‹ Prequel: To Bleed for Him
As She Fades
Anywhere
"I'm starting to bend
The line between reality
And the place we want to be.
Living vivid motion pictures,
Starring only you and me.
And in this precious moment,
The current starts to flow.
Don't you ever break the connection,
And I'll never let it go.
I can almost see the stars aligning
To say…
Yeah, I'm gonna take you anywhere
I want to go.
I'm gonna make you want me
To keep on going."
- Dark New Day
The soft creak of the mattress filled Torryn's ears as Antony guided her slowly down, hands drifting her over her bare back, her bare sides, her bare breasts, sliding with a purposeful aimlessness lower and lower and lower. His lips were as soft as his caress as he bent down to kiss her, and heat coiled in her core when she recognized the raw passion that had their lips and tongues so desperately twining together. She pushed his shirt up, her fingers trailing over the hard muscle of his defined abs, and as she drew his shirt higher and higher, he paused in his work at the fly of her jeans but didn't take his eager lips away from hers. She heard the sound of rending fabric, and the shirt beneath her fingers vanished to sail across the room in a rumpled ball.
She didn't hesitate to run her hands over his bare biceps, his bare shoulders, his bare back, her fingertips trailing purposefully over the muscles that rippled and tightened with his every movement. Air washed over her thighs as he forced her pants roughly down to her knees, the denim scraping pleasantly against her skin, and with an eager grunt, she kicked her shoes off and squirmed until her jeans followed, her fingers already fumbling feverishly at the button of his own jeans. He sank his fangs into her lower lip when she tried to break their kiss, and a gasp of surprise quickly became a moan of pleasure.
The sound of ripping fabric met her ears again — her underwear this time, judging by the sensation of silk being drawn across her skin — and just as she managed to slide his zipper down, he abruptly pulled his lips from hers and eased his fangs into her throat. She sucked in a breath that tasted of manly musk and undead ash — Antony, so very Antony — and arched her back until she went rigid, caught in the grip of a hundred sensations at once. His saliva soothed her, turned her pain to passion; his pheromones washed over her, seeping into her as she let down a guard she hadn't even realized she'd put up; his rich scent swimming in the air around her; his skin impossibly smooth against hers.
She shivered as he ran a pair of fingers along her clit, his touch teasingly light. When they dived into her, she drew in another harsh breath, arching again in pleasure and gripping his shoulders to ground herself. He settled into a rough rhythm as he drew his fangs from her flesh, slowly enough to cause goosebumps to rise along her skin. The gentleness of his tongue lapping at her bloodied throat stood out in stark contrast against the roughness with which he thrust his fingers into her, and her fingernails dug into his skin as she tightened her hold on his shoulders and bit her lip, attempting to keep herself quiet even as a sense of coming ecstasy built up within her.
Gently, he began to kiss his way down her neck, over her breasts, down her stomach, and every time his lips brushed against her skin, she shuddered violently, her senses heightened by the haze of pheromones that clung to her. Everything else was dulled, lost. She couldn't remember where they were. She couldn't remember what the sheet beneath her back felt like. She wasn't even sure if it was there anymore. But his every touch, no matter how small, struck her hard. So when his tongue trailed slowly over her clit, she cried out, digging her nails even deeper into his skin as she let her fingers fall along his upper arms.
He slipped his fingers out of her for the final time, and she could feel the slickness on them as he reached up to cup her breasts, giving her nipples a playful pinch that only made her cry out all the more loudly. She shivered when he slid his tongue into her, tangling her fingers in his hair to pull him in deeper, and as his chuckle rumbled into her right along with his wet tongue, she moaned. He pulled back to let his tongue lap against her again, then gloss over her clit once more, falling into a rhythm so fast with a touch so light that she could only writhe against him and whine and hope for more.
Softly, he caressed her, guiding his hands over her breasts and along her stomach, until he let his nails begin to rake along her, clawing her flesh so hard that angry red lines were left in their wake to stand out vibrantly against her pale skin. She groaned in delight, but when he nipped roughly at her clit and drove his nails in even deeper, she bucked against him and screamed. Gripping her hips, he held her steady, his nails ever-piercing her flesh, and as she ran her hands desperately over his skin and through his hair, crying out and pleading for more, he only chuckled against her in that same low, thunderous way.
