Chapter 3 The Stripper & the Vampire
“I’m not certain I understand,” he says, confused.
“I’m not a nun.” I wince when I try to move. “This is just a costume.”
He makes a sound, as if he understands. I shift onto my hip to alleviate some pressure. I’m sore all over, and I’ve got the makings of a killer headache starting. My vision is blurring, dipping in and out of clarity. The room seems to spin, and I lurch forward toward it.
“Careful now,” the man says, catching me. He moves me around until I am cradled in his arms. Up close, I can see the blood on his face, caked in his long hair. He doesn’t look crazy or anything like that. In fact, he appears cool and collected.
“What are you going to do to me?” I ask, suppressing a sob.
A silent beat passes.
“What year is it?” he asks.
“2025,” I say.
“Damn,” he snaps, suddenly irritated. With his free hand, he swipes his hair away from his face, and in the little light coming from my phone, I can see him clearer.
He looks old, eaten away at, but it isn’t his sunken face that has me taken aback.
It’s the two fangs peeking out of his open, blood-covered mouth.
I freeze as though someone has poured ice cold water down my back. “You’re a vampire?”
Red eyes snap back to me. “I am.”
“No fucking way!” I shout, causing my throat to tighten and ache. There are probably bruises on my neck that I can’t see yet, but dammit if I don’t feel the way my skin is throbbing.
“You sound surprised.” One corner of his stained lips twitches up. “I must be your first.”
“I haven’t had a ‘first’ anything since I was fifteen,” I remark, a slip of the tongue. I don’t know why, but fear mixed with almost-dying makes for a mean cocktail of word vomit.
“Lucky you.” This time, he does smile.
“Lucky me,” I echo.
“Listen here,” he starts, his voice lowering to a serious tone. “I’ve been asleep for too long in this tower. I know nothing of the world outside anymore. So, I’ll make you a deal.”
“How long is too long?” I ask, feeling colder the longer I sit here and talk. I know I’m bleeding, and the headache is only getting worse.
“One hundred years,” he says flatly. “I need… guidance. A companion who knows their way around, someone who can teach me. Can you do that? If you can, I will heal you here and now.”
He wants a teacher? Boy, is he barking up the wrong tree. I shudder against him. “Do I have time to think about it?” I manage, but my voice is weak, fading.
“No.” His voice is curt and precise. “You’re going into shock. If I don’t heal you, you’ll die.”
“Oh, well, if that’s the case…” A hysterical laugh bubbles out of me. “I’m all yours.”
My words are so slurred together that I’m not sure he heard me, or understood what I was saying.
A blanket of darkness has settled over me, and I suddenly feel weightless.
This must be a dream…no, a nightmare. If I close my eyes now, I’m sure I’ll wake up and forget this was ever real.
Only, that isn’t the case. There’s a nagging feeling of doubt in my periphery, but I don’t know… why.
What was I even talking about?
“Open your mouth,” someone whispers. I feel the cool, smooth pressure of something solid press to my lips.
A sweet, almost cloying flavor hits my tongue and then races to the back of my throat.
I swallow it greedily, hands clamping over the object at my mouth as I eagerly suckle more.
It reminds me of too hot summer days when the pollen in the air is as thick as the humidity.
It’s honeyed at first, but turns bitter after a while.
And like a long sip of wine, it lingers.
“Enough.” His sharp voice cuts into my thoughts and I let go, falling back into his one waiting arm.
A laugh bubbles out of me. “I kinda feel… drunk.”
I also feel good, happy even. Every part of my body is warmed.
I don’t even feel the pain in my leg or head anymore.
I run my hands along my body, shivering from the barest of touches against my skin, which feels as soft as a mink sweater.
I sigh at the thought, sinking my hands back down my breasts to sit between my thighs.
More than just drunk, I’m aroused, too. Giggles erupt from my chest, turning to boisterous laughter.
“What’s your name?” I hear the man ask.
I feel like I’m floating as I answer him. “Millie. My name is Millie.”
“Gray,” he says. “You can call me Gray.”
“Gray…” I laugh, but the humor is suddenly choked out of me by the rising heat beneath my skin. Without warning, what felt good and warm now feels white-hot, as if I’m melting. I struggle for air, breathing hard through the pain.
