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I sit back, staring, her pink cold-weather socks thick and her panties the same shade. There’s something intoxicating about her lying there in her socks, legs spread, a few spots of tangy juiciness on her panties showing me how badly she wants this.
“I need to t-taste you,” I whisper, forcing the words out.
My fangs flare brightly and part of me knows that this is a bad idea, that I’m dangerously close to losing any semblance of control. Part of me knows, but the rest doesn’t care, not with her thighs twitching, her moans filling the room in a siren song.
“Fuck,” I snarl, tugging her panties down and revealing the glistening pinkness of her pussy.
I lean forward, bringing my face close, repressing the urge to sink my teeth into the texture of her lips.
Instead, I bring my tongue to her hole and circle it softly, her heartbeat filling the room like a drum now, her moans like a scream as I tune every one of my senses to her pleasure.
I scent her desire rising higher and higher in the air.
I feel her womb, eager, greedy, screaming for me to find her clit.
I swirl my tongue around and around her hole, bracing my hands on her thighs, squeezing as hard as I dare, leaving handprints in her voluptuous flesh.
Her taste blossoms on my tongue, the deep need of her, the sweetness, the tangy freshness, the hungry goddess within her.
The sweetest meal, I lick faster, and faster, until I am moving with the speed of my kind.
I move my flurrying tongue on her clit and attack it, pushing my face closer, and soon the room is filled with the primordial red pulsing of the feed.
“Oh, fuck,” she moans.
I can’t stop.
She must have her eyes closed.
Or she would be panicking as all mortals do.
My veins pulsating red, I lick her, my tongue like a machine against the engorged glory of her perfect clit.
I smell her orgasm seconds before it strikes her, a whelming deep inside of her, scorching through her and making every part of her tight. She gathers her energy into her center and her moan suddenly stops, turning echoed and hollow, as though she’s lost the power to form real sounds.
“Oh—my—God—”
Only a vampire could hear her words, several breaths below a whisper.
“I’m—I’m—”
I lick somehow faster, my tongue like the wings of a hummingbird, like a battering bolt of lightning, like a force of nature as I attack her clit with the fury of the undead.
She gasps and squeezes her thighs close around my head.
I open my mouth wide and suck on her pussy, slurping every part of her into my mouth, capturing her come as it squirts and creams from her hole all over me. I gulp and gulp as the red of the feed blares even brighter, quicker, more urgent.
Urgent.
“I need to taste you,” I moan, my voice no longer my own.
It’s deep.
It’s older.
It’s the voice of the man I was over two-hundred years ago when I last tasted human blood.
“Your thigh, your juicy fucking thigh. To bite it. To feel you creaming for me as I taste your virgin blood.”
“Do it,” she whimpers.
I smooth my hand up her leg and palm her pussy, grinding it forcefully.
Stop, stop, a voice roars inside of me as I lean back, besieging her pussy with my hand and staring at the trembling flesh of her inner thigh.
You can’t do this.
But my body is primed to take her, all of her, as though all my thousand-plus years have led to this moment and this moment alone.
My fangs spring forth and I bite into her thigh, sucking on the hot blood, feeling it mix with her creaming come in my mouth, the complexity of the flavors rushing to my head and then down my body to my manhood.
My muscles swell and engorge as though my body is trying to tear itself apart, the blood hits me so powerfully, so intimately.
I grind and grind and fucking grind her clit with my palm, making her come again, and again, a series of orgasms that cause her thighs to become soaked with her creaming wetness, sliding down and over the puncture marks my teeth make.
This is wrong. I need to stop.
But that voice is quiet, dim, falling into the background.
All that exists is my queen.
And she tastes so fucking good.
Chapter Eight
Tammy
I only realize just how crazy all this is when Torsten curses and stumbles backward, collapsing onto the floor and bringing a hand to his mouth to wipe away the blood.
My blood.
I stare as the unbelievable aftermath of the orgasms rush through me. The orgasms, multiple, too many to count as they hammered through me with the force of a revelation.
I’ve never felt anything like that before, the sudden capturing euphoria of it, the way he pulled something hidden and special out of me.