Taking hold of his hair again, she pulled his face against her, and he slipped his tongue obligingly in. She could smell her own blood on the air, her own sweat, her own wetness, the scent of him all over every inch of her; she could feel his tongue delving in deep and his teeth purposely catching her flesh with every lick and plunge. She began to squirm against him once more, but he clamped down on her hips hard enough to prevent any movement, and she could only let out a cry of mixed pleasure and frustration.
More. She needed more!
-?-
Skylar stared down at his trembling hands upon the wheel as he eased his car to a stop along the curb. It towered over him, that house, that bloody home filled with bloody memories and the bloody man who let him relive the ones with that cotton-candy scent. Light spilled from every window tonight, and it stretched across the grass toward the car like talon-tipped fingers desperate to grab him, to drag him in, to bring about the end of his pain — or maybe inflict even more.
He wasn't stupid. After what had happened the other night, after burning the Lord to a gooey crisp, he knew that he may find inside the exact opposite of the relief he sought. But really, why would the vampire turn down the business of someone who could help him get to Torryn? Skylar had no desire to offer the man any more information that could bring harm to Torryn, but he was almost positive that he had nothing left to give. Her weakness was Antony. That was it. That was all. What more could the Lord find in Skylar's mind? He knew nothing else.
And even if the Lord did deem him worthless and end his life this very night, what did it matter? He'd left her alone with him, that arrogant, selfish, blood-sucking scumbag that she couldn't seem to get enough of. He knew what was happening in her bedroom right now. He could probably guess everything that sick blood-sucking fuck had said to get her there, too.
Antony was stealing her right out from under him, right now, right where Skylar had just won her back. What did it matter if he died here tonight?
He was already dead.
He laughed bitterly to himself as he slipped from the car, barely noticing the chilly wind that whipped at his loose shirt. "You're pathetic," he muttered, shutting the door and starting around the car, old leaves crumbling into oblivion with dry crunches beneath his feet. "Skipping right into Death's arms because you're too pitiful to move on and too pitiful to fight."
Some faded part of him hoped that the frigid claws of the wind would batter some sense into him, but when he reached the door, he entered without a thought or feeling to the contrary — and the vampires who lazed about as they always did, the men and the women and the children, stared at him as he passed but didn't say a word.
He knocked at the usual door on the second floor, entered when that familiar voice called him in, and the Lord greeted him with the same welcoming smile upon the same pale face, not a single imperfection in sight. "Ah, Skylar! So good to see you. Please, have a seat."
'So good to see you'? You mean after I pretty much burned your eyes out of your skull?
Cautiously, Skylar crossed the room to perch himself on the very edge of his usual armchair, eyeing the vampire warily. "I wanted to apologize for what happened the other day. I didn't —"
"Water under the bridge," the vampire said with a smile and a dismissive wave of his hand. "I'm sure you're really here for something much more interesting than an apology." He eased his smile into a lascivious smirk and asked, "What is it this time? Something new, I hope?"
"Yeah," Skylar answered hesitantly. "Last night, actually." No sooner had he spoken the words than he felt the heat of shower water beating rhythmically over his back, the slickness of her skin beneath his lips, heard the sound of her giggling, smelled the apple scent of her shampoo as she tried to pretend his hand wasn't sliding slowly lower. He capsized in the sensations, a boat lovingly lost upon the sea, but just as he relinquished the last of his tenuous grip on the world around him, just as he begin to sink back into his chair, pain exploded in his jaw.
He was ripped from the comfort of Torryn and flung into the hardwood floor, and right as his vision returned, a powerful kick to the ribs stole it from him again. Blinking rapidly, he tried harder to regain it, wracking his mind in a panic for explanations of what was happening to him. But did he really need to think? It was obvious, so obvious.
The Lord had never really forgiven him. He was a fool for ever believing otherwise. He was a fool for being here at all, he realized as another kick broke his arm and he cried out in agony.
