Epilogue - Teagan
One year later…
Sen’s taken me to some wild places; casinos where we lost a crazy amount of money, then we stole it all back.
I met a fae queen who tricked us into becoming her lovers. It was fun for a week, then Sen tricked her into winning our freedom.
I still meet up with her for cocktails when we’re back in Ireland.
In return, I’ve shown him the coolest spots for graffiti, climbed the Tokyo Skytree without being noticed, and gave him a handjob while we were swimming with sharks.
‘Let’s maybe never do that one again,’ he said once we’d climbed back onto the boat in Australia.
‘But you loved your danger wank,’ I teased.
We’ve spent a month in a secluded cottage where all we did was sleep, drink blood, eat fruit, chocolate and fuck.
And at every stop, I make sure to get a new stamp for Sen’s collection and a picture for Thomas.
But in all the places we’ve travelled, we always find our way back to the city where we first met, in my studio, where Sen really saw me for the first time.
“You know we don’t need to keep crawling in through the hole,” Sen complains as we wiggle our way inside the abandoned shopping centre. “I bought the place so we wouldn’t have to.”
“But it’s more fun this way.”
Sen chuckles and doesn’t argue. Why bother when he knows I’m right?
Taking his hand, I intertwine our fingers and tug him towards the shop with all my art.
We haven’t been back in two months, and strolling past my wild pieces is a trip down memory lane, each one a shrine to our adventures.
Soon, I might have to expand. Maybe the whole shopping centre will be covered in colour.
“Hey, Erica,” I say to my limbless mannequin.
“Lovely seeing you again, Erica,” Sen replies with a teasing tilt. “So what was your big idea that you just had to do?”
“Stay there.” I drop my backpack, then hurry to pull out the massive sheet of paper I stored here the last time we visited.
Clearing out a space, I roll it out, grabbing four cans of paint to keep it flat. I look up at Sen and say, “Alright, get naked.” Then start taking my own clothes off.
Sen is in front of me within the blink of an eye to grab my hands, stopping me. “Now, sweetheart, you wouldn’t rob an old vampire the pleasure of unwrapping what’s his, would you?”
My mouth spreads into a smile.
“I didn’t think so.” He pulls me close, his fingers cradling the back of my head so when he tilts me back and kisses me, he can control the speed. The pressure.
Wrapping my arms around his neck, I open my mouth, sighing as his firm lips shape mine. His tongue slides past my lips to lick inside, leaving a line of heat everywhere he strokes.
My body warms, my blood bubbling with excitement. My cock hardens.
It took time, some therapy, which was boring but necessary, for my cock to learn it can get hard again. There were lots of deep breathing exercises, some days where I didn’t care, and others where it was all I cared about.
Tears, too. Lots of tears. But now my body responds. Though sometimes when I’m anxious, it doesn’t.
Either way, it’s okay. I’m okay.
Sen grins as he rids me of my hoodie. I rip his way-too-expensive black sweater off and toss it into a dusty pile.
He takes my jaw. “Such a naughty thing, aren’t you?”
“Yeah.” I thrust my chin up. “Now take your trousers off and get on your knees.”
His dark eyes sharpen into something deadly. Slowly, with a smirk in the corner of his lips, Sen takes off his trousers, then glides down. “Whatever you want.” His low whisper against my bare stomach sends shivers across my skin.
Sen on his knees is always the truest expression of art. His dark hair frames each deadly angle of his face. His chest is strong, his posture relaxed—ready. His hard cock is framed by his muscular legs scattered with dark hair.
Just looking at him makes my breath quicken. I hurry away so I can grab as much colour as possible.
“Wanna get messy with me, slick?” I ask him, licking my lips as I pop open each lid with a flat screwdriver.
“There is nothing I want more.”
I scramble to rip the rest of my clothes off. Unlike Sen, I’m not elegant when I drop onto his lap, our solid cocks rubbing together. I pull him in for a deep, hungry kiss.
“I wanna be so fucking messy with you,” I tell him between kisses, dragging my nails across his skin. Gasping when his fingers leave bruises on my sides.
