Erotic fiction by Michele London
“I’m not afraid of you,” she said, holding the blankets to her chest. Her short black hair was tousled around her face in a way that most men found charming, her lips plump and pink from having been so recently roughened, though blood loss had given the rest of her features a pallid hue.
“No? You probably should be,” he replied.
He was fastening the buttons of his shirt, crisp and white. Looking at her, the hint of a smile playing on his mouth, as if surveying the results of a job well done. He cocked his head, peering at a spot that seemed to displease him, and grabbed a hand towel off the small countertop that passed for a bathroom in her apartment. He went back to the bed and sat beside her, and pressed the towel against her neck.
“You’re still bleeding,” he murmured.
“So then tell me. How is it that I’ve failed to inspire the necessary fear in you? My elders will be so disappointed.”
He was smiling, and for a moment, Ellie did feel a bit afraid after all. But then he lifted the towel to peek at the wound again, dabbed at it, and she relaxed.
“Because you’re not like other vampires. You’d have killed me by now if you meant to.”
“You think so. Don’t you think it’s possible I’m keeping you alive long enough to have my way with you first?”
“You’ve already done that.”
“Once. Your sheet is slipping.”
She looked down. It wasn’t, not until his finger trailed along the hem, and dipped below the fabric to slink down between her breasts and brush against a nipple. Ellie winced, still tender, and exhaled slowly.
“Isn’t is possible,” he continued, working the sheet out from her grasp to let it fall silently into her lap, “that I mean to bed you until sunrise, until you’re so exhausted, that you beg me to kill you, just so that you can rest?”
His mouth had moved downwards as he spoke, each phrase punctuated with kisses pressed onto her skin, until he reached the swell of her breast and the taut nipple, and covered it with his mouth.
Ellie let out a whimper at the warmth of his tongue where he had once been so cold, the softness where he had been so rough. He turned his attention to the other as well, flicking his tongue over her nipple and sucking it into his mouth until he had turned her whimper into a moan.
“Don’t mistake lust for mercy,” he said in her ear, the baritone vibrations sending a shiver down her spine.
“No,” she whispered.
He tugged at her lower lip with his thumb, and returned to his grooming, straightening the cuffs of his shirt, fastening gold cuff links into place.
“What kind of monster gets his shirts at Knightsbridge?” she asked.
“The kind with impeccable taste.”
He swept his soft leather wallet and heavy watch off the counter.
“You’re not, going, are you?”
She hated the craven tone in her voice, hated that she had even asked the question, not the least because she knew how often he must hear it from so many other women, night after night, year after year.
He gave her the smile she expected him to give and sauntered over to her, fastening his watch. Ellie bit down on her cheek as he approached, doing her best to look lonely and vulnerable. He bent down and brushed back the dark locks of hair from her pale cheek.
“Do you miss me already, pet?”
She gave him a watery smile, and, as she’d hoped, he pulled her head in closer and kissed her. She parted her lips and let him take one between his own. In an instant his kiss had deepened and he was wrapping his other hand around her back and lifting a knee up onto her bed, bending her backwards as he did. He grunted against her mouth, his tongue snaking in to twine with hers and run against her cheek. He pulled away with a gasp, panting through a red smirk.
“Oh, clever girl,” he said, licking her blood off his teeth.
“I know what I want.”
She could see the lust starting to darken his eyes again. Soon, all his carefully crafted composure would be for naught and he would be tearing off her clothes for the second time. She decided to spare him the trouble. Rising up onto her knees, Ellie let the sheet slip all the way free, revealing the slim, naked body he had so recently enjoyed. Her breasts were small but firm, the nipples already taut from his earlier attentions. She walked on her knees toward the edge of the bed, feeling the wetness between her legs from the sex they’d had before and the new, growing heat that came from the look in his eyes, the lengthening of his fangs and the way he flexed his hands as she approached him.
“And what,” he said, swallowing, “exactly, is it that you want?”
It was Ellie’s turn to smirk. She undid the buttons on his shirt one at a time even as he took her breasts in his hands and ran his palms over her nipples.
“I want you to touch me,” she said. “I want you to take me again, all night, until the sun rises. I want you to leave your marks on me.”
He was battling with the instincts that he kept so much under control. His breaths were coming short and shallow, his eyes closed in concentration.
“You play a dangerous game, darling. The marks I leave can kill.”
“You won’t kill me,” she said, guiding one of his hands down her stomach and into the warmth between her thighs. “You enjoy this game too much.”
She tugged at the belt he wore, pulled it out one loop at a time, and let it drop to the floor. She undid the button at the top of his trousers and slipped her hand inside. His skin was warmer now than it had been before, the blood he’d taken from her keeping off the chill. Though he was too proud yet to allow himself a groan, Ellie heard the sharp exhalation when she wrapped her hand around his already hard cock and began moving it back and forth in long, slow strokes. Still he held himself back, rigid in his resolve, but Ellie’s smile only widened.
