Chapter 2 #2
He follows without hesitation, those intense amber eyes tracking my every move. “I should mention,” he murmurs as he closes the distance, “I prefer the femoral artery.”
Of course he does.
Bites on the inner thigh are vampires’ favorite form of foreplay.
I take a slow sip of whiskey, letting the burn roll over my tongue and settle warm in my belly before I nod. “That’s fine.”
There’s a distinct shift in the air as he steps closer. It’s subtle, but I feel it immediately– a hunter’s focus locking in on his prey.
“May I?” he asks, nodding to the empty space beside me.
I drain the rest of my glass, then set it aside, leaning back and inclining my chin in a small, permissive nod.
Vincent sinks down onto the couch next to me, the leather creaking softly beneath his weight. I turn slightly to face him, and his hands find my waist instantly, firm and assured as he guides me where he wants me. One of my legs is lifted, draped onto the cushion between us.
“You’re so petite,” he muses, his palms gliding up my bare thighs and pushing the fabric of my dress higher as he goes. “Delicate.”
A quiet laugh presses at the back of my throat. Petite, sure. I’m barely over five feet tall. But delicate? Not even close.
He adjusts me again, easing me back until I’m lying against the arm of the couch with my legs parted. It’s all controlled and deliberate, like he’s done this a thousand times. I suppose he probably has.
“You have such beautiful skin,” he murmurs, trailing his knuckles up my calf as he leans in, eating me up with the intensity of his stare.
“Thanks,” I breathe, my eyes dropping to where his pale hand contrasts against my bronze flesh.
His thumb drifts over the ink winding up my thigh, tracing the lines like he’s committing them to memory. “How many tattoos do you have?”
“I lost count,” I admit, my voice going a little breathy.
One dark brow lifts, interest sharpening. “So you enjoy permanence,” he notes, gaze flicking back up to mine.
“I’m an artist,” I say, like that explains everything.
“These are your designs?” he asks, fingers still ghosting over my skin.
“Most of them.”
“Fascinating.” His eyes gleam, something shifting behind them as he leans in closer. His mouth finds my inner thigh, tongue dragging a slow, deliberate path upward to my pulse point.
His fangs extend with a soft pop, then he bites down.
My head drops back on a stilted gasp, my back arching against the couch as my fingers clutch at the leather beneath me.
The pain is brief, quickly replaced by pressure as liquid heat unfurls from the point of contact.
My pulse stutters, then races as the venom takes hold, my body chasing the sensation rather than trying to fight against it.
I learned early on that enjoying a bite is completely normal. Vampire venom boosts serotonin and dopamine production in the brain, making the experience intensely pleasurable for most humans. Addictive, even.
And yeah… I’m hooked.
There’s something dangerously easy about this. About letting go; about sinking into the feeling instead of questioning it.
My eyes fall closed as pleasure rolls through me in slow, heavy waves. The world blurs, everything distant except for the anchor of his mouth on my skin and the strange, gratifying pull of it. A low hum builds under my skin– a restless current that makes my toes curl and my thighs tense around him.
A moan slips past my lips before I can stop it. His hand tightens on my thigh to steady me, holding me firm as he feeds.
My breathing goes shallow, my chest rising and falling in quick, unsteady bursts as that illicit heat continues to spread, curling low and deep. Every second stretches, deliberately drawn out like he’s savoring it. Like he knows exactly what it’s doing to me and wants me to feel all of it.
Every nerve in my body feels heightened. The air brushing over my skin, the weight of his hand, the slow pull at my thigh… it all sharpens until it’s too much and not enough at the same time. My thoughts start to slip, the world going soft around the edges.
Then it’s over.
He withdraws his fangs, licking the puncture wounds to stem the blood flow before lifting his head.
I slowly lift mine a second later, feeling like I’m surfacing from deep water. My vision takes a beat to focus as I blink my eyes open to meet his gaze.
His pupils are blown wide, amber nearly swallowed by black, his mouth parted slightly as he watches me.
I’m still breathing too fast, my body humming like a live wire and the ghost of his mouth lingering on my skin. It takes effort to pull myself back together, gather the scattered pieces of my thoughts, and stack them into something that resembles control.
“Was that everything you hoped for?” I pant, trying for sultry but landing somewhere between needy and breathless.
The corner of his mouth lifts. “Not quite,” he says softly, his thumb brushing over the spot he just fed from.
“But it’s a promising start.” His fingers glide higher, shifting the fabric of my dress up to bunch around my waist, then tracing over the seam of my damp panties. “I’d like to taste your cunt now.”
I grin wickedly, sinking further into the cushions and spreading my thighs in invitation. “Then by all means.”