‘No, Sadie, you will not climax,’ Darius says throatily behind me.
‘But ... I must ... please.’ My thighs quiver in need. It’s been so long since someone’s concentrated on me and not thought about their own selfish pleasure.
‘No, Sadie, you will not,’ he repeats. ‘Or there will be a severe punishment.’
I blink. ‘Punishment?’
‘Yes, a severepainfulpunishment. You will not like it. Promise me that you won’t climax.’
I lick my lips. Thinking about this. How bad could this punishment be? Surely, it’s worth the risk, and Ireallywantthis orgasm. He’s got me so worked up that I know it’s going to be knee-bucklingly good. What’s it to him if I do anyway?
‘All right, I promise I won’t climax,’ I lie. ‘It will be difficult, mind you, because of your talented tongue. But I won’t.’
He huffs a laugh. ‘Good girl. If you can hold out for the next five minutes, until the clock chimes midnight, there will be an even greater pleasure for you than my tongue.’
I perk up at those words. Oooh, it’s a test. And no doubt ‘greater pleasure’ means his cock. And I want that now Darius has proven his sexual prowess. He’s going to be a great fuck.
But how the hell am I going to not come in the next five minutes? I’m right on the edge! It’s impossible. I’m going to need something painful to distract me. Something sharp or—
‘Ready?’ intones Darius, his voice laced with humour and challenge.
‘Yes,’ I say, determined to win his approval and get my reward. ‘I’m ready.’
His cold tongue plunges into my cunny. I clench my jaw, willing him to stay the hell away from my clit, and ...
He doesn’t. He laps and circles it, and I can’t help moaning at how good it feels. Heat pools in my lower belly, and tingles run up and down my spine. But I refuse to lethim beat me. I grit my teeth and will my hips not to buck against the aching intensity.
The clock’s hour hand inches forward. It’s almost at twelve. If I can just hold out ... a bit longer ... his cock will be mine. Cold lips have replaced his tongue, and he sucks gently on my clit while his tongue wriggles inside my cunny, lapping at a certain sensitive spot over and over. Ohhh. Noooo.Quickly, Sadie, think of shit, vomit, piss—of dirty feet, of the stink of Covent Garden’s streets on a hot summer’s day!
I’m managing to stay afloat with this imagery when Darius increases the tempo of his tongue and sucks hard on my clit. It’s too much. I can feel myself starting to fall apart.
‘Fuck. You,’ I pant, sweat pouring off my body from desire, the effort of trying not to come, and the heat radiating from the rising flames. Darius’s mocking laugh from the depths of my cunny snaps something primal in me. I will not let this man break me. And I won’t call out his name. Not now. Not ever. Steeling my nerves, I edge my hand towards the roaring fire.
Chapter 12
Sadie | Edinburgh, 1983
Pausing in front of Tim’s door, I gather my thoughts before knocking. He’s invited me upstairs this evening for some ‘quality time’, so I assume he wants a fuck. No, that’s unfair of me. Tim’s a nice guy. It’s not his fault that he’s involved with a vampire bitch with a hidden agenda, namely feeding on him when he’s asleep. But if it wasn’t him, it would be someone else. Hopefully, Elliott’s about to change all that for us. I’m finding it difficult not to sink my fangs into him for a quick fix—I just know he’s going to taste yummy. But I’m being a good little bloodsucker and letting him adjust to his new situation. It’s a ‘settle in first, bite later’ scenario.
This invite to Tim’s has come at an opportune time. Elliott needs new clothes, and Tim has a wardrobe full of stuff he doesn’t wear, and they’re about the same size. I’ve got my story down pat ...
‘I’ve been busy. My cousin is in town and staying with us,’ I say in reply to Tim’s query about what I’ve been up to. We’re in the kitchen, and I’m sitting at the table with my legs crossed, sipping delicately from a glass of white wine he’s poured for me. It tastes like battery acid, but I drink it anyway to keep up the pretence that I’m a normal human being.
Tim bustles around, tossing various pinches of herbs into a simmering pan and tasting from a wooden spoon.
He must’ve come straight from the office as he’s still in his business shirt with the sleeves rolled up and pinstripe trousers, an apron hastily tied over the top of the ensemble. Is he a stockbroker? An accountant? It’s something that requires a pinstripe suit anyway.
‘Ah, so that’s why you haven’t been replying to my calls,’ he replies, stirring vigorously and sounding miffed. Tim’s the only one who insists on ringing our flat. Occasionally, I’ll pick up if I’m walking past because I can sense it’s him. But most often, I don’t if I can’t tell who’s calling—just in case it’s the police, a blackmailer, or, worse, Alexander Dryden, Floss’s grudge-bearing sire. So far, we’ve managed to avoid a run-in withhim.But one of these days, we’re going to have to face off—I can feel it in my stone-cold bones.
I shrug. ‘Elliott hasn’t been to Edinburgh before, sowe’ve been doing quite a bit of sightseeing.’
Tim throws me an enquiring look. ‘Elliott. So it’s a guy cousin?’
I nod. ‘Yeah, and I know this is going to sound a bit odd. But do you have any spare clothes he can borrow? He kind of turned up unprepared for ... the weather. We could go shopping, but that’s going to interfere with our sightseeing, and he’s only here for two weeks.’
‘Sure, we can have a look in my room before dinner. The coq au vin needs to simmer.’ Tim turns down the heat on the stove.
I look at the pan on the stove, and my lips thin. Oh, so he’s cooking for two. I really hate it when he assumes I’m staying for dinner as then I have to eat human food. Some of it tastes OK, like red meat, but chicken is foul (no pun intended). I told him I’m on the monotrophic diet, which involves eating only one food item. But he doesn’t listen to me and says I need to eat properly, or I’ll get sick.
