Chapter 12 Lucian
Lucian
Sawyer’s kneeling above my mouth—my fingers and tongue driving her to a third orgasm—when she delivers my next holiday treat in the form of a breathy little demand only my enhanced hearing picks up.
“Bite me.”
I slide her down my face until I’m able to see her own. “Repeat that.”
“Bite me.” The glaze lifts from her eyes, bringing me back the sky-shaded eyes that drew me in the first time. They’re as clear as her repeated plea. “I want you to.”
And so, this shall be the first of many, I mentally promise as I roll us over.
Letting her remain on top so she can fight her way off me would be the kinder thing to do, but the longing I’ve had since first getting her in my bed—to pin her down and drink—rears its head until I’m repositioning her beneath me.
She’ll have less control like this, but I’ll still be able to gain some trust with her, with the right set of actions. Taking her hand in my own, I rest it on the bed beside us. “If you need me to stop, if it hurts too much, slap the bed.”
Stopping will require two hundred years of control, but for her, I will.
“I won’t harm you,” I remind her, and her tentative smile shifts into a strange gentleness that jabs unknown feelings into my heart.
“I trust you.”
And that, my little human, is the first promise of the rest of your life.
Moving much slower now, giving her the out she may end up taking, I lower between her thighs and nudge her legs apart, massaging the tense nerves there. Her pussy is dripping from the couple of orgasms, imprinting a scent I’ll forever use to track her.
As a hunter, I’ve claimed her scent. There’s no getting away from me. Not now, not ever. And with her blood, she’ll seal herself to me in ways she’s yet to even realize. Her taste on my tongue and her scent in my nose means she can run forever—but I’ll always find her.
Slow laps to ease her tension has her soon sighing. As much as I’d love to jab my fangs into her, that’s what she expects, so I’ll gain her faith by showing it’s her I care for, not her blood. When her weight drops heavier against the bed, and her thighs quiver, the nerves loosening, it’s time.
I brush my hand over where hers is resting, and then take her other, placing it on my head. With it, I give my prey something I’ve never given before: control. She can push me away or pull me closer—either way, it’s her choice.
After another brief lick of her skin, both warning and teasing the exact place, my fangs pierce her strawberry-scented skin. She whimpers, flinching at the initial pain of her skin breaking and my teeth sinking inside until my tongue caresses her skin.
Blood pools in my mouth and my tongue massages more along. It’s metallic—strawberries combined with a heat that consumes me. It’s strangely both sweet and bitter. It’s perfection and entirely her.
Every sense that’s been controlling me for two hundred years ceases to function. Everything she is replaces them. She’s all I hear, all I smell, and now…all I taste.
Her heartbeat rockets in her chest, which makes her blood run faster, pooling more and more of it in my mouth. Her sharply inhales as she fights between pain and desire, her hand twisting in my hair in response but not pushing me off her. Instead, she pulls me even closer.
She wants this—me—and I doubt she’ll deny me more after this. I’ll spend the rest of our lives with my fangs in her—her neck, her pussy, her wrists. Wherever she wants, she’ll receive.
I massage her thighs, encouraging more blood into my mouth. It’ll be important to monitor how much I take in so I don’t harm her or accidentally drain her dry.
“Why does this feel so good?”
I drink harder and slide two fingers inside her core, curling them until she arches off the bed. My teeth press in, warning her to remain still, and it becomes a battle of wills. A fight to either remain still…or to chase the onslaught from my fingers.
She’s tight and delicious—and probably sensitive from the other orgasms. Paired with my drinking, expecting her to come again might be the cruellest act yet, but the flavour that her blood will shift to after her orgasm is too enticing.
After only a few thrusts, she tightens around my fingers while her legs come up around my head, her keening filling the room.
Her hand slaps the bed once, more in overstimulation than pain, but still after a deep inhale that forces away from her, I unhook my fangs and crawl back up her body, taking her mouth with mine to sate my thirst in other ways.
It’s messy, my tongue sliding over hers, sharing both her blood and her cum until she’s panting into my mouth.
Eventually, she falls against the pillow, tossing an arm over her face. “I’ve officially died and gone to heaven.”
“Hell. Vampires are related to demons, which hail from Hell.”
She lifts her arm a fraction, until able to see me from beneath.
“It’s a saying, nothing meant literal.” Her arm falls all the way off until she’s gazing at me, her smirk slow and devious as she rubs a thumb over her bottom lip, gathering what I’ve transferred to her. “You’re a bit of a mess. Taste good?”
“Good insults your blood. Your blood, your pussy, your skin—I’ll never get enough.” I seal the promise with a kiss to her forehead before rolling from the bed to inspect my work.
Her thighs remain parted, blood thinning the cum I’ve wrought from her. The bed requires washing, but at the rate I plan on doing that again with her—and more—not entirely sure there’s a point in changing the sheets.
“I wish I could make you that Christmas morning breakfast you want and deserve, but the sun’s up and not every window downstairs has curtains, which means I’ll be up here until night falls.” It’s irritating that I can’t provide for her in the way I should.
