by Kallysten
Breaking the kiss that was distracting me, I rested my forehead against his shoulder and looked down to finally undo his pants. He hissed when I guided his cock out, his hips pushing into my touch. He was like marble in my hand: heavy, hard, and cool but already warming up. I stroked up and down, catching a bead of precome in my palm. Without thinking, I started to pull away, where I’d be able to slide off his lap and to the floor, between his legs.
Morgan, however, had other ideas.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he growled, and when I looked up to meet his eyes, I could have sworn there were flames or maybe stars flickering in their dark depths.
Before I could figure out what to answer, he drew me closer again, but this time rather than kissing my mouth, he trailed his lips and a line of painless bites along my jaw, then down my neck.
When I flinched, it wasn’t from fear of his mouth, his teeth being in such a vulnerable place; I wasn’t afraid of him, of what he might do. No, I flinched because he had touched the tender spots left by Irene’s fingers.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, pressing the lightest of kisses to the same place, and this time it didn’t hurt. “I should have stayed with you. If I’d known she would come and hurt you—”
He gasped when I squeezed his cock tightly.
“You said yourself she was unpredictable,” I pointed out. “Plus, talking about your mom while I have my hand on your cock? Not sexy.”
He let out a burst of laughter and I liked that sound much better than apologies.
“How about this?” he said, his lips so close to my shoulder that I could feel his grin. “Is this sexy?”
I didn’t have time to ask what he meant. His hands closed on the bodice of my dress, where the draped fabric embraced and molded my breasts. He tugged hard, and the sound of the satin yielding to him and tearing apart was like thunder striking unexpectedly. I gave a token protest, but it was hard to care about my dress when his face plunged to my bare chest and his mouth latched on a puckered nipple and sucked hard. I let out a little cry of surprise, then again when, with his hands supporting my back, he dipped me lower, so that he could feast on my breasts.
I knew he was holding me securely and wouldn’t let me fall, but just the same I was a little dizzy and had to cling to him. Both my hands flew to the back of his head, and my fingers twisted in his hair. It had to be painful, and maybe the low growl that rose from his throat was from pain—or maybe it was one more way to make me feel good as the sound vibrated through my abused nipple and caused my entire body to shake uncontrollably.
“Morgan!”
I was barely aware of crying out his name. I didn’t even know why I did. Did I want him to stop? The feel of his lips, his tongue, even the smallest edge of blunt teeth sucking, nibbling, biting on each of my nipples in turn made me feel raw, inside and out. It was too much, too fast… and perfect. Surely, if he stopped, I’d die of sheer need.
And when he did stop, I could only cry out again.
“No! Don’t…”
I lost my words when he stood, lifting me in his arms, and set me down on the table so that my knees were right on the edge. My heart beating faster than galloping horses, I lay there, looking at the crystal chandelier above me, shaking as I waited for Morgan’s hands, mouth, and cock to return to me. I didn’t have to wait long. His hands sneaked under my dress and slid up my thighs, raising goose bumps in their wake. When he reached the apex of my legs, his fingers stilled, and I smiled.
“Angelina,” he said, his voice holding just a bit of breathless awe. “Naughty, naughty Angelina. You’ve been walking around all evening with no panties?”
I had, indeed. When I was getting dressed, my mind had flashed back repeatedly to the last time I’d worn a beautiful gown, and it’d been all but impossible to remind myself that, no, Morgan and I had not fucked that night. It’d been just as impossible not to hope that it would happen for real during—or after—this new party.
“So very naughty,” he repeated, a single finger now tracing my wet folds before flicking a few times over my clit. “All evening, I couldn’t take my eyes off you, you were so beautiful. But I never guessed…”
With a moan dying on my lips, I raised my head to look at him. He stood between my legs at the edge of the table. At the same time that he pushed two long fingers inside me, his free hand tugged the dress up my legs. I helped, bunching the fabric at my waist, exposing myself to him.
His gaze was pure hunger as it ran over me: from my breasts, spilling out of torn fabric, to my exposed pussy, his fingers pistoning in and out of it. With a wicked smile, he met my eyes again, then guided my right leg up, resting my calf on his shoulder, opening me even more to his eyes and hands. The next time his fingers pulled out, dripping with my own wetness, he didn’t push them back in. Instead, he traced a wet path downward, until those two slick fingertips were circling the other entrance to my body. A jolt of electricity ran through me at that teasing touch, and without thinking I reached down, taking hold of his wrist with both hands, stopping him.
I didn’t say anything, but after a second, he nodded.
“All right,” he said, his fingers running over my thigh and up to my waist. “Next time.”
Before I could object to what sounded very much like a promise, he grabbed my hips and, in one strong pull, drew me closer to him until my ass was hanging over the edge. Surely without his hands on me, I’d have slid off.
He guided my left leg up, a mirror of the right on his shoulder. At the feel of the tip of his cock nudging along my folds, I arched against him, trying to draw him in.
“Come on,” I protested when he evaded my efforts and remained outside of me when I very much wanted him inside. “Don’t tease.”
