Night.
I hear footsteps in the corridor. Slow and measured. My entire body tenses.
The lock clicks.
The door opens.
And there she is.
Primsyn
He's standingby the window when I enter. The sight of him doesn’t fail to steal my breath.
Oliver has his shoulders squared, chin up, ready for battle. But I can see the tension in every line of his body. The rapid rise and fall of his chest.
He's afraid. And aroused. I can smell it on him—that intoxicating mix of fear and desire.
I've spent the entire day preparing for this moment. Bathing. Dressing. Trying to calm the nervous energy thrumming through my veins. I've fed from humans before, but never like this. Never directly from the source. Never with someone who makes me feel so much.
My other livestock are handled by servants. Clean. Impersonal. Safe.
This won't be any of those things.
"Mistress," he greets, the word stiff and formal. At least he's learning.
"Oliver." I close the door behind me, hearing the lock engage. We're alone now. Completely alone.
I've changed since this morning. Instead of my formal attire, I wear a simple robe of deep charcoal silk. Bare feet on cool stone. Hair loose around my shoulders. I feel exposed in a way that has nothing to do with clothing.
"Are you going to make this difficult?" I ask, my voice steadier than I feel.
"Would it matter if I did?"
"No. But it would be easier for both of us if you cooperated."
"Easier for you, you mean."
I move closer slowly, watching his body coil tighter with each step I take. "I haven't fed in two days, Oliver. I need this."
Something flickers across his face. Concern? No, that can't be right. He hates me. I stop a few feet from him, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body.
His jaw works. "And that makes this acceptable?"
"No. It makes it necessary." I hold his gaze. "I'm not asking you to understand. I'm not asking for forgiveness. I'm simply telling you the reality."
"This is fucked up," he mutters.
"Yes. It is. Now, do I need to have you tied down?"
He takes a shaky breath, his eyes dropping to my robe, then quickly away. "Are you just going to take what you want?"
"Like I said. I'd prefer your cooperation." I take the final step that brings us so close I can see the pulse hammering in his throat. "But yes, ultimately, I'll take what I need."
Oliver's hands unclench, then clench again. Fighting with himself. "And you're going to... what? Touch me? Use your hands?"
"Yes." My voice has gone lower, huskier. I can't help it. "I'm going to touch you, stroke you until you're hard and aching. Then I'm going to milk you until you come. I'm going to put my mouth on you and feed till you are dry."
His breath hitches. His pupils dilate. And his cock, gods, his cock is straining against those trousers, thick and heavy.
