Page 17 of Her Vampire, His Ruin

“I thought you might be more comfortable if I took my shirt off first. I can’t expect you to do something I’m not willing to do myself,” he replies.

Well, this is new. Robert was never as considerate.

I watch him in silence, unable to tear my gaze away from his thick, inked fingers as he slowly undoes his shirt. He’s being provocative, and a rather large part of me likes it and wants to see where this is going. The no-nonsense, common-sense part of me screams to end this madness right now. But when his fingers finally drift from the bottom button to tug his shirt from his trousers and I am gifted with the wide expanse of his chest, I ignore it.

Jesus Christ, he’s stunning.

His pecs are firm and perfectly moulded, grazed with a light dusting of black hair, and both of his nipples are pierced with a silver ring, a thin chain joining them together. My mouth falls open as I lean closer to the screen.

“Is that a chain?”

“Why? Do you want to tug on it?” he asks, sliding his tattooed hand up and over the dips and mounds of his ridiculously firm six pack before his fingers curl around the chain and gently pull. I gasp, glad that he can’t see me rubbing my thighs together beneath the table to relieve my throbbing clit.

“Are you some kind of masochist?” I ask, forcing myself to swallow the whimper threatening to escape.

“This doesn’t hurt. It’s pleasurable,” he replies, tugging on the chain again, a low moan slipping from his lips as he stares at me. “But I’m not averse to pain, in fact that too can be pleasurable coming from the right person so long as there is trust and mutual respect.”

“I’m not pierced,” I blurt out, forcing my hands to remain on the table on either side of the laptop and not letting one of them slip between my thighs.

In truth, it’s been a long time since I’ve felt this turned on. My marriage might have been ruined by Robert’s repeated infidelity, but the last few years were made infinitely worse by these god-awful changes in me, changes I felt helpless against. Perimenopause fucks with you, and not in a good way.

He smiles. “Not a deal breaker.”

“I’m not tattooed either,” I continue, licking my lips as he completely removes his shirt and reveals more of the same vine tattoos curling around and around his chest before joining the one on his neck. “Though I was tempted to get one in my youth. Seems a bit ridiculous now.”

“There’s still time,” he replies, pushing his chair back and widening his legs.

I let out a shocked gasp. There’s no mistaking his erection beneath his trousers, and the sight of it startles me more than the realisation I’ve already leant back in my chair, my fingers gathering the hem of my t-shirt. I freeze, the urge to bare myself to him suspended beneath my desire to protect my feelings. If he doesn’t like what he sees, I’m not sure my self-esteem could take another knock.

“Like I said before, my tits aren’t big. They’re barely a handful.”

“Take your t-shirt off, Edie.” His voice is laced with lust, but I’m not sure I trust it.

I chew on my lip, my old insecurities rising to the surface. I was never very fond of getting naked in front of Robert, not because I didn’t want to have sex with him. On the contrary, I did very much so, at least in the early days before he started having affairs, but he always seemed to be disappointed when he looked at me naked. On the occasions we had sex, his enthusiasm was half-hearted at best, and his cock couldn’t even get fully erect. He never once told me he liked my figure, and that kind of thing can get into your head a bit.

A lot, actually.

“Where have you gone, Edie?” Dorian asks, his fingers gently tugging on the chain as his free hand slides over his abdomen and towards his crotch. He grips himself over his trousers, his eyes focussed on me.

“The other night, I may have given the impression I’m a confident woman. The truth is, that was fuelled mainly by anger at my ex, fabulous body-controlling underwear, a really well-cut suit, Loubotins, and expensive champagne.”

“And why aren’t you feeling confident now?”

“Because you’re young and beautiful, and I’m wearing a stained t-shirt with tits that hang a lot lower than the women your age you should be pursuing.”

“Beauty can be a curse,” he replies.

“Hardly,” I mutter, dropping my gaze from the screen and whispering, “My husband adored beautiful things… Beautiful women, mainly. He wasn’t turned on by me.”

I hear the sound of a belt unbuckling, and then a zipper slowly lowering, and I daren’t look up. I can’t. What on earth am I doing right now? I’m so out of my comfort zone, I may as well be on Mars.

“Edie, look at me,” Dorian commands, and this time I obey, not because he’s told me to, but because curiosity has got the better of me.

“Oh,” I mutter, my gaze honing in on his cock. His beautiful, bejeweled, erect cock fisted in his hand. My clit spasms, and I almost cry out.

“This is what you do to me, sitting there in your kitchen, your hair in a messy bun, your beautiful breasts hidden beneath a dirty t-shirt, your cheeks flush and your eyes wide with lust. You’re beautiful to me. You turn me on,” he says, his voice rumbling through the speaker like a firm caress I’ve not felt in years. “My cock is aching for you. I’m so hard, Edie. I want to see your breasts. Show them to me.”

Right now, I could do one of two things. End this video call, or do as Dorian asks. The sensible side of me is insisting I end this ridiculous conversation, but the other side of me, she’s screaming at me to throw caution to the wind, to act. I’ve never done anything like this, and honestly, I don’t want to get to the end of my life with any regrets. So…