She lifts her head to stare between the railing and through the large window across. The angle doesn’t allow the sun up here. “So daylight itself is fine, just not sun?”
“Exactly.” Offering a hand, I help her up, hands around her hips until she’s steady. “Hydrate first, then food to replenish.”
Her head drops onto my chest, ear over the place where my heart once beat. “Not needed. I plan on dying right here.”
I pet her tangled hair, brushing it aside from her damp neck. “Not negotiable. I drank a fair amount, so you’ll need the nutrition.”
With a longing sigh to remain, she pushes away and turns for the stairs, only to stumble into the railing. “Maybe you’re right. A shower, then food. Want anything from downstairs?”
Flicking a tongue against my fang, I wink. “Already got mine.”
As she walks away, my head echoes with that strange sound again. Keep, keep, keep.
After taking a shower that recoats her strawberry scent, she cooks a full breakfast, the process involving an amusing amount of cursing and shouting. I observe from above, making small questioning comments about her process, since cooking today is vastly different than how my mother once did it.
She joins me up in the loft to eat, but then I force her downstairs for the hot chocolate and window-sitting she described the other day.
As the sun slowly sets and moves away from the glass, I’m able to go downstairs, carefully sticking to corners of the room where the sun avoids, while kissing her at every opportunity.
She’s an addiction my immortal life is now cursed with.
We sit at the island while she builds the gingerbread house, which involves icing and candies everywhere and a whole lot of giggling. It’s such a…a human activity. It should sicken me, since both the process and the food is disgusting. But nothing Sawyer does is repulsive.
“Can you eat these?” She holds up something gummy, red, and coated in sugar that makes me hiss.
“Why would I want to, is the better question. Sugar to me is like if you were to eat dirt.” She scrunches her nose, which draws attention to the faint smudge of icing on her cheek.
I lean forward and flick my tongue against the blob until it’s all gone; the taste is bitter, but tinged with her, too.
“Then again, sometimes sugar can be tasty.”
After she cleans up, she takes a ravenous bite of the house’s door, undoing so much of the work she’s spent the past hour doing. Mortals are strange…
“You know,” she mumbles around the food, “I never went for that walk, even though the weather is vastly warmer than yesterday.”
She managed to get minimal service on her cell.
It’s slow but functioning enough for the application she uses to check the weather to display the temperature.
After she learned it was negative twenty-one today, she went on to demonstrate the modern concepts of what is her cell phone.
A piece of technology I know about but have no need to own.
“I vote,” she continues, “when the sun’s completely set, we get out of here and explore the mountains. And though I said it’s a vote, I’m not asking permission.”
Making her stay is a matter of my own desires, but I agree with a shrug. As long as we’re together, whatever it takes to make her satisfied is what’ll happen. “Run away if you want; I’d find you regardless by scent alone.”
She pauses mid-chew, tilting her head. “Your nose is that good?”
“Smelled your car accident, didn’t I?”
“Because you’re attuned to the blood. But my normal scent?”
Pretty sure she could be half a world away, and I’d be able to track her.
“Both your shampoo and bodywash is strawberry-scented. When you look at me for too long, it’s because you’re thinking about this morning, and then your pussy—”
“Wait.” Her hand thuds down onto the countertop. “If you know what’s in my head, can you read minds, too?” Every kind of horror passes over her expression.
“No, but I can read your face.” I flick her nose playfully. “As I was saying…memories of this morning make you wet. You desire a repeat. As a result, your emotions flicker between nerves and peace, and I should note, strong emotions carry an odour as well. Tell me, Sawyer, is any of that wrong?”
She rolls her lips together, catching her bottom lip on her teeth. The blush returns to her cheeks.
“Thought so. So, as I was saying…I’ll track your scent wherever you go. You’re my prey, little human.” A warning and a threat all rolled into one but masked with a wink. “And not the kind of prey I kill. Don’t worry, you won’t be going anywhere.”
Her tongue slides to her cheeks as she’s clearly thinking hard enough to make me wish mind-reading was an ability of vampires. “Alright, then prove all that. I’ll get ready and leave now while the sun’s still up. As soon as it gets dark, come find me. We’ll see how long it takes.”
Minutes, because she’d never make it far enough between now and sundown to provide an actual challenge. Hell, she might even get too cold before then.
“Another mountain adventure? Playing in the snow once this week wasn’t enough?”
“Oh, he jokes too. It’s not that bad out; not with the number of layers I’ll stack on. Besides, after all the negative forty to fifty, twenty-five is hardly anything.”
Somehow, I doubt that. This isn’t a viable holiday activity, but her excitement is too contagious, so I nod my agreement.
She rushes upstairs to layer up, and then she puts on her outdoor gear by the door. Hip to the counter and arms crossed, I observe, fascinated over how this stupid little game pleases her so much.
“Catch me if you can!” she calls before the door slams shut behind her. Her steps head straight for a while, and then veer right, and she rushes off.
“I can and I will.” My vow bounces around the empty cabin.