‘Fold your arms behind your back,’ said Billy. ‘And lick it.’
Trying not to resent his victory, Esther did as she was told, tipping forwards to touch the tip of her tongue to the tip of his scar. His fuzz of chest hair tickled lightly but beneath it the track of his scar was silky smooth. She traced it easily, moving from a flat dusky nipple to the confused patch of tissue below his sternum. Lingering there, she painted saliva swirls, unable to avoid thinking of the injury, of the viscera and bone right there under the skin she tongued.
She wondered how he felt about his mark. His body was beautiful and he clearly worked out to acheive that muscle but the mark was someone else’s. To be licking it felt deeply intimate, especially since she didn’t know how the scar had been acquired. Or, worse, how he’d come to deserve it. She felt she was tonguing his history.
She continued licking downwards, trailing wetly across his hard flat belly to his hip. He was trusting her with some fragility, asking her to accept and not judge. The scar ended and Esther’s instinct was to suck his cock where it twitched from his open fly, but she resisted, not knowing whether that was allowed.
‘Kneel up,’ said Billy.
No, it clearly wasn’t.
‘Up!’ corrected Billy when she sat back on her heels. ‘Hands behind your head again.’
The severity of his voice turned Esther on and she knelt in the position he demanded. Kneeling inches away, his cock angled high, Billy grinned faintly and reached between her legs. Esther caught her breath, holding still as he massaged an inner thigh, his sure, steady fingers squeezing her flesh. He studied her face, his smile tilting higher when he ran a finger over her folds and made her moan.
‘Nice?’ he asked.
His touch was maddeningly light, teasing the wisps of her hair and making her crave firmness. Esther opened her legs wider. Billy obliged her by separating her lips and sawing along the wet groove of her sex, nudging her clit and teasing her hole.
‘Please,’ she whispered. ‘Give me more. Inside me. This … it’s not enough.’
Billy gave a harsh, knowing scoff. ‘Not enough?’ he said. ‘Story of my life.’ And he slipped a single finger inside her. He curled it forwards, making little taps there, and Esther was soon whimpering, her legs turning wobbly. ‘Please,’ she said again, struggling to keep her hands behind her head. She wanted to fall forwards, to lean on his big shoulders and suck his salty skin.
His eyes never left hers and he ignored her requests, smiling smugly at the way she pleaded. For too long, he teased with a tiny touch until he inserted two fingers and pressed his thumb to her clit, pinching her sex. He worked her like that, pulling and rubbing. Her juices clicked with his rhythm, running freely onto his fingers as her pleasure coiled tighter. And all the while he watched her, his lips parted, his eyes droopy. Esther was torn, wanting to escape his scrutiny as much as she wanted to bask in his attention.
‘Good?’ he murmured. Esther nodded, her mind too dumb for words, her throat too thick with breath.
Billy upped his tempo, his own breath rising, and soon Esther was gasping fast. ‘I’m coming,’ she panted, right on the edge. ‘Coming!’
Billy snatched his fingers away.
‘No!’ cried Esther.
Billy caught her hands as she rushed to touch herself. ‘I’m not ready,’ he snarled, teeth clenched as she wriggled in his clutches.
‘But I am!’
Billy glared, shoulders lifting, nostrils flaring. ‘Turn around. Bend over,’ he snapped, and he flung her around so she was on all fours.
‘Please!’ cried Esther. She tipped onto her elbows, pressing her buttocks back. ‘Fuck me. Make me come!’
Billy grasped her hips, yanking her closer. His cock nudged at her hole, his end feeling stout and heavy, and Esther tightened for him. ‘Oh please, please,’ she said.
‘Have it then,’ hissed Billy and he crammed himself into her with a big savage jab. His fingers gripped her flesh and he began ramming her with wild angry energy.
Esther was lost, his impact shuddering through her body, his fuck thumping right at her core. She touched herself, just a few tiny nudges, and she was there again, her orgasm ready to break.
‘Yes, now,’ she cried. ‘I’m coming.’
‘Go on,’ growled Billy. ‘Come.’ And he grabbed the rope of her plait, using it to pull her head higher. Esther arched her spine, fingers on her clit until she came, bleating and shuddering. As she peaked, Billy scooped her up backwards, a hand on her breast, another around her waist, and Esther howled as her neck exploded in dark brilliant pain.