Kick after kick rained down upon him, and the Lord never said a word, never made a sound. Kick after kick after kick, and Skylar recognized the sticky warmth of blood coating his face, the lukewarm copper of it flooding his mouth to leave him coughing around his continued cries. Kick after kick after kick after kick, and he wasn't sure if any of his parts were still intact.
Barely conscious, he blindly threw out a hand, and with it came a surge of power he hadn't intended. He heard the Lord hit the floor, and even as his vision returned to him bit by bit, he tore his phone from his pocket and began to smear blood across the screen as he dialed Torryn's number.
It rang.
A hand gripped his ankle and began to pull.
It rang.
"Yes, Skylar," the Lord taunted darkly, nastily, tightening his hold on Skylar's ankle until the loud pop of breaking bone sounded, soon lost beneath the boy's cry. "Bring her to me, Skylar. Guide your little girlfriend right back onto my lap."
Voicemail picked up. The beep.
"Torryn, help! The Lord —" But the phone slipped from his hand as he was jerked to his feet by a cool hand on his wrist, and he watched in horror as the screen faded to black, momentarily numb to the fresh pain that shot through his ankle.
Torryn, where are you? Torryn, please!
Pain enveloped him, the unfamiliar pang of fangs being thrust into the side of his bare throat at the forefront.
He should've never come here.
Torryn…
-?-
Antony heard the rattling noise of Torryn's cell phone vibrating in the pocket of her jeans, but when she sat up, fully prepared to retrieve it, he placed a hand on her stomach and shoved her right back down. She squeaked in surprise, but when he slipped the index and middle fingers of his free hand back into her, she gasped and gave in to him with a moan.
He let out a soft grunt of content, not much more than a pleased sigh, and let his eyes drift shut as he savored her — the feel of her stomach beneath his hand, her slickness along his tongue; the scent of her, wet and ready for him; the sounds of her groans and her pleas for more…and the sensation of her heart hammering in her chest, echoing through him almost as if it were his own, the most basic influence of his pheromones thrumming through her body.
She began to tremble, to near the edge, but just as she cried out his name, he left her completely. Wide-eyed, wild, she looked up at him as he stood over her. "Don't stop," she begged, panting.
He chuckled lowly as he leaned over her, trailing his fingertips lightly over her stomach to make her shiver and shake beneath him. "You're not allowed to cum yet," he whispered, his breath washing over her ear to make her quiver and bite her lip, and he bent down to meet her lips roughly once more.
He groaned at the feeling of her nails clawing their way down his stomach, his back, ever bit of his skin that she could reach, and it only fueled him to unzip his pants and kick them off faster, right alongside his shoes and boxers. Her breath caught as he rubbed himself against her, so close to slipping inside but not quite there, and he bent over her to smirk, looking into her wild eyes.
"I'll gladly share you with him if I get to do this every night," he purred, and she nodded violently, desperation shining in her gray eyes to pull another low chuckle from him. He slid himself against her again, savoring one last full-body shudder before he thrust himself roughly into her wet welcoming depths.
He sank his fangs into the untouched side of her throat as he rammed himself into her, over and over again, hard and fast, and he pulled from her vein just as violently, groaning uncontrollably at the sweet taste of her on his tongue, moaning at the sting of her nails along his spine and the ever-present warmth of her skin, at the never-ending pleasure of her presence all around him. Moaning, she wrapped her legs around him, her warmth seeping into every inch of his flesh, and he lost himself as he pulled harder from her vein and drove himself deeper into her.
She cried out suddenly, and he felt her throbbing against him as she climaxed, and he followed her over the edge a moment later with a groan of his own against her neck. He savored it all for a moment longer — the sound and the scent and the sensation of her pants against his shoulder, of her warm, trembling fingers still pressing into the small of his back, of her blood rolling in small crimson droplets from the holes he'd left in her neck — and he leaned down to give her one last gentle kiss, then pushed himself off of her to sprawl on the bed beside her.
