His blood isn’t smooth and quiet. It screams, it howls, it carries ghosts in the torrent of its power. It roars in my head, pounds in both my hearts—the human one I was born with and the secondary one that developed when I became a vampire. I have a second stomach, too, where the blood is rerouted when I’m feeding from someone. My smaller heart’s job is to pump liquid from the blood stomach into the regular cardiovascular system. It’s hard at work now, going wild at the influx of this new blood, thundering and swelling until I think it might explode.
With me clinging to him like a parasite, the man backs up, staggering against the wall of the alley. I’m dizzily aware of the movement, but I can’t make my jaws unlatch from his throat. As terrifying as the rush of his blood is, my entire being is ravenous for more. I need every last drop. And he attacked me, so I have every right to drain him.
I bite deeper, moaning with frenzied pleasure. He tenses, and then gradually the rigidity eases from his muscles. His arms close around me, holding me in place.
Faintly, from the far end of the alley, I hear Raoul’s voice. “Christine?”
The man I’m drinking from slides down the wall until he’s sitting on the ground, so the two of us are concealed behind a garbage bin. Raoul calls again, more uncertainly this time. He doesn’t come down the alley.
I should be able to smell the garbage and the other distasteful odors of the alley, but the only scent filling my nostrils is the fragrance of my attacker. It’s stronger than when he first grabbed me, or maybe I’m just more attuned to it. He smells like a lush forest, like tiny flowers in the deep shade, like rain refilling a woodland stream. Like darkness and silence.
I remain latched to my attacker’s throat, sitting astride him, drinking my fill while he yields to me. Groggily, I realize that he should be fighting back. It’s odd that he isn’t.
I shift my weight against him, and he hisses sharply, a distinct hardness rubbing against my center, between my legs. The heated haze in my brain intensifies, and I slide my fangs out of his flesh. After a second’s hesitation, I trace the wounds with my tongue. My saliva will heal him within the hour. I owe this stranger that much, because he saved me from wrecking my career, ruining my cover, and losing the one man I could possibly see myself dating for real.
He’s still cupping my body with his hands, holding me against him. His masked head lolls aside, his ravaged throat exposed. My night vision is better than the average human’s, and I can see everything I did, the messiness of it. I tore him open, and I fear that he will bleed out before the healing is complete.
Leaning forward, I lick him again and again…and again, becausefuck, his blood is so damn good. I’ve never tasted anything like it. I’ve fed from guys who had narcotics or coke in their system, but this guy must be on some kind of designer drug. I can’t get enough. Dazzling heat rolls through my body in endless waves, and a quivering warmth intensifies between my legs. Without thinking, I let my hips roll, rubbing myself against the stranger’s bulge.
He lets out a ragged groan, and I shiver with delight at the sound.
My mind isn’t my own. That’s the only possible reason for what I do next.
I reach down between us, where the heat is most urgent, and I tug his zipper down, just an inch, in invitation. Then I rock back, waiting for him to make the next move.
With one gloved hand, he unzips his pants and pulls himself out. He’s thick, uncut, smooth. I curl my fingers around the shaft, relishing the heat of him.
My claws are still out, and he hisses through his teeth behind the mask. He has every reason to be afraid, but that doesn’t seem to be stopping him: He wants this, too.
I stroke him once, eliciting a low, tormented rasp from his throat. Then I reach under my skirt, pull aside my underwear, and settle myself back into place astride his hips. I guide him inside me, nudging his cock head between the wet lips of my pussy, sinking slowly onto him.
I’ve never done anything like this. I’ve always insisted that my victims take me to a cheap motel at the very least, and I don’t fuck them. But this one is different. Mesmerizing. Delicious. My eyes drift blissfully shut as I sink down all the way, wholly full of him—his blood, his cock. I need his cum, and then I think I’ll be sated.
My lips find his throat again. I prod the wounds with my fangs, teasing out a little more of that addictive blood. I’m drunk, I’m high,I’m out of my mind, and I tell myself that’s why I cling to his shoulders, my mouth sealed to his neck, while I lift my hips and fuck myself on him.
His gloved hands grope beneath my skirt, finding my ass, grasping both cheeks. I let him take over, lifting and lowering me in a swift rhythm, using me like a toy to get himself off. It’s so fucking hot, I can hardly breathe. I tuck my nose beneath the corner of his jaw, reveling in his scent. The edge of his mask grazes my cheek as he works me up and down.
I sheathe the claws of my left hand and tuck it between my legs, rubbing my clit while he fucks me. I’m whimpering through my fangs, through blood-wet lips, drenching his cock in my helpless arousal. It’s the messiest I’ve ever been, and it’s everything I need.
When I come, it’s like a firework in my brain—the kind where each separate streak of glittering gold bursts into its own shining explosion. I scream faintly, and I bite him again, tearing his flesh cruelly. He comes inside me with a convulsive jerk of his body and a hoarse cry of pain and pleasure mingled.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, bathing the jagged wound with my tongue, selfishly savoring the fresh rivulets of blood that stream down his throat, soaking the collar of his coat. “For what it’s worth, I hope you don’t die.”
He doesn’t speak, but his cock flexes inside me again. It feels good, and I squeeze around him in response. He gasps, then releases a long, slow sigh of relief.
I cling to him a moment longer, letting myself enjoy the fullness of cock in my pussy and the richness of blood in my belly. My second heart is hard at work, pumping the fresh supply through my veins. His blood sparkles through my limbs and glistens in my brain. It’s absolute bliss.
But I can’t stay here. My predator self is receding, and my rational self emerges with concerns about where I am and what I’ve done. Reluctantly, I lift myself up, letting his length slide out of me. I stand up, swaying for a moment on trembling legs. Cum is dripping down my inner thigh, so I scoop it up and smear it across the front of his coat. Then I reach into the little purse at my hip, take out a wet wipe, and clean the blood from my mouth and chin. My fingers are shaking.
I ball up the wipe and tuck it into a tiny side pocket of my bag. After a quick fix of my underwear, I look down at the masked man. He’s still breathing. Panting, really.
I’m starting to unravel, to panic, but I can’t let him know that. I keep my voice as steady and casual as I can. “Well, this was a pleasure. Do I need to kill you, or can you keep this quiet?”
He lifts one gloved finger to his lips, a silent promise that he won’t tell. Since I don’t want to kill him, I’ll have to believe him.
“Good boy.” Swaying a little in my boots, I manage to walk out of the alley and down the street. I’m still buzzed on the blood I drank from his veins. My panties are damp, and I can still feel the phantom shape of his thick, warm cock inside me.
What did I just do? That wasn’t me. I don’t have sex with strangers in alleys. It’s not that I’m worried about STDs. Vampires don’t get them, or if we do, our bodies eradicate them almost instantly—a perk of having special regenerative cells. And I’m not worried about pregnancy either. A vampire’s fertility window happens way less frequently than a human’s, so I should be fine in that regard.