Colours burst behind her eyeballs, flares of crimson, black and purple. And then the pain vanished and instead her neck began dissolving into Billy’s mouth, his suck so beautiful that Esther was coming again, a second climax chasing her first, his cock still buried inside her.
The sensation was like nothing on earth. The wound on her neck was as soft and pulpy as her cunt, the tenderness of it sliding into Billy’s violent, draining kiss. Esther was coming so hard she felt faint, the dark colours bursting in her mind until a new delirium took hold: snow and ice, a blur of tiny stars, a blast of wind, an enormous sky with the colours of a bruise seeping across it.
And then she woke with a sob, gulping for breath. ‘Billy,’ she gasped. ‘Billy!’
She was in her sleeping bag in the dark cabin. There was no Billy. He was a dream.
Oh, God, Billy, come back.
A stab of longing made Esther’s eyes prick with tears. Her thighs were slippery and wet. A dream. But how could he not exist? It had been so vivid, so sexy, so warm.
The cabin swam, its shadowy gloom quivering behind a watery veil. She ached for him, ached for a stupid dream vampire, for the man who’d saved Doug and now a phantom of her overwrought mind. It was too cruel.
Esther blinked and dashed away a couple of tears. Come on, Essie, she urged. Only a dream. Nothing to get upset about.
She wriggled up from the cocoon of her sleeping bag, her eyes adjusting to the dark. All the opposite bunks were empty, sleeping bags limp and twisted. She checked her watch. Mid-morning. Something was wrong. They wouldn’t all leave like that. Why was she still in bed? Esther’s heartbeat quickened.
‘Hello?’ she called, but she knew with a dread certainty no one would answer. It was too silent, the room too cold and empty. They’d left, and in a hurry by the looks of it. She peered over the edge of her bed to the bunk below, expecting to see Margret’s abandoned sleeping bag.
Instead, she saw Margret, eyes bulging in shock, her skin a ghastly dough-grey, her neck ripped apart in a raw red gash. Her sleeping bag was soaked and on the floor was a neat puddle of blood.
Esther screamed, kicking her legs, running at nothing. Then she drew breath and screamed again, over and over, her throat muscles pulling in pain. And, even while she was screaming, she knew there was no point. There was no one around for miles.
Billy was in agony, steel blades lacerating him inside. He was asleep, dreaming of a memory, of the Turks who’d tried to avenge Selin’s death.
A servant had witnessed it from a window overlooking Nadir’s yali. Billy was a marked man. It had happened so fast. Night time, wandering alone in the columned courtyard of the Suleyman mosque, insects chirruping. And then suddenly they were upon him, their approach as quiet as death. The cutlass flashed in the moonlight before it slashed Billy’s body, and then they’d left him to die.
Billy was a vampire; his flesh mended fast. But that was one wound which had never fully healed. Like Nadir, he’d been left with a scar. Perhaps there was some truth in the rumour this was the way to despatch a vampire. Billy had lain on the ground, clutching his belly, trying to hold himself together in the shadows of an arched walkway. Blood poured through his fingers, and he squinted at a minaret spiking the starry night, willing himself not to lose consciousness. Perhaps this was the end, easier than he’d thought.
His thoughts swirled, and he wondered if he might joi
n Selin in death. But no, it was impossible. She would be in heaven and he would be in hell. Maybe there was still time. ‘Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. I have … I have …’
Billy woke with a jolt.
‘Selin!’
He was on the polar-bear hearth rug, the fire dancing with pale flames. His forehead was damp with sweat. Jeez, how many times had he had that dream lately?
He lay on his back and rubbed a hand over his face. Hell, he really was starting to crack. Esther was too close, much too close. Billy ran his tongue around his gums. He felt groggy, his mouth dry and sticky.
Damn, this was no good. He’d kept it together for years but this was testing him to the limits. All he ever thought about was her. Sometimes he woke barely able to breathe, the weight of her sodden body on his chest. And right now, she seemed so alive to him she might be there on the bearskin rug. He could almost taste her blood on his lips.
He needed to get the hell out of this place before he did something he might regret. Thousands and thousands of miles away. He would leave soon, very soon.
Any day now, the sun would rise for the first time that year. Suzanne and Simeon were up to something. Billy guessed they were planning to quit the ice, leaving him here to stew. That might have suited him a few days ago but not now. He was done. His time here was up. He would travel with them and then do his best to erase all memories of Esther.