Though he longed to bask in the feeling of her rapid heartbeat in his own breast, he let his pheromones dissipate upon the air, effectively ending his intimate connection to her. He looked over at her, spread eagle on the wrinkled covers beside him, and let his eyes sweep over her form. He gazed at the droplets of sweat gathering in the hollow of her throat, leaving streaks along her skin. He watched her chest as it rose and fell with her gradually slowing gasps for air. He studied her face, studied the faint glow of pleasure that lit her every feature. But then, he found each and every cut, every single bruise, every small scrape, and he furrowed his brow in worry as his good mood slipped so easily away.
She laughed suddenly and looked over at him, smiling, the picture of beauty, everything he loved, and he felt his happiness seeping back into him as he smiled right back at her. "We can do this every night…if you promise to use a condom…to avoid…grossness," she panted, and he chuckled.
"Always the realist, aren't you?" he said, running his fingers along the length of her arm just to remind himself that she was really there. "I'll consider it."
"Much appreciated," she said, laughter trailing through her every panted syllable. "Would you get my phone for me, please? Since you're immune to all the bad parts of sex and all." Chuckling, he rose, though he lingered there with his fingertips just barely resting against the faded bite marks on her wrist for as long as he could excuse it. "Can you maybe get me some toilet paper or something, too? I feel gross," she added, watching him with a smile.
"I'm too lazy to make it that far, but here," he said, grabbing his ruined shirt from the floor and tossing it her way. She laughed and began to dab at the blood along her neck, and he knelt, digging around in the mess of clothing on the floor. He returned to her once he'd found her phone, dropping it onto her outstretched palm.
"Do you need any help with that?" he asked, arching an eyebrow suggestively as she began to dab at her sweaty body with the ragged cloth. She grinned and handed him the rag, and even as she went through the process of checking her voicemail, she watched him intently as he dabbed at the lingering wetness between her thighs. The scent of her was almost overpowering, almost enough to drive him into another frenzy, and he leaned in to begin licking at the blood that still dripped down her throat. She laughed lightly, and he smiled, but she went rigid suddenly — and he could hear why.
"Torryn, help. The Lord…"
The line between reality
And the place we want to be.
Living vivid motion pictures,
Starring only you and me.
And in this precious moment,
The current starts to flow.
Don't you ever break the connection,
And I'll never let it go.
I can almost see the stars aligning
To say…
Yeah, I'm gonna take you anywhere
I want to go.
I'm gonna make you want me
To keep on going."
- Dark New Day
The soft creak of the mattress filled Torryn's ears as Antony guided her slowly down, hands drifting her over her bare back, her bare sides, her bare breasts, sliding with a purposeful aimlessness lower and lower and lower. His lips were as soft as his caress as he bent down to kiss her, and heat coiled in her core when she recognized the raw passion that had their lips and tongues so desperately twining together. She pushed his shirt up, her fingers trailing over the hard muscle of his defined abs, and as she drew his shirt higher and higher, he paused in his work at the fly of her jeans but didn't take his eager lips away from hers. She heard the sound of rending fabric, and the shirt beneath her fingers vanished to sail across the room in a rumpled ball.
She didn't hesitate to run her hands over his bare biceps, his bare shoulders, his bare back, her fingertips trailing purposefully over the muscles that rippled and tightened with his every movement. Air washed over her thighs as he forced her pants roughly down to her knees, the denim scraping pleasantly against her skin, and with an eager grunt, she kicked her shoes off and squirmed until her jeans followed, her fingers already fumbling feverishly at the button of his own jeans. He sank his fangs into her lower lip when she tried to break their kiss, and a gasp of surprise quickly became a moan of pleasure.
The sound of ripping fabric met her ears again — her underwear this time, judging by the sensation of silk being drawn across her skin — and just as she managed to slide his zipper down, he abruptly pulled his lips from hers and eased his fangs into her throat. She sucked in a breath that tasted of manly musk and undead ash — Antony, so very Antony — and arched her back until she went rigid, caught in the grip of a hundred sensations at once. His saliva soothed her, turned her pain to passion; his pheromones washed over her, seeping into her as she let down a guard she hadn't even realized she'd put up; his rich scent swimming in the air around her; his skin impossibly smooth against hers.
