Chapter Seven #2
He shakes his head, his hands squeezing mine like he does not know what else to do. "To gaze upon the Devil is to denounce God. He would never forgive me."
His innocence permeates the air, mixing beautifully with the fear and the sex and the desperate want.
I drink it up willingly, let it pool between my legs as the man beneath me begins to thrust in an almost lazy motion.
Like he is aware of his need for release, but his mind is too hazy to know this is not a dream.
In truth, I am surprised he has any blood left at all to fill his cock, though I file no complaint.
I release Theodore's hand to grasp his chin instead, fascinated by the paleness of his skin as I smear blood along his jaw. He whimpers again, his lips parting with the sound.
"Heavens, you are a lovely thing, aren't you?"
He doesn't get the chance to answer, not with my lips meeting his and my tongue invading his mouth. His free hand snaps up to grasp at my wrist, though to my delight, he does not pull away. He freezes for only a moment, and then he melts.
I was right, he tastes divine.
Like the husky notes of a dark wine—woodsy in a way, but with the sweet taste of strawberries on the back of his tongue. I want to devour him whole, want to pull him closer and closer until he disappears into me, curled into a small place within my ribs where I can keep him warm and sated.
I can taste the tears that stain his lips. He can certainly taste the blood that stains mine.
After only a moment's hesitation, he gives in to the beast I know lies trapped inside him. Not completely, of course, but just a peek. A small walk around the park with a leash wrapped tight around its throat.
A moan escapes his chest, vibrates through his tongue and onto mine as he surges forward and kisses me back, licking into my mouth like he is searching for a meal of his own.
I let him trace the back of my teeth, let him suck at my bottom lip.
Soon we are not so much kissing as he is suckling the blood from my skin drop by drop.
So that is what you crave?
I thought perhaps I imagined it, the way he looked at the trail of blood down my front. Thought perhaps his curiosity was one of sinful wonder, but nothing more.
Oh, how wrong I was.
Theodore is a starving thing, all bones and skin without an ounce of fat to be seen. He pulls me to him like I am his last meal, his hand releasing mine to dive into my hair, grasping and pulling in ways I never would have expected.
I find myself quite obsessed with him. With the way he yanks my head back to attack my throat. The way he licks at the blood that coats my front like a dog licks remnants from a plate.
Does he know what he's doing, I wonder? Can he hear the quiet moans and whimpers that are leaving him? Can he feel the way his heart is throbbing in his chest as if moments away from bursting completely?
Pleasure bubbles in my stomach at the thought of him so entranced with me that he cannot think straight.
My core tightens as I rock down harder and harder on the cock beneath me.
I toss my head back as Theodore traces his tongue between the valley of my breasts, his hands pawing at my sides and back like he does not know where best to hold to keep me still.
If I did not know better, I'd think him a freshling. Young, newly born, still growing into his fangs as he ravages his first meal. He is just as messy, my prey's blood smudged across his lips and cheeks, running pink down his throat from where the rain has mingled in.
He is adorable. Precious. I wonder if he would let me hide him away in one of my towers to play with until he is sick of me. If he would bend so easily beneath my will each time. If he would open his mouth and devour whatever I deigned to feed him.
This time it is my hand in his hair, yanking his head back to see him. He goes pliant, loose. He arches his back and stares at me through fluttering eyelashes, his eyes hazy and dreamlike. He licks at his lips, chasing every drop he can get.
"What a beautiful little monster you are," I mutter, pressing my lips to his cheek this time, then to his eyelid, his nose, his jaw.
He gasps as I take his hand and lead it down between my legs, quivers when he feels how wet I am around the thick cock that has finally stopped thrusting.
I cannot tell if the stranger finished or died, but it does not matter, not when Theodore is staring at me like a mortal stares upon the face of God.
"M-my lady—"
I rock forward, chasing the fingers I hold against me. Theodore whimpers, eyes falling to our hands as his fingers twitch, rubbing almost hesitantly, though not without experience. Like he knows what he is meant to do but is unsure if he's allowed to do it.
"Go on," I tell him, tightening my hand in his wet curls. "Bring me to pleasure, Theodore."
In truth, it does not take me long to finish. Already I was on the precipice when he walked in, and having this beautiful thing covered in the blood of my meal, drooling and begging for me, is enough to have me releasing a long breath of languid satisfaction as my orgasm washes over me.
"Perfect."
The strange beast before me, however, is not satisfied. Not quite.
Theodore watches with a mix of confusion and awe, like it is he who is weak from blood loss, not the stranger beneath me.
As if in a trance, he raises his fingers—trembling and coated in blood and slick—to his lips.
I watch in fascination as he licks and sucks them clean, first gently, then with such ravenous greed that he chokes a bit when he sucks them down too far.
His teeth scrape against his own knuckles, and I smell the warm, whiskey-iron of his blood blooming to the surface.
He digs his teeth in harder, his tongue licking between the digits to chase his own taste mixing with mine.
I am half tempted to let him continue, to simply wait and see how far he will go, but there is something about this boy that intrigues me. Something about him that makes me hesitant to let him get hurt, even if he is doing it to himself.
"That is enough, Theodore," I say, gently pulling his hand from that devious mouth of his. He chases it for a moment, and I grasp his chin in my other hand, directing his gaze back to mine. I hold him there, waiting until the hazy look in his eyes clears enough to understand me. "That is enough."
It's such an interesting thing to see a beast be corralled back into its cage.
Once, when I was barely older than a freshling, my father took us to a circus.
We watched as the beast tamers led a lion around the ring, prodded it into performing tricks for the roaring crowd, before wrangling it back into its kennel.
I remember the feline hissing and growling at her handlers, yet no matter the size or viciousness of the animal, she went without a fight.
Theodore's hunger is much the same as that circus cat. I can see the battle waging behind those pretty autumn eyes as he slowly shoves that growling, hissing beast of his back where he thinks it belongs.
I am sad to see it go. Especially when that bloodlust is exchanged instead for fear and despair.
It happens in an instant. As soon as that cage door is locked tight, Theodore is back to himself. His breath hitches violently, and he lurches backward, tumbling off the settee with a broken shout.
I follow after him, slow and careful, for he is a frightened rabbit in the den of a wolf and cannot see that the wolf intends him no harm. The man on the sofa groans when I dismount him—surprising, considering I thought him dead already—and Theodore's eyes shoot toward the sound.
"He—he's—"
"He is alive," I assure him, though I do not say that the man would not remain so for long. I take my dressing gown from the back of the settee and slip into it before kneeling in front of the boy. "Theodore, would you look at me?"
Instead of doing as I ask, however, the boy scrambles to his feet, slipping a few times on the rainwater that pooled where he sat. His heart is thundering loudly enough I fear it might jump straight from his chest, his breaths coming out in great wheezing gusts.
"I don't—I can't—" He is staring at his shaking hands, at the blood still left over that stains his pale, freckled skin. Almost absentmindedly, he runs a tongue across his bottom lip, bringing a hand up to touch the spit there like he's remembering what he's done. "God, forgive me."
Then he is gone.
I could stop him if I wished to. I'm much quicker, much stronger.
Instead, I watch him run from me and disappear back into the night and the storm.
If I went after him now, I have no doubt the boy would fight me, and I would dearly hate to kill him.
For some reason, he fascinates me. I want him to return.
I want to know what would happen if he fed that curious hunger.
So, I let him go, telling myself he will make it back to the village safely despite the weather, and I savor the taste of him that still lingers on my tongue.
The man on the settee groans, and I spare him a brief glance. "Let us hope, my friend, that I will not need to find a new errand boy. I have found myself quite fond of this one."