She deserved a full life of love and happiness. If Billy stayed much longer, her second life would end the same way as her first, her dying heartbeat pumping down his throat.
Yes, she deserved better. She deserved to grow old and be withered by age, to feel her body decay and to treasure life because she feared death. God, how Billy envied her.
He would pack. He would leave. He would forget she even existed.
Suzanne had chosen a sky-blue dress with short cowboy boots for killing. The dress was printed with daisies, the flowers’ yellow centres like little suns. It was pretty but it was even prettier now it was soaked in blood.
She sat cross-legged on the ice, making a snowcastle on her knee. ‘Sim, I’m bored,’ she said. ‘Can’t we leave now?’
Simeon lay propped on an elbow, his clothes and hair jet black against the whiteness of snow. Earlier, he’d been wearing his favourite black lipstick but that had long since rubbed off. ‘Be patient,’ he said. ‘She’ll be along any moment, I guarantee it.’
‘You’re so cruel, you know that?’
‘Oh really?’ said Simeon. ‘Shit, and I was trying to be nice. I thought it might impress you.’
Suzanne laughed. ‘Ah, you’re right. This is going to be a riot. Me, you and Billy’s bitch. Hey, look at me! I’m not bored any more. It’s cool.’ Suzanne began piling snow on her other knee, patting it into a pyramid. ‘I vote we torment her for ages before the kill. You know what I love best? It’s when they beg for their lives. It’s so funny, especially when they can’t even get the words out.’
‘Oh, man,’ said Simeon. ‘I love that too. Pluh … pluh ..,’
‘Pluh … eese!’ added Suzanne, laughing hard.
‘Dude, I am so psyched for this,’ said Simeon. ‘That woman has dogged me for centuries.’
‘Aw, dogging you how, babes? She’s been mainly dead.’
‘Oh, you know.’ Simeon gave a dismissive flap of his hand. ‘Billy’s totally obsessed. I’m not kidding, Suze, it’s no fun when your love rival’s six foot under. They’re always going to be perfect, aren’t they? I never stood a fucking chance.’
‘Hey, Billy loves you,’ said Suzanne. ‘Course he does.’
‘Oh, sure. I know that. But I’ve always been second best. And now she’s back on earth, I’m just some … some piece of dirt on his boots.’
‘Yeah, but high-quality dirt.’
Simeon shrugged and sniffed. ‘Plus, he ate Renfield.’
‘Don’t get upset, babes.’
Simeon flicked his hair. ‘I’m not upset.’
Suzanne pouted. ‘I think you are.’
‘Oh, OK then I am. But he made me a vampire, Suze. We’d spent weeks together in London, so hot for each other, fucking at Miss Tilly’s, fucking in his lodging house. I was so happy then. And, even when he made me a vampire, I was still happy. It was like this whole new level of him I was getting to understand. And I’ve never resented him for it. Never.’
‘I think I see her.’ Suzanne indicated a dot of a figure in the south.
‘Oh, cool,’ said Simeon, glancing.
‘Hungry?’ asked Suzanne.
‘Ravenous.’ Simeon rolled onto his back, knees pointing upwards and flung out an arm. ‘Give her a while longer, yeah? We’ll lie low. She won’t spot us for ages.’
Suzanne touched her fingertips to Simeon’s. ‘I’m thrilled we left her till last.’
‘Yeah, me too.’ Simeon smiled, slow and malevolent. ‘The dessert course, and she’s mine, all mine!’
‘Hey, and mine.’
‘Yeah, OK. What’s mine is yours.’
Simeon sighed happily, looking up at the star-speckled, blue and purple sky. He closed his eyes. In a few days, they’d be in New York with a bunch of old friends. Simeon was so ready to kick back. Life got intense when it was just him and Billy. If Billy wanted to join them, fine, he could. But Simeon wasn’t about to start begging for his commitment.
Nearly 300 years ago, with Simeon’s blood spilling from his lips, Billy had said, ‘You belong to me. I belong to you.’ It was Covent Garden, a narrow rickety street. The place was full of brothels and taverns back then. Dark and seedy. Simeon’s kind of place.
And though they’d since been apart for decades at a time, Simeon had always felt the connection of that belonging. Probably always would, whatever happened.
