her—and more—not entirely sure there’s a point in changing the sheets.
“I wish I could make you that Christmas morning breakfast you want and deserve, but the sun’s up and not every window downstairs has curtains, which means I’ll be up here until night falls.” It’s irritating that I can’t provide for her in the way I should.
She lifts her head to stare between the railing and through the large window across. The angle doesn’t allow the sun up here. “So daylight itself is fine, just not sun?”
“Exactly.” Offering a hand, I help her up, hands around her hips until she’s steady. “Hydrate first, then food to replenish.”
Her head drops onto my chest, ear over the place where my heart once beat. “Not needed. I plan on dying right here.”
I pet her tangled hair, brushing it aside from her damp neck. “Not negotiable. I drank a fair amount, so you’ll need the nutrition.”
With a longing sigh to remain, she pushes away and turns for the stairs, only to stumble into the railing. “Maybe you’re right. A shower, then food. Want anything from downstairs?”
Flicking a tongue against my fang, I wink. “Already got mine.”
As she walks away, my head echoes with that strange sound again.Keep, keep, keep.
After takinga shower that recoats her strawberry scent, she cooks a full breakfast, the process involving an amusing amount of cursing and shouting. I observe from above, making small questioning comments about her process, since cooking today is vastly different than how my mother once did it.
She joins me up in the loft to eat, but then I force her downstairs for the hot chocolate and window-sitting she described the other day. As the sun slowly sets and moves away from the glass, I’m able to go downstairs, carefully sticking to corners of the room where the sun avoids, while kissing her at every opportunity.
