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Stop, stop.
If I let my excitement flare too brightly, I might lose control and leap on her right here. My fangs are buzzing like electric saws, roaring, hungry to be near her throat, her breasts, the gorgeous meatiness of her thighs. I clench down on the steering wheel so hard I feel it straining under the pressure, ready to snap off completely. I have to relax my grip before I send up catapulting off the bridge.
“Hard day at the office?” Tammy asks.
“Not particularly,” I say. “Why?”
“Because you look like you want to kill someone,” she giggles.
The sound of her laughter is like music. It’s all too easy to imagine her laughing like that while standing over our children’s cribs, which is a thought I need to dash from my mind soon before it enslaves me. The image is too sun-bright, something I’ll never get to experience. I don’t even know if the amulet works.
Or if Tammy is the one.
No, that’s a fucking lie.
She is the one.
I can feel it.
All my long years have led to this, all the battles and the fighting and the hunger and the self-restraint has led me to this woman.
“No,” I say, forcing a smirk. “I suppose I’m just thinking.”
“Care to share?” she says.
“I’m wondering who you are, Tammy,” I say.
“Um, okay,” she says, laughing a little.
“What’s funny?”
“It’s just that people usually don’t care about who I am. You know, I’m not a stick-thin cheerleader, so why would they?”
“I’m interested,” I growl, wanting to find every bastard who has ever told her she’s less than perfect and make them realize just how mortal they are.
“Well, I guess I’m just a regular person.”
“I’ve lived a long time, Tammy, and in my experience, there is no such thing as a regular person. And you certainly don’t seem like one.”
I feel her blush, the tempting blood filling her cheeks. I scent her nervousness in the heat of the car. I scent something else, too, deeper. Her womb is begging for me. Her womb is flooding her panties with wetness and I can smell it, every fucking drop, the juicy tanginess of it calling to me.
The road.
Focus on the road.
“What’s a long time? How old are you?”
At least a thousand years old.
“Forty,” I say, giving her the age I was when I was changed.
“That’s not old,” she laughs. “You’re only, well, double my age. Not that that means anything. Age is just a number and all that. Sorry. I’m rambling.”
I can’t help but laugh, an instinct that has been rarer and rarer in me as the years have proceeded endlessly.
“It’s fine,” I tell her. “Maybe I like it when you ramble.”
“Yeah, right.”
“You were telling me about yourself,” I say, guiding us off the bridge and deeper into the rougher part of the city, the sort of neighborhood a queen like Tammy has no business living in.
“Well, you need to be more specific,” she says with a toss of her head.
I reach over and nudge her with my hand, without thinking, the sort of flirtatious act I haven’t done since I was a mortal boy.
“Why are you so sassy, eh?”
“What, you’re saying you don’t like it?” she banters, a thrill moving through her. “Listen, Torsten, I’m just your average orphan girl. Nothing special about me. I was raised in an orphanage and I got the heck out of there as soon as I could. I got an apartment and a job and I found Chipper, and he’s the best thing that ever happened to me. There. You have Tammy Holden in her entirety. What about you? What’s your life story?”
“Oh, about the same,” I say, smirking. “Just a regular man living a regular life.”
“With a multi-billion-dollar company and a sports car who wanders the streets the week of Halloween acting all freaky-deaky?”
“Yeah,” I say, laughing deeply, hardly able to believe that the sound filling the car is coming from me. “That’s about right.”
“You’re just being mysterious for the sake of it,” she says, jabbing me in the arm.
The brief contact sends a searing arrow deep inside of me. I imagine grabbing her by the wrist and pulling her onto my lap. Pulling the car up at the side of the road and grinding against her panties, her panties which are getting really wet now.
So wet that the scent almost overpowers the general smell of her the smell that led me to her, to begin with.
I imagine licking greedily droplets of her wetness from her sex, feeling the shiver that would move through her with each lapping tongue stroke.
But would I be able to control myself?
What if the blood-lust took hold of me and I snapped?
It’s been two-hundred years since I fed, but I’ve never met anyone like Tammy before. I’ve never had to be so close to a woman wreathed in tempting scents and painted in mind-numbing curves. I need to bend her over and press my body against hers, lean over her and squeeze and palm her breasts as I slip wetly inside of her from behind.
