Her Vampire Knight

by Ines Johnson

  Virius leans over the tub. His large, thick fingers massage the soap into a cloth. The scent is divine. He bids me lean forward. When I do as he asks, he puts the cloth on my back and begins to scrub.

  I only barely stop myself from mewling. A purr escapes my throat. A shudder runs over my shoulder blades. I only just stop myself from arching in the tub and offering him my belly. Because what I truly want to do is go on all fours and lift my tail for him.

  How is it that I’ve wound up naked in the bathroom of my prisoner? I’m the one weaponless and at his mercy as he breaks down all my defenses with a bar of exotic smelling soap?

  I can’t find it in me to be chagrined. I have absolutely no intention of getting out of this predicament. For so much of my life, I have been revered as someone who would bring about a revolution. But no one has ever tended to me in this manner. No one has ever treated me like I was precious. I may have been tasked by the Fates, but this is the first time I’ve felt worship.

  And I like it.

  The water sluices down my body. Bubbles form and pop, and run down my skin in rivulets. Virius’s hand follows the downpour, making a waterfall from my shoulder caps. I shiver as the droplets run over the mounds of my breasts.

  “Is it too hot?” he asks.

  “It’s perfect,” I sigh.

  “You’re perfect,” he says.

  Taking my hand, he scrubs each of my fingertips. The care and concentration he gives each nail is more attention than anyone has paid me—the actual me and not the me in a prophecy—in my whole life. I want to run out and dig my fingers into the dirt just to have Virius clean them again. Negative attention is still attention, and I want any form of attention this man will give me.

  But I don’t have to run out and make a mess to hold Virius’s attention. My hands are only a starting block. He runs the cloth over my face next.

  “Close your eyes,” he says.

  If he had said these words to me a few hours ago, I would have snorted and palmed my dagger. Now I tilt my head back and do as he commands. My reward is swift. With one hand, Virius cradles my chin in his palm. With the other, he gently wipes away the stress of the night, of the last day, of the last few years of my life.

  He wipes each eyelid. The sides of my nose. The space above my upper lip. He scrubs behind my ears. The back of my neck.

  By the time he reaches my breasts, I am shivering with need. I know he must feel it too. But when I open my eyes to check, his face is a mask of focus and concentration.

  “Get in the tub with me,” I say.

  “Is that another order?” He says it with a grin at the corner of his mouth.

  He should know better than to play with a cat. He’s dangling a ball of yarn in front of the face of a feline who has sharp claws.

  Instead of lashing out to get what I want, I whisper, “Please?”

  That catches him off guard. His hand stills. His jaw works as he swallows something thick down his throat.

  The cloth falls into the tub. The white fabric is flung to the center when it hits the jets. Then it sinks down to the bottom in surrender.

  Slowly, Virius stands. He’s dressed only in the makeshift loincloth of his tattered clothing. I watch as he tugs at the knot of the toga. It doesn’t take much force for his cock to spring free. Frankie must’ve been working the lock of his imprisonment from the inside.

  Virius cups himself. His hands aren’t big enough to cover the beast he’s un-toga’d. “Remember what I said.”

  I nod, though I have no idea what we’re talking about. I’m too hypnotized by the single eye of his cock.

  I’d felt Frankie pressed against me earlier. But seeing him again… well, damn. I forgot how truly massive that monster was.

  Virius’s cock is easily the width of my forearm, and as long. There truly is no way that anaconda is fitting inside me. So why do my thighs press together at the possibility?

  Viri steps into the tub behind me. His body weight displaces the water and it sloshes on the ground. I wonder how much of that displacement comes from what he carries between his thighs.

  I turn so that I’m facing him. Digging around in the water, I find the washcloth of surrender. I raise that sudsy white flag and begin scrubbing him.

  He watches me warily, and then with growing curiosity, as though no one has ever bathed him before. Then I remember what he said about his mother.

  “Have you always wanted to be a mother?” he asks.