“What’s wrong?” The alarm in Gray’s voice sounds sincere, and he pulls me closer.
“Fire!” I claw at my ruined costume, tearing at it with desperation. “I’m on fire!”
The pain is there, but the worst part is that it doesn’t blot out the arousal I felt, too. They’re fighting for dominance inside of me, edging me without release. It’s the worst thing I’ve ever felt in my entire life.
“Fuck,” Gray hisses under his breath. “I’ve never seen this before.”
He takes one of my hands and tries to stop me from hurting myself. When his skin touches mine, relief immediately follows. The fire in my hand cools and I release a loud sigh. I would be embarrassed by the sound if it wasn’t for the hope that if he touched me more, the pain would go away.
“Millie?” he asks, confused.
“Touch,” I say through labored breaths. “Touch me more.”
I tangle my fingers through his and guide him to the pressure between my legs.
“Ah,” he says, though I can’t quite discern the tone. He sounds throatier, though, as if his voice is stuck. “Will this relieve your pain?”
I nod and I let his hand go. “Please.”
For a minute, he hesitates. I realize it’s an invasive request, and we only just met. This might be new for him, but not for me. I’ve done much worse after five minutes in a bar with a stranger. I’m not shy.
“Alright,” he finally responds. “But only because you begged me so sweetly.”
If I weren’t in so much pain, I’d be blushing at his words. With unfocused eyes, I watch him suck his fingers and spit to the side. What a gentleman.
“Hurry,” I urge, unable to keep the whine out of my voice.
Gray presses one finger to my lips, then strokes a line down my chin and along the mounds of my breasts, covering as much of my burning skin with the entire span of his hand.
It feels fantastic, so much so that by the time he reaches the curve of my thigh, I’m ready to explode.
To make him move faster, I push my hips up to greet him, but he stops me with a ‘tsk.’
“Patience,” he says softly, slipping one long finger against the line of my wet lips. “And restraint.”
A second finger joins the first, and he spreads me open.
My stomach tightens, and the heat fades into something new.
For the moment, I’m not burning with unbearable pain.
My mind is way too focused on his technique.
I’m silently grateful that he doesn’t need a crash course on groping after sleeping for one-hundred years.
“Gods,” he groans, swirling little circles around the tender bud between my legs. My hips buck up to meet the pressure, and I swear I hear him chuckle. “Who knew my blood could have such a pleasurable effect.”
I could scream the way he’s teasing me. A weak and breathy ‘shut up’ falls from my lips.
“Make me,” he dares.
I look into his red eyes as his pace slows, bringing back the pain of the fire. This isn’t the time or place to be edging me into oblivion. Honestly, I feel like I could die, but goddammit, do I want the release. I’ll chase it, too. I always do.
With both hands free, I grab the remnants of his collared shirt and pull him down to my lips.
He tastes like dust and blood and filth.
But I don’t care. I bite his lower lip and suck it, rewarded with the sensation of his fingers sinking into my pussy.
For that, I widen my legs and move with his thrusts, meeting each one with incredible need.
My stomach tightens with the building orgasm; teetering on the edge.
I break the kiss with a cry, throwing my head back as I do.
A chorus of panting yeses pour out of me in hurried breaths.
I’m right there when I see Gray’s red eyes flash, the only warning I get before his fangs sink into my neck.
It doesn’t feel like the kind of bite that should hurt. In fact, it feels just as good as having his wet fingers caress me. I don’t stifle the sound of my surprise.
Fireworks go off in the back of my head, black skies and stars dot my vision as I come.
Gray’s fingers still work inside me, petting the last of the orgasm out of me as I ride it out to finish.
I’m still holding his shirt, bracing myself against him, when he pulls away from my neck.
A wicked grin is plastered on his sharp face as he slides his fingers away from my sex.
The ache of losing him lingers, but I no longer feel the fire or the pain. Instead, I feel exhausted and sore.
“Thank you,” I say, but it’s barely above a whisper. Gray watches me with steady eyes, and for only a moment, looks away to lick his fingers clean. I see the shimmer of my cum on his blood-dried lips, still turned up in a smile so sinful, I feel ashamed for looking.
“You and I,” he purrs suggestively, swiping his tongue along his lower lip, “are going to get along just fine.”