by Ines Johnson
The stretch feels good. It feels right. It feels like… destiny.
I lean over and kiss Viri. Still rubbing myself against him. Still trying to ease my way in.
“Zahara,” he says in a hushed tone. “You are like sunlight.”
“You haven’t seen the sun in hundreds of years.”
“My memories of it are nowhere near as bright as you.”
I smile at that. A vampire called me his sun. A tear pricks my right eye, but I don’t let it fall.
Whatever happens after this, I want to be with this man tonight. I want to give him what I’ve been saving all my life. I want to share my body with him. Not because I have to, but because I want to.
I sink down further. It’s a series of fits and starts. There’s nothing sexy about the mechanics of fitting Virius’s big penis into my tight pussy. But as I descend down onto him, I feel like I’m rising.
He is a tight fit—so tight, I have trouble getting air into my lungs. Viri not only fills my channel, he also fills my mind; my heart. He’s quickly tapping into my soul.
My body sinks lower onto his. I feel the veins on his cock against my walls. I feel the head pulsing. I feel his balls tightening against my ass as I come to sit.
His breath is my breath. His hands hold me tight. His eyes do not leave mine.
For all that I diss the spiritual, this feels like we’re on a different plane of existence.
I am shuddering as he slides deeper into me. His hands come around me. He pulls me closer to him until there is not an inch between us.
I am his. And he is mine. The curtains close to block out any hint of the celestial bodies intruding in on us. But inside, I explode, and tiny shards of light dance behind my eyelids as I orgasm around the fullness of him. The fullness of me.
When the shuddering stops, I see that we’ve only just begun. Slowly, Virius withdraws his cock. It’s only by a few inches, but it’s enough to feel the difference. Then, for the first time since we’ve joined like this, he thrusts into me.
I shut my eyes but still see the light, just like a lunar eclipse where the moon moves into the sun’s shadow. I had thought I was the sun. I now see I’m wrong. I’m only a moon shining in the light of his sun as the rays of his being fuck into me.
Chapter 19
Virius
I can’t breathe, which isn’t exactly a problem, as vampires do not need to breathe to live. We only need to replenish the blood in our veins.
Zahara’s blood courses through my body. Her essence zigs and zags like a bolt of thunder. It radiates outward as it treks down my throat. It arrows into my arms and legs, making my fingers and toes tingle. When it gets to my chest, it expands the chambers of my heart, making the organ feel as though it will burst.
It’s not my heart that bursts from the joy of having her inside of me. It’s my cock that is ready to explode from being inside her.
I can feel every pull of flesh. Every give of tendon. Every clench of muscle.
And so, I don’t breathe. If I take one more breath, I will burst open. Not just my cock, my whole being.
Because she is the sun: the thing every vampire craves, but can never touch for threat of death. Zahara will be the death of me.
I’m going to die because I can’t keep my hands off her.
My heart is racing. Not because I’m exhausted or spent, but because blood circulates to reach every part of my body that demands more of her.
My mouth is dry. Not from physical hunger. I’ve drunk enough of her. But I want more. I need more. Not for sustenance, only for the pleasure of having her on my tongue.
My throat is thick. Not because I need air or food. Because there are words I want to say to her. But I’m not the poet in the family.
I wish Gaius was here. Although, if he was, if he saw my sun-filled kitten like this, I’d have to kill him. Then I’d never know what to say.
I held still while Zahara worked herself down and onto my length. She shudders and gasps as her orgasm takes her. The intimate massage of her muscles forces my eyes shut and once more, I see starlight. A million suns dance behind my eyelids. Zahara’s sunlight penetrates not only my eyes but all of my skin. My bones. My very soul.
I’m certain I’m about to blow my load. It’s the last thing I want to do. What I want to do is thrust into her—slowly, not the pounding beast I gave to the women who used me over all those years. To my surprise, my cock wants the same thing.