  I’m shocked by his question. I don’t go with my normal answer of, it’s my destiny. Because in the past forty-eight hours, he’s made me feel like I have a choice—though I know that I don’t.

  “Doesn’t every woman?” I reply.

  I curse under my breath at the insensitivity of my words. By his account, his mother did not want him. Had, in fact, sold him into slavery.

  “I’m sorry,” I say.

  “For what?” Virius leans into my touch, much like a big cat would. “Oh, you mean my mother?”

  He inhales deeply, his nose an inch away from my hair. He holds that breath for a long time. His exhale sounds reluctant. When he opens his eyes, he takes the cloth from me and pulls me into his arms. He turns my body so that my back is to his front. As he fits me into the cradle of his form, I feel him adjust Frankie. But there’s not much adjusting he can do. I feel the impression of his cock against my spine. My temperature rises against the warm cocoon of his chest.

  “She could’ve left me on the street when I was pulled from her womb, but she didn’t.”

  My hackles rise at the mention of another woman on Virius’s lips. Then I remember what I’d asked him only a moment ago. He’s talking about his mother.

  “She brought me inside. She left food for me… sometimes. It was always clear that I would need to fend for myself. I just…”

  He stays silent for a long time. Part of my brain isn’t interested in his words, it’s too focused on the warmth radiating from his body. He is hotter than the stream of the water from the jets. I want to know more about this man. I want both the light and the dark pieces of him.

  “You just what?”

  “If my mother had asked me to, I would’ve chosen to go with Domitia, to help her to become free.”

  “Domitia is the one who enslaved you?”

  Behind me, Virius’s muscles tense. Frankie stops his incessant pulsing and actually slackens against my back. “I don’t like her name on your lips.”

  “I don’t like that she tried to break you.”

  “She didn’t try. She did break me. I’m not a whole man; I know that. I wasn’t born with all my faculties. Then becoming the favored pet to a sadist didn’t help matters.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with you. You didn’t do anything wrong. There were bad people in your life who were supposed to protect you. They’re the broken ones.”

  “I would do it all again if it would lead me to you.”

  I turn to face him. His gaze is hooded, but he hides nothing. The look in his eyes is just far away, as though he’s trapped in memories.

  I need to pull him back. I want him in the present, with me. This man has been through unimaginable pain. He should be raging against the world. Instead, he holds me gently in his arms.

  I want to hold him too. But not in his arms. I reach down into the water and find the thick mass of flesh between us.

  Virius hisses as my fingertips graze his cock. His large hand cups mine, readying to push it away.

  “Please,” I say. “Please, let me touch you.”

  Chapter 15

  Virius

  It is the please that does it. No one has ever begged me for anything. Except for their life.

  Zahara knows I will never harm a hair on her head. I have proven to her that I only seek her happiness, her security, her well-being. Hell, I laid my fortune at her feet within a few hours of meeting her. And still, all she has asked of me is the one thing I am loath to give to her.

  Please, let me touch you.


  No one has ever asked. All my life, things have only been taken from me. And the thing most taken has been what lies between my thighs. So, I hesitate when Zahara asks permission. Being the warrior that she is, she takes my hesitation for compliance. With the first touch of her fingertip against the beast, he strikes out.

  My body is sent careening in two diverging directions. My back arches as though I’ve been struck by lightning. But the rod is coming from me. It’s the beast crash landing in the other direction. It bolts right into Zahara’s palm.

  My mind explodes as I try to put the pieces of my shattered consciousness back together. A thick fog settles all around me as sensations pour down from a thunderstorm of emotions. I try to move my legs, to lift my arms. It feels impossible.

  The only thing that I can feel is a heatwave of pressure coming from my groin area. Looking down, I expect to see that my cock is on fire. The thought of my cock being burned off doesn’t concern me. It’ll take a while for the organ to regenerate. In that time, I can have peace of mind as I lie with Zahara, knowing that for a few days, it can’t harm her.