“Show me,” Sen’s low voice soaks into my pores.
I drag my mouth away from his so I can thrust my hand into pearly pink paint. Streaks run down my fingers, drip across my wrists and down my arms. I slap my palm across his sculptured chest, painting him as I roam his torso.
Sen grabs a fistful of electric blue and splashes it over my back, the cool paint warming from my heated skin as he strokes up and down.
We go for more colours. I drench him in navy, black, and reds. He paints me in purple, yellow, and shimmering whites. I’m gasping and moaning with each new colour, my cock pulsing and my balls tight.
Sen throws me on our canvas, pounces on me and sucks my nipple while his desperate hands paint possessive lines over every inch he can reach.
I do the same, practically thrumming with my need to touch, kiss, bite and suck him, uncaring that the pasty taste of paint is in my mouth, when just under it is the addicting flavour of my mate.
By the time I’m face down and ass up, the paper under us is an explosion of colour and swirling prints—hand, feet, the curves of our asses and the round kiss of my lips and the hard press of my cheek.
“Just fuck me, c’mon,” I demand as he fingers me open with lube and paint, filling me with all his decadent colours. “Fuck, I want it rough. Do it.”
Sen grabs hold of my hips, the head of his cock notched at my hole. “Teagan,” he groans. “You’re so tight.”
He thrusts inside. Not slow. Sen pounds into me, fucking me just the way I scream for it. His grunts and my cries echo around my studio as each ram of his hips sends drops of paint splatting on the canvas.
I throw my head back, whining from the pleasure of it. Hungry for everything he’s giving me.
Sen sits up, and I’m about to complain about being empty when he hauls me onto his lap, filling my quivering entrance with the burning heat of his cock.
“I want to bite you so badly,” he growls like he’s lost all control as he scratches his fangs against my shoulder.
“Beg for it,” I whimper, bouncing. The head of his cock beats against my sensitive prostate with each swipe.
He does, his face mashed into my neck, his voice ripped raw and ragged as he speaks through his fangs. “I want to slide my fangs deep into you, I want to suck your blood up. Make you mine again. Fucking always. Please.”
I grab hold of his forearm, hold it to my mouth, my own fangs pricking out as I continue to bounce. Going faster and faster until we’re both just a messy blur, my untouched cock bouncing and so rigid it’s a deep red that’s messy with all the colours.
“Do it,” I tell him. “Fucking bite me.”
I sink my fangs into his arm.
He sinks his fangs into my neck.
And all I see is colour. It swells and crashes, draws me in deep and drowns me in the intensity of this overwhelming pleasure.
Drinking Sen’s blood is more decadent than his colours; it fills my stomach and stupefies my senses like the darkest red wine. His bite slices into my hammering pulse, and my eyes roll back from the sheer, pure pleasure that rips through every cell in my body.
I slam down on his cock, drop his arm as I throw my head back and scream out this passion that floods me.
My cock twitches once, twice—Sen’s cock pulses as he cums inside me, his broken moan muffled against the base of my neck—and then my balls draw tight, and I’m spilling untouched across our canvas.
I convulse as my orgasm wrings me dry, twisting and twisting and twisting until there’s nothing left.
I let out a single shuddering breath, and my body begins to unfurl. Lightheaded, Sen gently lies us on the canvas, my head cushioned by his painted shoulder.
“Fuck we should do that again,” Sen says once our breathing returns to normal.
I cough up a laugh. “I know, right. I can’t believe it took us this long.”
He snorts and kisses my cheek. The corner of my lips.
I nuzzle into him, sleep tugging at my edges.
“Looks like you really could handle this case, detective,” I whisper like a dame in a noir movie, our old game. “What happens now?”
His fingers card through my curls, his forehead rests on mine, and he breathes in my scent like even now, he still can’t get enough.
“You were trouble when I first met you, sweetheart,” he tells me like a detective, making me smile with all the love I have for him. “But I couldn’t help but fall for that type of trouble.”
“Oh yeah, slick?” I whisper, my eyelids fluttering.
“So we’d better make this ending count.”
We kiss again, slow and easy, and with all the time in the world.
The End