My balls relax… only a little. That tiny bit of retraction allows some give in my cockhead, and the swelling recedes... only a little. That small recession allows for more space in Zahara’s channel, giving the length of my cock room to move... only a little.
Zahara is draped over my chest. Her head is tucked into my neck as she catches her breath. Shudders still wrack her spent form.
I move my hands down and cup the globes of her ass. When I lift her hips—only a little—her shoulders roll back. She doesn’t lift her head, but her tight cunny grabs hold of my tip as though I’m a pacifier she’s not ready to relinquish.
I have no plans to let this woman go. Not in this lifetime. I’ll still be holding on to her in the next.
Slowly, carefully, I slide her down my length. The pleasure of it is exquisite and unexpected. I have never moved a woman onto my cock. I was usually chained to a wall or bed to give them a false sense of security. I was nothing but a beast to them, a tool to use.
Not so with Zahara. She wants me. And I—my dick, my fangs, my beating heart—all of the parts that make up who and what I am, they—we—I want her.
Zahara purrs against my neck as I fit her back into my lap. When she is flush against the base of my cock, her ass settled on my balls, I hear a click like a lock turning as we fit into the place where we were meant to join. Tiny pinpricks dot my back as she sinks her claws into me. I know there will be two moons decorating my shoulder blades when we’re done. Those, too, are now a part of me.
I lift her again. Still slow. There is no urgency for me. We have all the time in the world. This is how I want to spend the rest of my days, with my cock snug inside this woman. Her arms around me. My hands cupping her ass as I make her scream.
As I pull her down back onto me, she throws her head back. Her eyes are closed. Ecstasy is written all over her face.
My chest puffs up to know that I did that. I put that look there. I’m giving her this satisfaction, this bliss.
For hundreds of years, I cursed my cock. Had I known what was in store for the two of us, I would have waited. I would have kept it under lock and key in a chastity belt until I met this woman. Remained the vestal virgin covered in pure white robes. And then I would have whipped it out and presented it to her on a sacrificial altar.
It’s what she’s done for me—except for the white robes. Zahara saved herself for me. She waited for me. And I let myself be defiled for centuries.
“I’ve fucked a lot of women.”
Zahara’s head wobbles as though I’ve punched her in the chin. Her eyes blink open to stare down at me.
“Most of the time, I didn’t have a choice. Other times, I just let it happen because I didn’t care. It didn’t mean anything, because I couldn’t feel it.”
Her eyes flash before she blinks it away. But not before I see the panther lurking there. Not before I hear the low, threatening growl from somewhere deep in her throat.
“I feel everything with you.”
To punctuate my statement, I dig my fingers into her ass and pull her snug to me. She groans low when I gain another half-inch inside her channel. I part her ass cheeks in an effort to spread her wider as I rock upward to gain the other half of that inch. Her muscles are already working themselves into a frenzy in preparation for the orgasm to come.
“I love you,” I tell her before I lose her to her pleasure. “You are like sunlight to me; something I never thought I’d see again. Yet you shine down on me.”
Her lips tremble. Her features crumple from the delirium o
f orgasmic bliss to something sad. At the corners of both her eyes, teardrops form.
“Am I hurting you?”
She doesn’t answer.
I’m sure I’ve gone too far. I’ve pushed too deeply inside of her. She must be in pain.
But when I try to pull away, to pull my monster cock out of her, she clings. Zahara wraps her arms around me and buries her face in my neck at the same time as she wraps her thighs around me, locking her ankles at my lower back so that she cannot be separated from me at all.
I can feel the teardrops against my neck. They run down my chest. The tracks stop once they reach my heart.
Zahara presses herself against me. She tightens her thighs around my waist. She angles her hips until she is milking my cock with her tight sheath.
I answer her movements, using my hold on her ass to slide her up and down my cock. I can tell she wants to go fast. But the hell will I ever fuck this woman like those cunts from centuries ago. I want to feel every nook and cranny of Zahara. I want to know every part of her that she gives me access to.