  As the fog in my mind slowly clears, I see that there are no flames between my thighs. There is golden flesh against my own. A hand.

  The fingers of that hand are long, but not slender. The nails are chipped and ragged, entirely unlike the manicured hands of my regular clientele. But the fingers are female.

  Zahara.

  She’s touching me with those working woman’s hands. I feel the calluses on her thumb as she strokes downward. That rough piece of skin lags and catches on my glans at the tip. The contact causes my balls to tighten. As they do, a coil of heat tightens in them, pulling at the skin around the beast, causing it to tighten and I gasp.

  “Oh Fates, did I hurt you?” Zahara moves her hand from my cock.

  I let out a harsh breath. Not one of relief. One of need. For once, both the beast and I are in agreement. We need her hand back on our flesh.

  “I’ve never done this before. Am I doing it wrong? I want to make you feel as good as you made me feel.”

  Her words are all a jumble. It will take too much concentration to try and understand them. I don’t have enough blood to divert to my head. All the fluid in my body has rushed down to the throbbing flesh between my thighs.

  “Show me what to do. Show me how you touch yourself when you masturbate.”

  Masturbate? I’ve never done it. Why would I want to rouse that monstrous part of me?

  “Oh, I know what I’m missing. Lube,” she says.

  I’m cognizant enough to watch as Zahara picks up the soap I used to clean her body. She rubs her hands together to build lather. Then she places not one but both hands on me.

  “Fuuuuuutuo.” I bellow the ancient Roman curse.

  The thunderstorm is back. It has brought with it furies from the seas. The avenging spirits come to life inside me and whip up a frenzy in my lower belly. Electricity crackles everywhere Zahara’s fingers touch my cock, as though my blood and the mythological creatures are trying to get out of my flesh to get to hers.

  What magic is this woman wielding over me? All thoughts of stopping her have left my mind. There isn’t much left in there aside from getting closer to her.

  “Is that better?”

  Better? I had no idea that any good could come to me from my cock. No, this isn’t better. This is the best thing that has ever happened to me.

  I peer down into the water. My cock can be clearly seen through the suds of the bath. The red tip doesn’t appear angry. It strains with the same objective: it’s eager to get closer to her. The veins running along the sides of my flesh move and pulse to Zahara’s strokes. Even my balls coil and tighten, pulling up closer to get nearer to her as she comes close to the root of me.

  I finally understand the meaning of the saying: she has him by the balls. My balls have been had by hundreds of women, thousands. But not a single one of them ever had me. I never felt anything more than stiff as they impaled themselves on my shaft, followed by a moment of relief after my seed spilled.

  With Zahara’s hands on me, I feel the seed building inside of me. I feel a low heat in my back that pulses in time with the rhythm of her strokes. It comes from the beast, a promise of pleasure that it’s sharing with me.

  For hundreds of years, I’ve been cut off from feeling any of this. My mind would always shut down when my cock became erect to do its duty. But now… now, I want this.

  I want to be with Zahara. I want to be around her. I want to be a part of her. I want to be inside of her.

  My hips begin to thrust my cock into her hand, seeking more friction. I want to shake the suds off her hands. Even that thin layer of lubrication is too much space between us.

  I reach out to her. Her flesh is hot in the cool waters of the bath. My hands slide down to cup the globes of her lush ass as she settles her knees over my hips. There is barely an inch between us, only enough space for her hand around my thick cock.

  For a moment, I panic. Worry creases my brow as I look down. But my cock doesn’t try to worm itself into her sheath.

  It stands erect between our bellies, its single eye focused squarely up and on Zahara as she handles it.

  “Good?” she asks, speeding up her strokes.

  I can’t answer. I can’t remember the English language. It would take too much to remember the single-syllabled word for agreement. So, I nod my head in the universal language of fuck, yeah.