She shivered as he ran a pair of fingers along her clit, his touch teasingly light. When they dived into her, she drew in another harsh breath, arching again in pleasure and gripping his shoulders to ground herself. He settled into a rough rhythm as he drew his fangs from her flesh, slowly enough to cause goosebumps to rise along her skin. The gentleness of his tongue lapping at her bloodied throat stood out in stark contrast against the roughness with which he thrust his fingers into her, and her fingernails dug into his skin as she tightened her hold on his shoulders and bit her lip, attempting to keep herself quiet even as a sense of coming ecstasy built up within her.
Gently, he began to kiss his way down her neck, over her breasts, down her stomach, and every time his lips brushed against her skin, she shuddered violently, her senses heightened by the haze of pheromones that clung to her. Everything else was dulled, lost. She couldn't remember where they were. She couldn't remember what the sheet beneath her back felt like. She wasn't even sure if it was there anymore. But his every touch, no matter how small, struck her hard. So when his tongue trailed slowly over her clit, she cried out, digging her nails even deeper into his skin as she let her fingers fall along his upper arms.
He slipped his fingers out of her for the final time, and she could feel the slickness on them as he reached up to cup her breasts, giving her nipples a playful pinch that only made her cry out all the more loudly. She shivered when he slid his tongue into her, tangling her fingers in his hair to pull him in deeper, and as his chuckle rumbled into her right along with his wet tongue, she moaned. He pulled back to let his tongue lap against her again, then gloss over her clit once more, falling into a rhythm so fast with a touch so light that she could only writhe against him and whine and hope for more.
Softly, he caressed her, guiding his hands over her breasts and along her stomach, until he let his nails begin to rake along her, clawing her flesh so hard that angry red lines were left in their wake to stand out vibrantly against her pale skin. She groaned in delight, but when he nipped roughly at her clit and drove his nails in even deeper, she bucked against him and screamed. Gripping her hips, he held her steady, his nails ever-piercing her flesh, and as she ran her hands desperately over his skin and through his hair, crying out and pleading for more, he only chuckled against her in that same low, thunderous way.
Taking hold of his hair again, she pulled his face against her, and he slipped his tongue obligingly in. She could smell her own blood on the air, her own sweat, her own wetness, the scent of him all over every inch of her; she could feel his tongue delving in deep and his teeth purposely catching her flesh with every lick and plunge. She began to squirm against him once more, but he clamped down on her hips hard enough to prevent any movement, and she could only let out a cry of mixed pleasure and frustration.
More. She needed more!
-?-
Skylar stared down at his trembling hands upon the wheel as he eased his car to a stop along the curb. It towered over him, that house, that bloody home filled with bloody memories and the bloody man who let him relive the ones with that cotton-candy scent. Light spilled from every window tonight, and it stretched across the grass toward the car like talon-tipped fingers desperate to grab him, to drag him in, to bring about the end of his pain — or maybe inflict even more.
He wasn't stupid. After what had happened the other night, after burning the Lord to a gooey crisp, he knew that he may find inside the exact opposite of the relief he sought. But really, why would the vampire turn down the business of someone who could help him get to Torryn? Skylar had no desire to offer the man any more information that could bring harm to Torryn, but he was almost positive that he had nothing left to give. Her weakness was Antony. That was it. That was all. What more could the Lord find in Skylar's mind? He knew nothing else.
And even if the Lord did deem him worthless and end his life this very night, what did it matter? He'd left her alone with him, that arrogant, selfish, blood-sucking scumbag that she couldn't seem to get enough of. He knew what was happening in her bedroom right now. He could probably guess everything that sick blood-sucking fuck had said to get her there, too.
Antony was stealing her right out from under him, right now, right where Skylar had just won her back. What did it matter if he died here tonight?
He was already dead.
He laughed bitterly to himself as he slipped from the car, barely noticing the chilly wind that whipped at his loose shirt. "You're pathetic," he muttered, shutting the door and starting around the car, old leaves crumbling into oblivion with dry crunches beneath his feet. "Skipping right into Death's arms because you're too pitiful to move on and too pitiful to fight."