“Then tell me next time you’ll let me,” he said. He leaned forward so I could see his grin and the gleam in his eyes. “Promise me you’ll let me slide into that tight little ass of yours. You’ve never done it, have you? I’ll make it good for you, Angelina. Make you see stars and beg for more.”
I wasn’t far from begging at that very moment. Holding his cock in his hand, he was rubbing the length against me, coating himself in my juices, all but taunting me with what I couldn’t have yet.
“Please,” I groaned, again trying to push down against him. “I want you.”
“So you’ll let me? Next time?”
I was scared. It’s not that I’m not adventurous in bed, but that one thing had always scared me. When I listened to his quiet words—a plea, really—and met his gaze, I found myself wanting to agree, fear or not.
“Not fair,” I said, reaching for his face and caressing his cheek with a trembling hand. “Don’t you think I’ve been compelled enough?”
He stilled completely and blinked twice as his grin vanished.
“I’m not compelling you,” he said. “I swear I wouldn’t do that.”
Without giving me time to answer, he thrust inside me. One quick, strong push of his hips, and I was so wet that his cock slid fully in, his balls slapping against my ass. The feel of him, so thick, hard, and deep inside me made me cry out again. I think I mentioned it before, but he has a gorgeous cock, and to be filled so completely after a long dry spell…
I didn’t come from just that first thrust, but really, I wasn’t all that far from it.
He gave me a few seconds to get used to the feeling—or maybe he was getting used to it himself. A ragged whisper passed his lips, and although I didn’t understand the word, it sounded a lot like he was swearing. Or maybe praying.
I wanted to ask what he’d said—what language he’d said it in—but he stole my breath away. He pulled back, pushed back in, and again, and again, faster, harder, and my world narrowed down to this. Us. His hands at my waist, gripping hard, holding me close when each one of his thrusts threatened to push my body away from him. His dick ramming inside me, following the rhythm of my galloping heart and breathless moans. His body shaking as much as mine did, his stren
gth coiled, focused on our coupling.
At one point, my high heels fell off my feet, first one then the other. Moments later, without breaking his rhythm, he climbed onto the table, letting my legs fall to wrap around his waist, lowering himself over me so he could kiss my mouth, neck, and breasts; his hips never, ever slowed down. My hands vainly clutched at the smooth table at first, then clasped his shoulders, then his forearms. My fingers tangled in his hair again, tugged his shirt open so I could feel the rippling muscles of his chest.
It must have lasted… I don’t know, really. A nice, long while. But in my mind, all of it, every touch, every slide, every kiss and gasp and encouragement and caress all melded into one glorious instant of infinite pleasure. I didn’t come when he first entered me, no, but I might as well have, because everything that came after that was bathed in the burning light of a lingering orgasm.
When he collapsed on top of me, he was breathing hard and shaking harder still. I tightened my arms around him and smiled, too tired, too satiated to manage a word, or even the smallest of caresses. It was a few seconds before he rolled off me, pulling me close so that we were side by side, both our breathing slowing down as we looked at each other.
A few minutes later, I finally regained the use of speech.
“That… was amazing.”
Well, at least that was what I’d meant to say. What came out was more like a long, satisfied moan. Morgan answered it with a slow kiss that curled my toes and sent another wave of pleasure through my core. Our lips came apart with shared sighs, and we just smiled at each other.
It suddenly occurred to me where we were, and I couldn’t help myself. I burst out laughing. Morgan raised an eyebrow at me, his smile deepening.
“Are you going to share the joke?”
“I just… You said this is the small dining room? You’re going to have to show me the big one. Because I’ll never be able to eat in here again without blushing until I self-combust.”
His smile widened a little more. He brought a hand to my face and caressed my cheek with two fingers.
“I like it when you blush,” he murmured. “You’re gorgeous. And all that blood suffusing your face… I can almost smell it.”
I shivered, and I couldn’t tell you if it was from the gentleness of his touch or his words.
Despite having tons of questions about him being a vampire, I always felt reluctant to raise the topic on my own. But since he’d alluded to it first…
“You can smell my blood… Do you ever want to taste it?”
When his fingers stilled on my cheek, I knew I had touched a nerve, and I hurried to add, “It isn’t a trick question. I just want to know. Please, don’t shut down now. And don’t lie.”
For a second, a shadow seemed to darken his eyes until they were pitch black and colder than the vast emptiness of space. His gaze dropped down to my lips, and he traced them with a finger as he murmured, “I do. Every time I lay eyes on you. But I said you have nothing to fear from me, and I meant it.”
Which, I supposed, explained why he was often so tense and guarded around me. I was the same way around cigarettes—temptation.
“Why don’t you drink from people?” I asked, and as my mouth moved against his fingers, it was almost as though I was kissing them.
“Why do you ask? Would you want me to be a killer?”
I blinked. The way he said that word, as though it held little meaning… He was trying very hard to pretend he didn’t care, but I was learning to see past his masks.
“Is Delilah a killer?” I asked. “You said people go back to give her more blood. So, she doesn’t kill them, does she?”
It took him a few seconds to answer, and I couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking—what he was deciding not to tell me.