Zahara’s tears don’t stop. They continue to fall as her orgasm takes her. With a gasp of pleasure, she finds my lips. She trembles in my arms, around my cock, as she cries into my mouth, sharing her bliss with me.
I grip her to me as my balls release the motherload. I empty everything that I am, everything that I was, and everything that I hope to be, inside her tight channel.
As I do, Zahara holds me tight, her arms, her legs, her body a sheath around me as I experience a bodily orgasm for the first time in my long life. And for the first time in my life, when I come down from the bone-shuddering pleasure, I am left feeling whole.
Chapter 20
Zahara
I watch Virius’s chest as it rises and falls. Again, the movement is so slight that I find I’m holding my breath until his large pecs rise less than half an inch.
I’ve been like this all morning, barely blinking as I keep a vigil over his virility. His nostrils do not flare to bring in air. His lips do not sigh out upon exhale. Because he doesn’t breathe.
Which means he doesn’t snore. Which I guess is a plus. I have a lover who satisfied my body enough to knock me out, and is silent enough in sleep that I won’t be rudely awakened in the afterglow. Instead of luxuriating in dreamland, I’m wide awake and watching for signs of life.
Intellectually, I know that he is a vampire and breathing is wholly unnecessary. It’s his heartbeat that I’m watching. The organ keeps a slow and steady rhythm now that Virius’s body is flush with my blood.
He is alive, though undead. He is strong, because of the life essence that I gave him. But he will die because of the life essence he’s destined to give to me.
I brush a blond curl from his forehead. Some of the eyelashes that touch his high cheekbones are the same pale shade—a forest of light and shadows that cover eyes that hide nothing.
For the few days that I’ve known him, Virius has hidden nothing from me. He has shared everything that he has to give. Even the one thing he feared would hurt me.
Frankie rests fitfully under the blanket that covers us. Even in its flaccid state, Virius’s manhood is longer and thicker than the average man’s. It still baffles me that all of him fits inside me. The soreness between my thighs reminds me that he did.
That soreness is a beautiful ache that I want to feel again. And then again. For the rest of my life.
An average-sized cock won’t do. I’m not a size queen, as Virius called the women who abused him. It’s not the size I care about. The old adage is true; size doesn’t matter. It’s how Virius uses his body that has me addicted.
Virius Serrano used his body to please me. To protect me. To love me.
I know that he found pleasure in me. Now I just need to find a way to protect him. Because my heart is telling me that I love this man.
His heartbeat speeds up, as though it just heard my silent declaration. I snatch my hand away from his chest.
He doesn’t stir. He doesn’t open his eyes. He doesn’t reach for me—all of which makes it no easier for me to move away from him.
I climb out of the bed, but I can’t tear my gaze away from him. His big body appears small in the bed. Vulnerable. He is the larger predator, but he’s let a cat with claws into his home.
My fingers ball into fists. I feel sharp pricks against my palms as my nails dig into my own flesh. It takes everything in me to turn away from Virius, but I do.
I need to get out of here, but I’m naked. I could shift, but I feel too weary to make the transition. My panther has curled into a ball, as though she’s mourning the loss of a mate. Panthers don’t mate for life, but she doesn’t seem to hear that. She sees Viri as hers.
Since I won’t get out of here on four legs, I walk into Viri’s closet on two. The clothing I find inside the walk-in curls my lip. It is a cosplayer’s dream. Everything from breeches and waistcoats, to kaftans, to kilts, to a Zoot suit, to Armani.
I pull on a sari made of fine Indian silk, and pad out of the room.
It’s late in the afternoon, by the position of the sun in the sky. A glance over at the clock in a sitting room confirms it. Outside a set of glass doors, the Serrano vineyards stretch as far as the eye can see.