Some faded part of him hoped that the frigid claws of the wind would batter some sense into him, but when he reached the door, he entered without a thought or feeling to the contrary — and the vampires who lazed about as they always did, the men and the women and the children, stared at him as he passed but didn't say a word.
He knocked at the usual door on the second floor, entered when that familiar voice called him in, and the Lord greeted him with the same welcoming smile upon the same pale face, not a single imperfection in sight. "Ah, Skylar! So good to see you. Please, have a seat."
'So good to see you'? You mean after I pretty much burned your eyes out of your skull?
Cautiously, Skylar crossed the room to perch himself on the very edge of his usual armchair, eyeing the vampire warily. "I wanted to apologize for what happened the other day. I didn't —"
"Water under the bridge," the vampire said with a smile and a dismissive wave of his hand. "I'm sure you're really here for something much more interesting than an apology." He eased his smile into a lascivious smirk and asked, "What is it this time? Something new, I hope?"
"Yeah," Skylar answered hesitantly. "Last night, actually." No sooner had he spoken the words than he felt the heat of shower water beating rhythmically over his back, the slickness of her skin beneath his lips, heard the sound of her giggling, smelled the apple scent of her shampoo as she tried to pretend his hand wasn't sliding slowly lower. He capsized in the sensations, a boat lovingly lost upon the sea, but just as he relinquished the last of his tenuous grip on the world around him, just as he begin to sink back into his chair, pain exploded in his jaw.
He was ripped from the comfort of Torryn and flung into the hardwood floor, and right as his vision returned, a powerful kick to the ribs stole it from him again. Blinking rapidly, he tried harder to regain it, wracking his mind in a panic for explanations of what was happening to him. But did he really need to think? It was obvious, so obvious.
The Lord had never really forgiven him. He was a fool for ever believing otherwise. He was a fool for being here at all, he realized as another kick broke his arm and he cried out in agony.
Kick after kick rained down upon him, and the Lord never said a word, never made a sound. Kick after kick after kick, and Skylar recognized the sticky warmth of blood coating his face, the lukewarm copper of it flooding his mouth to leave him coughing around his continued cries. Kick after kick after kick after kick, and he wasn't sure if any of his parts were still intact.
Barely conscious, he blindly threw out a hand, and with it came a surge of power he hadn't intended. He heard the Lord hit the floor, and even as his vision returned to him bit by bit, he tore his phone from his pocket and began to smear blood across the screen as he dialed Torryn's number.
It rang.
A hand gripped his ankle and began to pull.
It rang.
"Yes, Skylar," the Lord taunted darkly, nastily, tightening his hold on Skylar's ankle until the loud pop of breaking bone sounded, soon lost beneath the boy's cry. "Bring her to me, Skylar. Guide your little girlfriend right back onto my lap."
Voicemail picked up. The beep.
"Torryn, help! The Lord —" But the phone slipped from his hand as he was jerked to his feet by a cool hand on his wrist, and he watched in horror as the screen faded to black, momentarily numb to the fresh pain that shot through his ankle.
Torryn, where are you? Torryn, please!
Pain enveloped him, the unfamiliar pang of fangs being thrust into the side of his bare throat at the forefront.
He should've never come here.
Torryn…
-?-
Antony heard the rattling noise of Torryn's cell phone vibrating in the pocket of her jeans, but when she sat up, fully prepared to retrieve it, he placed a hand on her stomach and shoved her right back down. She squeaked in surprise, but when he slipped the index and middle fingers of his free hand back into her, she gasped and gave in to him with a moan.
He let out a soft grunt of content, not much more than a pleased sigh, and let his eyes drift shut as he savored her — the feel of her stomach beneath his hand, her slickness along his tongue; the scent of her, wet and ready for him; the sounds of her groans and her pleas for more…and the sensation of her heart hammering in her chest, echoing through him almost as if it were his own, the most basic influence of his pheromones thrumming through her body.
