His tongue circled the sweet spot until I almost reached that place. My body grew taut, the heat rose, my muscles tightened. He moved off and buried his cock deep inside me. I erupted with a cry. He emptied his seed as my muscles clenched around him.
We lay naked on the rug for some time afterwards, our hands tucked behind our heads, embraced by a serene satisfaction, both of us staring at the blue curtain above.
A soft breeze crept over my skin, sending my body into tiny shudders.
“Put your clothes on,” Karson ordered, reaching across handing them to me.
I got up. I could feel his hot gaze on my back. I whipped my t-shirt on, found my underwear, which was damp and not entirely comfortable. He snickered as I hopped sideways and almost fell trying to reef my jean leg over my foot.
“Aren't you getting dressed?” I asked, swinging back to him.
“I will in a minute, I'm just taking in the view.” His lips twitched. I picked up his t-shirt and threw it, it landed on his head. He laughed, glided up to his feet. I soaked in his beauty. His strong, broad chest glistened in the sun, his stomach muscles peaked like hard, frozen waves, his manhood, even when soft, was delightfully impressive. He was magnificent. I almost wished he wouldn’t get dressed, but he did.
We sat, glasses in hand, sipping at the champagne. A wash of pleasant light-headedness swooped over me, the muscles in my shoulders relaxed. I took a bite of strawberry, the sweet juice rolled down over my lips, and I wiped it away with the back of my hand. I watched, mesmerized, as the butterflies glided silently from flower to flower. One dropped by the blanket. I held out my hand. “It would be nice to be a butterfly,” I said as it crawled over my hand, its feet tickling my skin. I studied the intricate detail in its wings.
Karson pulled a face. “Butterflies spend most of their lives as a caterpillar, hardly going anywhere. Then, if they’re lucky, and they don’t become a bird’s dinner, they get stuck in a tomb of their own making, where they then struggle to fight their way out; and after all that, if they make it out, they only live for three days.”
“Maybe a bird then,” I conceded, “flying without a care in the world from one beautiful place to the next, some of us live a lifetime without such freedom,” I said, as the butterfly flapped its wings and glided away.
He looked at me thoughtfully. “But if you were a bird, you would be the most beautiful bird.” He trailed his finger along my jaw line. “And a human would catch you and lock you in a cage, and you’d spend your whole life in a prison staring at the same spot until you died of boredom.”
I frowned, because he was right, we seemed at large incapable of empathy for creatures we considered beneath us. A bird was given the gift of flight, a right to freedom, and yet we would confine it to a world so small it was denied the most basic of instinctual functions, and thus we condemned them to a life of misery. And we would do this to them simply to fill a need as meagre as a visual pleasure enabled at our discretion. I sighed loudly.
“Does that upset you?” He looked bemused.
“A little.”
“You’re an interesting human, Amelia,” he said softly.
“Not really.” I sat up, reached across to take another strawberry and bit into it. He poured me another drink, the last one had ended up watering the grass. He laid on his side, perched on one elbow.
I took a sip, sat the glass down and tucked my knees to my chest. “Why don’t you drink animal blood instead of human?”
He pulled a face. “Why don’t you drink vinegar instead of water?”
“Does it taste that bad?”
He took a sip of champagne. “I have not tried.”
“Do any others choose not to drink human blood?”
He lowered himself to his back. “None that I know of,” he spoke to the sky.
“Why not?”
“It’s about as an appealing concept as asking you to eat a human.”
“There are a few humans I don’t really like, so I guess if I was starving, I might.”
“If the choice was to eat a human or die, you would starve to death.”
I lowered myself onto my side, propped on an elbow and stared at him, watching his face.
“Are you thirsty now?”
“I’m always thirsty, I crave blood like you would crave water if you were stuck in a desert with nothing to drink.”
“Why won’t you drink from me?”