This was once the land of my father’s people: a small group of humans within the Tohono O’odham tribe who developed the ability to shift their shapes. But with a flourish of pen on parchment, the land was taken from them. Now, with a digital print out of documents, the land will be mine again.
That should thrill me. But it doesn’t. Ownership of the land is only one aspect of the prophecy. The Serranos’ signature on a deed can’t stop what is coming.
Stepping outside, I take in a deep breath of the fresh air—and wince. There’s a sickly sweet smell to the air. Like rotted fruit.
That is the other part of the prophecy. Long ago, my father’s people angered the shifter god. He made it so that nothing would grow atop the soil until his anger was appeased. That would only happen when the Night Sun greeted the dawn. That night is tonight.
At the edge of the vineyard, I see movement. I go instantly into panic mode, thinking that it’s someone from my tribe. But there are no red-headed jaguar shifters.
Marechal Durand is bent over a cluster of lush vines. I frown at the sight of my former employer, and the grapevine. The vineyard shouldn’t be producing anything.
Marechal looks up with a grin when she sees me. “I think I’ve figured it out.”
She holds one of the diseased vines in her hands. The white splotches along the roots and leaves cause me to wrinkle my sensitive nose. As a human, Marechal likely can’t smell the decay that’s killing the vines before they can bear fruit.
“I thought it was just root rot,” she says, as though she’s presenting findings to a committee. “But it goes deeper.”
I want to say, duh. It does go deeper. It goes centuries deep, into a curse on my ancestors. Science won’t cure this prophecy. Only a child born of a shifter and a vampire would break it. But I’m not going to bother to argue mystics with a degreed white woman.
To illustrate her scientific find, Marechal digs her hands into the soil. She places her sample in some kind of container and then holds it up to me as her evidence.
“Do you see?” she asks.
I don’t.
“Too much fertilizer.”
I might not know how to read the chemical symbols on the device, but I know what that means. Too much fertilizer in the soil can make vines grow leaves, but no fruit.
“There’s too much nitrogen in the fertilizer,” she continues. “It’s as though the nitrogen is making the soil too dark for the plants to see the light. We just need to add phosphorous to help absorb the light. Then these little mamas will bear fruit next season.”
Marechal turns back to her work. She takes another vial of chemicals out of the case. The label has a big P in black, covering the glass tube. Marechal pours some of the po
wder into the mixture. It bubbles and fizzes like a witch’s brew.
I stand behind her. My legs can’t move. My chest feels constricted. My fingertips tingle.
After a few moments, Marechal’s face lights up. “See?”
I see that a reaction has happened, but I’m not sure what it is.
“It just needed balance,” she continues. “This land has been untouched and left in the dark for years. All it needed was a little help to see the light.”
“Are you saying the grapes will grow now?” I ask.
“Give me nine months, and I’ll have this place bearing fruit.”
Marechal grins brightly at her scientific achievement. I stand mute, questioning my very reason for being.
Gaius, Hadrian and Virius all said that prophecies never turn out as expected. Those three vampires are just as old as this curse. And all the parts of it are coming undone and being righted in unexpected ways.
If the land is now mine because of a pen stroke, and the grapes will grow and bear fruit because of chemistry… then maybe the prophecy is satisfied? Maybe… maybe it’s even wrong?
Maybe I don’t have to get pregnant?
Maybe I can keep Virius forever?
Chapter 21
Virius
I struggle to awaken. Not because I’m tied down, not this evening. There are no binds that hold me to the bed as I wait to be petted by Domitia’s newest client. My hands and legs are free. My body is my own. It’s only the setting sun that weighs me down.
Still, I rise in defiance of the life-threatening rays. It’s the first time I can remember waking up with a light, airy halo around my head. The first time that warmth courses through my chest. I think this is called happiness.
Though, when I turn in the bed, the source of my happiness is not with me.
I should panic. But I don’t. I scent her nearby. She hasn’t gone far. Even if she had, I would track her down.
