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And then what? What power do I truly have over it? It seemed to leave her alone when I claimed her as mine, and then yesterday when it appeared behind her, I was able to ask it to leave with just my eyes. It disappeared into the shadows and I haven’t seen it since. But when it’s time for her to go, will my claim on her still hold? After all, if you possess something you generally don’t let it out of your hands. It’s possible that the moment I do, the demon will jump in and snatch her for his own.
I guess I’ll have to cross that bridge when I come to it.
I sigh and stare up at the ceiling, aware that even the slightest complication in my well-preserved life is throwing things off-balance. I had a system to things, an order. My life has been lonely, but it’s at least made sense. Perhaps it’s best to get her to go now before I get attached. I didn’t think it was even possible to feel a sense of attachment, affection or possession for anyone, but there’s something about her that is slowly getting under my skin and I don’t like it.
I know she’s young, but I wasn’t kidding when I said she seemed like an old soul. Whether online shrinks call that a trauma response, she really does seem like someone who has seen a lot, been through a lot. On the surface she comes across as your average young vampire, but I don’t know how many of them go throughThe Becomingand then immediately fly across the world. Especially to find me.
The more I talked to Abe before he left, though, the more he explained Rose. That she was always obsessed with Bram Stoker’s Dracula, then became obsessed with the idea ofme. When she turned, she decided to finally take the leap and seek me out. Abe didn’t elaborate too much, but it seemed that her parents were controlling and didn’t approve of her seeking out the true meaning of being a vampire.
I think I know what she’s looking for. It’s not me—she doesn’t know me, and the idea of me probably doesn’t match what I really am. What she’s looking for is an excuse to return to basic instinct. To become the primal version of herself, the real version. Vampires have been slowly sanitized over the last two decades, no thanks to my oldest friend and his pills. What Rose wants—and what she’s afraid to ask for—is to let herself go. Not just to me, she’s been very apt in showing how easily she’ll submit to my wants and demands. No, she needs to submit to herself. To what she really wants. Once she does that, then I think I’ll have her figured out. The puzzle will be solved and I will be rid of her. I have already put a plan in place to make this happen.
But it will be such a shame to see her go. Everything about her is a maze of contradictions. She is both soft and hard at the same time, in her body, her face, her soul. She’s inexperienced sexually and yet gives her body to me so readily. She enjoys sex more than anyone I’ve ever come across, and more than that, she enjoys it the way I like it: rough and raw and completely uninhibited. Whatever I want to give she takes and she takes it eagerly, so open and wanting with her need, and she’s giving in return. Not just because I command her to, but because she loves it. She loves seeing me get off.
Just the thought of her has me reaching down into my pants, making a fist around my cock which is already hard as the mountain around this room.
I pull it out and start stroking myself, thinking of the way she looked this morning with my cock in her mouth, when I paid a visit to her bedroom and made her suck me off. The way she looked when she pulled me out of my fly and stared at my length like I was a fucking lollipop, her lips parted, her eyes glistening, her pink tongue darting out to lick her lips in anticipation.
I groan, my hand moving faster. I think about making her say it.
I want you, my lord.
I want to hear her mouth say the words, begging for my cock. I imagine the look on her face, how her eyes would light up with desire, her mouth parted with primal need.
I want to see her open her legs, pull down her panties and say it.
Say it or I’ll spank you harder.
Say it or I’ll tie you up, force you on your knees and fuck your mouth until you choke.
Say it or I’ll lock you in a room alone and fuck you in the night when you’re sleeping.
My lord, my lord, yes, my lord.
I’m so close to coming now. Why does that phrase sound so good?
I’m picturing her now tied to a chair and spread wide open, my cock in her mouth, her plump red lips wrapped tight around me.
I think about her tied up on my bed, getting ready for me.
I think about her tied up and tied down and spread open, completely at my mercy.
I think about her bent over the couch with her bottom raised, begging me to fuck her.
Why on earth do I want to see her go?
I moan out loud, my hand moving faster and faster, the pressure building. I’m so close to coming. I don’t want to do it without her. I want her to be here.
But that want is enough for me to climax. I gasp and then through a stifled groan, I come, the weight of it pouring out of my cock, shooting out onto my stomach, coating my shirt and making a mess.
I try to catch my breath, to slow my heart, to clear my head. I don’t know why I’m so worked up over her. Centuries of women and this is the one I can’t get out of my head.
It makes no damn sense.
I groan and get out of bed. I’ve been lying here most of the afternoon, trapped in my thoughts. There’s a snowstorm raging outside, the window turning into a blurring white of frost on the panes and the snow beyond. I told Rose that I wanted to have a proper dinner with her tonight, and that’s when I’ll really put her to the test. She probably thinks I’m serving up food and blood, but she won’t be expecting the main course.
That is if she’s still here. There’s a kernel of unease in my stomach. It’s nearly dusk but I haven’t seen her since this morning. I thought she would be safe in her room but considering the demon can go into her room when it wants to, I’m not sure she’s safe anywhere in this place, even though I sent the demon out of the house earlier.
It’s enough to get me moving. I change my shirt—I still have some class—and put on a charcoal grey dress shirt, then black pants. I spend more time than usual in the mirror, fixing my hair and I have to stop and pause as I stare at myself. I can’t remember the last time I’ve even looked in the mirror—honestly, what’s the point when I never see anyone, and those I see I don’t care what they think about me? Besides, my ego has always been healthier than most.