“It’s easier when we don’t kill,” he finally said. “Less clean up afterward. It didn’t use to matter so much if a body was found in a ditch, but these days it draws too much attention. All she has to do is compel her prey to forget she was even there, or enter their mind and make them believe they merely had great sex. Clean and simple.”
‘She,’ I noticed he said, but I didn’t know why it surprised me. I was the one who had brought up Miss Delilah.
“Aren’t there scars?” I pressed on.
“Our saliva helps with healing. If she’s careful and bites neatly, it looks like little more than bug bites.”
I couldn’t help but try to think back. Bug bites… Had I seen any of those on the people around her over the years? Nothing came to mind. And anyway, despite my own question, it wasn’t Miss Delilah I really wanted to know about.
“You still haven’t answered,” I said, rolling over so I could rest my hands on his chest and my chin on top of them. “If it’s so easy, why don’t you do the same?”
He shrugged, although not enough to dislodge me. “I told you before,” he murmured. “I used to. Long ago. And then I decided that wasn’t how I wanted to live.”
I remembered what Irene had said: that he used to take girls given to him like I’d been and not worry about them dying. What had happened for him to change? Had another one of his ‘gifts’ changed his mind about the whole thing? Or had he come to that point on his own? A question was on the tip of my tongue—a name—but I didn’t ask. I happened to think talking about exes while naked was poor bedside manner.
Of course, we weren’t in bed, but just the same.
So instead of asking about Melody, the way Irene certainly hoped I would, I went back to the reason why I’d first asked him about biting.
“A few days ago, you said…”
But was it a good idea to ask about this? I wasn’t so sure anymore.
“I said I wouldn’t bite unless you asked,” he finished my thought with a half smile. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
And just like that, my doubts vanished. He cared about me, enough to figure out what I didn’t quite say. He’d never hurt me. I trusted him.
“Don’t be sorry,” I said. “I thought—”
He cupped the back of my head in his hand even as he interrupted me in a urgent tone. “Don’t say it, Angelina.”
“You don’t even know what I’m going to say,” I protested, but hadn’t he just proved how well he could follow my train of thought?
“I can guess. And I know it’d change everything between us.”
“Why?”
“Because you can’t give that much of yourself to anyone without wanting something in return. And I can’t give you anything more than I already did.”
I pulled away to lie next to him again, thinking about what he’d said. So yes, I may have been crazy, but I’d been about to offer him a taste of my blood. After what we’d shared, it seemed like the logical next step. And all right, it was useless to admit it, I was curious. More than any sane person should be.
He was right about one thing, at least. If I allowed him to bite me, it would mean a lot to me. More than sex. Not that I think sex is meaningless, far from it, but two consenting adults can enjoy a bit of fun without expecting anything more than shared pleasure. To offer him my blood, to put my life, literally, in his hands… that would have been a first for me. And yes, it would have changed everything.
And it did change everything when it finally happened, but I’m getting ahead of myself again.
“Do you know what I’d like right now?” I said after a couple of minutes.
He didn’t reply, but I could practically feel his wariness. He thought I was going to talk about blood and biting again. I propped myself up onto an elbow so I could look straight into his eyes when I said, “I’d like you to take me to bed. And I’d like you to make love to me again. And then I’d like to fall asleep by your side and wake up in the morning with you still next to me. And maybe make love again. That’s what I’d like. You. Nothing more.”
He looked at me for a long time with such intensity that it almost scared me.
It wasn’t his gaze that sca
red me; I’d long since grown used to the deep, near endless darkness of his eyes.
No, I was scared of myself. Of what I’d said.
I was scared that I’d scared him, that I’d asked for too much. I’d used the word love. Hadn’t he just said he was already giving me everything he had to give? Did I have to push for more?
Of course I did. I wanted it all, even what he had hinted he couldn’t or wouldn’t give. Too greedy for my own good…
And then…
And then he did that thing that seemed to happen with frightening regularity: he surprised me.
“You know what?” His words were low, rough—visceral. “I think I’d like that, too.”
Almost too fast for my eyes to follow him, he sat up, then stood. He swept me off the table and into his arms, and I couldn’t help letting out a startled laugh when he twirled me, right there in the middle of the dining room, making me feel like I was flying.
I was still grinning from ear to ear when he carried me out into the hallway and to my suite. With my arms around his neck and my head on his shoulder, I felt at home.
“This carrying thing is even better in reality than in fantasy,” I said, pressing small kisses to his shoulder and neck.
He didn’t reply, but I thought he held me even more tightly.
In my bedroom, he set me down by the bed. He’d torn my dress earlier, but now his fingers couldn’t have been more delicate when he took what was left of it off me.
“You owe me a new dress,” I teased, as I returned the favor and undressed him.
“New dress, check.” He nodded. “What else do you want? What was it you said last night? You wanted me to kiss you and throw you on the bed and—”
I wanted that, yes, but just hearing him say the words—purring them, really—made lust flow through me like a tide that swept away everything, leaving only need behind.
I threw my arms around him, crushed my breasts to his chest and my mouth to his. Every inch of my skin burned with renewed desire for him, and every inch of his cool skin was almost enough to quench my need.