  With two hands, Zahara strokes long and firm, from the base of my cock all the way up to the tip. I am uncircumcised, but there is no give in my taut foreskin. I can feel the lifelines on her palms. I can feel the grooves where her fingers meet her palm, then bend at the knuckle, and the ones just before her fingertips.

  She circles the fat head of my erection and it weeps into her hand. The pre-cum catches in the lifelines of her palm before being washed away by the cool water. Just that small release has me shuddering.

  My gaze is half-lidded, but my eyes are open enough to see Zahara grinning. My heart skips a beat at the sight. Domitia grinned whenever she thought of a new heinous way to inflict pain.

  Zahara is not Domitia. Zahara smiles because she likes my pleasure. She is the only one to offer any to me.

  My arms circle around Zahara’s back. I pull her to me, needing to be surrounded by her. The bright smell of her. The fiery taste of her. The light in her eyes.

  She is sunlight to me, exactly as I remember it. Warm rays on my face. Soft heat cradling my back. A glow that halos around me even after I’ve closed my eyes or gone inside.

  I now understand what Gaius meant. I’m sure of what this is that I’m feeling. I want to tell her, but there is an urgent need that cuts the line of my declaration.

  The tension inside me is at breaking point. I am a dam ready to burst if just one more droplet of water falls on me. I am a balloon ready to pop with just a whisper of air.

  Zahara strokes down.

  Everything inside of me, everything that I’ve held behind protective walls, breaks free.

  Surprisingly, the tension doesn’t loosen from my cockhead first. It starts in my hips. The warm tidal wave rushes inward, to my groin area. The spasms start in my balls as they tighten, releasing hold of my essence.

  This has all happened to me thousands of times, but this is the first time I’ve been present for the performance. As my seed rushes up my erection, my arms and legs go numb. My head feels light as even more fluid is pulled from there. My balls throb as my cock begins to pump its release.

  Zahara’s grin spreads even wider as she sees the fruits of her labor. Her eyes flash, like a cat’s who just found the cream. Her delight is too bright. She’s a shining star that twinkles down at me. The only reason I am tethered to this plane of existence is because she still has a hold on me. If she moves her hand from my dick, I’m sure I will fall, sink down into the depths of the tub, and drown.

  It would be a good death. But I don’t want to leave
her. I want to be with her forever.

  As I pump my last bit of seed, I feel as though I have died. But I am reborn.

  A sweet heat remains as my dick goes flaccid in Zahara’s hand. For the first time in my life, the beast has been tamed. The connection between myself and that piece of flesh remains. We are both content and sated.

  For now.

  Chapter 16

  Zahara

  The darkness surrounding me is thick and absolute. But I’m not afraid. It’s the warmest, most safe place to be.

  My body feels rested and relaxed. My mind is at ease from a dreamless sleep. My empty stomach is too content to growl and demand it be filled.

  I feel… happy.

  Such a strange feeling. I’m surprised to realize I haven’t felt it in years. Have I ever truly felt it before?

  I’m not sure. I’m starting to think I haven’t.

  No, I have never felt this bubbly sensation that makes me want to smile at nothing in particular.

  Can’t say that my toes have ever wiggled as though they couldn’t wait to dance to a song that has no particular beat.

  And my hands, they want to reach out and grasp at something. The desire to be full of that something is so enormous that it pulls my eyes open.

  Having my eyes wide open is no different than being asleep. The darkness surrounding me in my wakefulness is also absolute. But I know where I am. I know whose body lies next to mine. I know whose hand holds mine.

  Virius.

  He sleeps like the dead beside me. Though his fingers are entwined with mine, he isn’t holding on to me. I can’t hear him breathing, because he isn’t. Vampires have little need for air, only enough to circulate the stolen blood in their systems.

  Slowly, bits of his features come into view. First, the bright blond of his golden hair. That, I can see clearly. But the strong chin, the broken nose, the lush lips, those I can place only because they are ingrained in my memory.