Page 22 of The Vampire’s Ballerina

His arm tightens around me as I sink onto his dick, taking him into my drenched pussy. He lifts my hand, bringing my wrist to his lips. Holding my gaze, he kisses my pulse point as I roll my hips and slide along his cock. His eyes are still red, but it’s a deep red now, and he looks at me with a mix of hunger, awe, and love as I continue to move on top of him.

“You are exquisite,” he says. “Just perfect.”

“Don’t stop,” I say, my chest heaving and my voice breathy.

“Don’t worry, cara mia. I’m nowhere near finished.”

He bites into my wrist, holding eye contact, then pulls away, letting the blood drip down my forearm. I cry out and rock against him, and my nipples scrape his chest. And even though I want to, even though the immense pleasure surging through me almost forces me to, I don’t close my eyes. I watch the blood as it travels over my ivory skin, spiraling down towards my elbow.

Just as it’s about to drip onto the floor, Peter licks it, his tongue tracing the path of blood in reverse, all the way back to the puncture wound on my wrist. He wraps his lips around the pierced flesh and takes a deep pull. His eyes close as he does, and he moans against my arm at the taste of me, the sound vibrating his chest. The sight of my blood disappearing into his mouth, his throat bobbing as he swallows, and the pleasure etched in his features as he drinks from me—combined with the ecstasy exploding throughout my body—is the most erotic experience of my life.

It awakens something in me. It calls to the depths of my soul, to the darkest, most secret parts of me, provoking a desire for something sinister.

He doesn’t drink from my wrist for long though. Just several deep drags as our bodies move together, him thrusting up into me as I roll my hips. Then he swipes his tongue over the pierced flesh, sealing the punctures, and kisses up my arm and across my collarbone until he reaches my neck.

Without prompting, I tilt my head to the side, eyelids fluttering closed as his lips find the most delicious, sensitive spot. Our bodies move faster, both of us desperately seeking pleasure and release, neither of us able to get enough of each other. Tingles and shivers shoot up my spine as his fangs brush against my pulse point. A needy whine bursts from me as I dig my fingertips into his smooth skin, pulling my body closer to his.

It’s not enough. Him inside me, his skin against mine, his hands and mouth on my body—none of it will ever be enough until he bites me again.

“Bellissima,” he says against my throat. “So beautiful.”

He has me right on the edge of the sharpest knife, balancing precariously, just waiting to topple over into the dark depths swirling beneath us. It’s beautiful but dangerous, and yet there’s nowhere I want to be more.

“I love you Imogen.”

His teeth sink into my neck, and my cry of pain turns into a guttural groan, echoed by him as his lips cover the bite mark and he drinks. Stars explode behind my eyelids. His hands grip my back, and I cling to him as we both plunge over that final edge into utter bliss. Wave after wave of pleasure, pull after pull of my blood, moan after moan from my lips. It all blurs into one. I lose track of everything except him, everything except his arms around me, the drag of my blood into his mouth, and his body moving in time with mine.

I lose track of time as we fall apart together. He lays me down beneath him again on the plush, warm blanket, wrapping me in his arms. His lips are still on my neck, although he’s switched from taking large fierce gulps to slow sips. Our bodies pulse in tandem with our ebbing orgasms, until we’re both still. Only then does Peter remove himself from me—both his cock and his teeth—rolling onto his side and cradling me against him as he tucks the blanket around us.

I press my body close to him, needing to feel his skin against mine. He holds me tight and kisses my forehead, brushing my hair from my face. I try to look at him, to hold his red gaze, but my eyelids are heavy and I can’t keep them open.

“Pietro…”

But he silences me with a gentle kiss, his hands rubbing my back. “Shh… Relax and rest, dolcezza. We will speak when you awaken.”

I nod, sleep already dragging me into its sweet embrace. I let it envelop me, floating away on the wisps of a dream, wrapped in Peter’s arms. A sense of pure peace and acceptance settles into my heart right before I fall into a deep slumber.

Chapter Eight

Peter

I watch Imogen as she sleeps. She’s curled up in the massive ornate bed in the master suite of my mountain home, while I sit in an armchair near the window. Her golden hair is fanned out on the white pillowcase behind her, and her hands rest near her face with her lips slightly parted. Her breaths are deep and even.

She’s so beautiful, so captivating, even in her sleep. I can’t take my eyes off her. Some of that’s my concern for her after she let me drink her blood, but only the tiniest part.

I know there is nothing to worry about. Because of who she is to me, I didn’t need to take much from her, so she won’t be out for long. And nothing happened that I regret. Nothing irreversible that I’d never forgive myself for. But that doesn’t erase my worry. Because what if I can’t control myself next time?

And I want there to be a next time.

How could I not when I already feel a difference in myself after feeding from her compared to drinking from any other blood source? Colors are brighter; scents are stronger. The world’s at my fingertips, mine for the taking. Power surges through me, pulsing beneath my skin and flowing in my veins with every beat of my heart.

It’s been so long since it’s beat in a regular rhythm. I couldn’t even remember how it felt until the first gulp of her blood filled my mouth, until I let myself succumb to my need for her. For all of her.

But if there’s a next time, there’s a risk. As long as she’s human, there will always be a risk. And asking her to change for me…that’s too selfish.

She stretches, releasing a tiny moan as she adjusts her body underneath the heavy feather duvet. Her arched neck draws my eyes to the already almost-healed bite. The ghost of the tantalizing taste of her blood flits across my tongue. My cock twitches, and I groan at the memory of her face as I drank, at the way she moved in my lap and yelled my name, at the ecstasy we shared as we came together in front of the fireplace.

Her eyes flutter open, and I dart to her side, brushing her hair from her face as she wakes up.