Suzanne stood. ‘Come on, I’m ready,’ she said. She brushed snow off her skirt, and reached for Simeon’s hand, pulling him up. They smiled broadly at each other, eyes glittering.
‘Fast?’ asked Suzanne. She looked radiant, her cheeks flushed from their earlier feed.
Simeon began to tremble with excitement. He’d been wanting to do this for longer than he could remember. He drew a deep breath. ‘Fast,’ he agreed. ‘Faster than the fucking wind.’
Esther’s snowmobile stuttered to a halt. She’d been expecting it.
She clambered out, removed her helmet, donned her fur cap and slung her pack over her shoulder. She’d brought her sleeping bag, the satphone, a flare gun, some survival essentials, plus passport, doorkeys, some Danish krone and her credit card. But, when you ran out of fuel on the ice, a credit card seemed like a sick joke.
She set herself south east and trudged toward the horizon’s pre-dawn glow, leaving the skidoo sitting there like a hi-tech dodgem car. The blizzard had gone, thank God, and the morning was calm.
Margret’s face kept jumping into Esther’s mind. Each time it did, she had to stifle a sob. Crying cost energy. Esther would never make it if she cried. And yet she couldn’t help it. She kept crying. She’d cried as soon as the skidoo had set off, weeping behind the visor as snow sprayed from the machine’s runners, misting her vision. In the cabin, she hadn’t shed a tear. She’d screamed and shook, gathering possessions in a whirl of terror while Margret lay on the bunk, waxy and bug-eyed. Before leaving, Esther had draped a jumper over the woman’s face, wishing she could offer more dignity.
In the snowcat, Esther surged across the ice, praying she would find the others. Doug worried her the most. He’d been suffering ever since the skiers had found him wandering miles from the cabin, delirious and with no memory of how he’d got there. Bird had put him on a course of antibiotics and was threatening to do likewise to Esther. Like Doug, she had weird lesions on her neck, and was less than fit. She’d invented details about the two skiers because most of it was a blank. No way was she going to reveal she’d fainted or fess up about her strange dreams. She didn’t want to be seen as a weak link in the team.
Five minutes into her skidoo journey and
Esther began to fear she was the only link. The first body she found was Doug’s. His great bulk lay crumpled on the ice, dressed in thermal long Johns, bunny boots and parka. Esther had pulled over, not knowing what condition he was in. He was such a weight but she managed to heave him onto his back. His eyes were glassy, his beard lumped with ice, and blood gurgled briefly from the wound in his neck.
Esther had fled from him, urging the snowcat on and fighting her rising hysteria. She hadn’t stopped for Adrian or Bird, recognising them only from the colours of their jackets. If Bird was dead, Johannes probably was too. And, if he weren’t, he would surely want to be if he’d witnessed his beloved Margret’s slaughter.
All Esther could do was get far, far away. God, what the hell was it? What was hunting them and what ground could it cover? And how come she’d slept through the attack?
But this was no time to dwell on what had happened. She needed to keep her wits about her and focus on the here and now. If she could make it to an Inuit village on the east coast, she’d be safe.
But the fuel gauge was low and, when the skidoo had stopped with a whine and a cough, Esther began to doubt her chances. She walked on, knowing it was her only option. Staying still meant death. And she would not die here, alone in this sterile desert. She would not.
Having driven for miles, she clung to the hope she was out of immediate danger. The trek ahead might be her biggest threat. She had food, a stove, a sleeping bag. She could build a snow cave for shelter. If the weather and terrain were good, she could make it. Yes, she would make it.
‘I will not die,’ she panted, her breath puffing out. ‘I will not die.’
All she needed to do was take one more step. And another. And another. Skis would have been easier but it didn’t do to think that. She’d grabbed what she could. No use having regrets.
Again, the image of Margret loomed large. What monster had done that?
No. Stop thinking. One more step. Just one more step.
Before long, Esther had settled into a rhythm, the twilit blanket of snow numbing her senses. For almost twenty minutes, she was the only thing moving on the expanse of ice. And then, turning, she spotted a black speck to the north. Her heart pumped in fear. It could be good news, it could be bad, but she wouldn’t know until it was too late. There were no snow banks to burrow in and her skidoo was less than a mile away, stuck there like a sign saying ‘This way, please’.
Lust Bites Page 8