She began to tremble, to near the edge, but just as she cried out his name, he left her completely. Wide-eyed, wild, she looked up at him as he stood over her. "Don't stop," she begged, panting.
He chuckled lowly as he leaned over her, trailing his fingertips lightly over her stomach to make her shiver and shake beneath him. "You're not allowed to cum yet," he whispered, his breath washing over her ear to make her quiver and bite her lip, and he bent down to meet her lips roughly once more.
He groaned at the feeling of her nails clawing their way down his stomach, his back, ever bit of his skin that she could reach, and it only fueled him to unzip his pants and kick them off faster, right alongside his shoes and boxers. Her breath caught as he rubbed himself against her, so close to slipping inside but not quite there, and he bent over her to smirk, looking into her wild eyes.
"I'll gladly share you with him if I get to do this every night," he purred, and she nodded violently, desperation shining in her gray eyes to pull another low chuckle from him. He slid himself against her again, savoring one last full-body shudder before he thrust himself roughly into her wet welcoming depths.
He sank his fangs into the untouched side of her throat as he rammed himself into her, over and over again, hard and fast, and he pulled from her vein just as violently, groaning uncontrollably at the sweet taste of her on his tongue, moaning at the sting of her nails along his spine and the ever-present warmth of her skin, at the never-ending pleasure of her presence all around him. Moaning, she wrapped her legs around him, her warmth seeping into every inch of his flesh, and he lost himself as he pulled harder from her vein and drove himself deeper into her.
She cried out suddenly, and he felt her throbbing against him as she climaxed, and he followed her over the edge a moment later with a groan of his own against her neck. He savored it all for a moment longer — the sound and the scent and the sensation of her pants against his shoulder, of her warm, trembling fingers still pressing into the small of his back, of her blood rolling in small crimson droplets from the holes he'd left in her neck — and he leaned down to give her one last gentle kiss, then pushed himself off of her to sprawl on the bed beside her.
Though he longed to bask in the feeling of her rapid heartbeat in his own breast, he let his pheromones dissipate upon the air, effectively ending his intimate connection to her. He looked over at her, spread eagle on the wrinkled covers beside him, and let his eyes sweep over her form. He gazed at the droplets of sweat gathering in the hollow of her throat, leaving streaks along her skin. He watched her chest as it rose and fell with her gradually slowing gasps for air. He studied her face, studied the faint glow of pleasure that lit her every feature. But then, he found each and every cut, every single bruise, every small scrape, and he furrowed his brow in worry as his good mood slipped so easily away.
She laughed suddenly and looked over at him, smiling, the picture of beauty, everything he loved, and he felt his happiness seeping back into him as he smiled right back at her. "We can do this every night…if you promise to use a condom…to avoid…grossness," she panted, and he chuckled.
"Always the realist, aren't you?" he said, running his fingers along the length of her arm just to remind himself that she was really there. "I'll consider it."
"Much appreciated," she said, laughter trailing through her every panted syllable. "Would you get my phone for me, please? Since you're immune to all the bad parts of sex and all." Chuckling, he rose, though he lingered there with his fingertips just barely resting against the faded bite marks on her wrist for as long as he could excuse it. "Can you maybe get me some toilet paper or something, too? I feel gross," she added, watching him with a smile.
"I'm too lazy to make it that far, but here," he said, grabbing his ruined shirt from the floor and tossing it her way. She laughed and began to dab at the blood along her neck, and he knelt, digging around in the mess of clothing on the floor. He returned to her once he'd found her phone, dropping it onto her outstretched palm.
"Do you need any help with that?" he asked, arching an eyebrow suggestively as she began to dab at her sweaty body with the ragged cloth. She grinned and handed him the rag, and even as she went through the process of checking her voicemail, she watched him intently as he dabbed at the lingering wetness between her thighs. The scent of her was almost overpowering, almost enough to drive him into another frenzy, and he leaned in to begin licking at the blood that still dripped down her throat. She laughed lightly, and he smiled, but she went rigid suddenly — and he could hear why.
"Torryn, help. The Lord…"