“Aren’t you so much stronger than me, Simon? Can’t you bend me to your will? Isn’t that what you said? Why not have your way with me then? Or is this too much like my way to satisfy your pride?”
“I don’t want to kill you,” he forced through gritted teeth.
Ellie pressed her bare chest against his and brought her lips up to his ear.
“But don’t you want to taste me?”
She let her own teeth scrape along the line of his neck, and the low rumble of a growl rose from his throat. He lifted her by her bum and pitched them both backwards onto the bed. She had no clothes left to tear off, but Simon’s hands roamed her body just the same, squeezing her soft curves and pinching her nipples. Ellie tore at the remaining buttons on his shirt, finally pushing the fine soft fabric off his shoulders and to the floor. She wanted to grab his arms and urge him closer, but when she tried, Simon took both her hands in one of his own and slammed them down on the mattress behind her head.
Holding them there, he moved his kisses from her lips to her throat, nipping at her earlobe and shoulder and jugular. Ellie tried to squirm away from his teeth but his grip was as solid as iron.
“Stay still,” he murmured.
He kissed down her chest, stopping to lavish attention on first one nipple and then the other. He wet them with his tongue before sucking each one into his mouth, biting at them hard enough to make Ellie tense up each time.
He nudged her legs apart with his knee and let a hand wander down to the wet heat already gathered there. He groaned at finding how damp she was even as Ellie moaned at the sudden pressure of his touch. He played his thumb over her clitoris, still swollen from their earlier play, stroking swift, tiny circles in her own moisture.
Ellie clutched at the sheets above her head, already certain that she was going to come again. But then Simon slipped two of his fingers inside her, and a third, and Ellie spread her legs even wider, embarrassed and emboldened by how wanton it made her feel.
“You naughty girl. Open wider for me, Ellie. That’s it.”
She gasped when he turned his palm upwards and beckoned her, increasing the pace of his thumb until it was moving faster than any human man she had ever known could do. Her breath came faster, her eyes closed, and Ellie arched her back upwards as the orgasm drew closer. Simon withdrew his fingers and slowed the motion of his thumb. Ellie opened her eyes and looked down at him, panting.
“Why are you…”
“Shh…” he replied as he lowered his head. “You were right. I do want to taste you.”
She had known Simon’s teeth on her neck, wrist, and thigh; she’d known his tongue in her mouth and on her breasts. But when he ran it over her clit and sucked that delicate skin into his mouth, Ellie nearly screamed.
He took his time with this new game, alternately lapping and flicking and circling her with his tongue, bringing her to the brink with each new technique before slowing, changing course, and letting her muscles relax before starting in again.
Ellie moaned, her hands still raised above her head where he had left them, begging him to let her finish, to make her come, or to fuck her. She could feel him smiling against her skin as he ignored her pleas. Smug bastard.
She reached down to run her hands through his hair, but he caught her hands and pinned them beside her hips, burying his face even deeper into her skin. When Ellie’s muscles tightened and her shoulders lifted up off the bed, Simon squeezed her hands and covered her clit with his tongue while the shudders made her writhe on the bedclothes.
Before she could catch her breath, before the last of the shakes had left her body, Simon climbed astride her hips, taking her legs under the knees and pulling her towards him. He took his cock in his hand and rubbed it against her soft skin, nudging the still throbbing mound just to watch her jump. When he slid the fullness of his erection into her, Ellie sighed and lifted her knees up to hug his torso.
He went slow at first, but his own pent up lust was too much to allow him to linger for very long. He pushed into her deeper, faster; doing his best to keep from hurting her with his extraordinary strength, yet reveling in her cries all the same.
Simon had always prided himself on his dignity, on the stern hold he kept on his emotions, both in his short years as a human and the long ones he’d spent as a vampire. Yet now, with the scent of her rapidly pulsing blood swirling beneath his nose, the heat off her skin nearly burning his own immortal flesh, Simon found his composure slipping away. He buried his face in Ellie’s neck, sank his teeth into her flesh, and let the spasms of his undead muscles take over his consciousness. Before the darkness consumed him, Simon noted the taste of her blood, the sweet, almost cloying flavor mingled with the usual copper and salt.
Dawn was approaching. Simon’s eyes blinked open, his skin tingling with the growing proximity of sunlight. His tongue felt heavy; when he tried to move it, a sharp prick greeted him, and he tasted his own blood. His fangs were still out.
The room was still dark, but his eyes would not focus. He blinked, but the cloud wouldn’t clear. He could smell Ellie somewhere nearby; she had showered, washed her hair, dressed in cotton. He made to rise, to rub a hand over his face and press some clarity into his senses. But he couldn’t. Something was holding him back, something at each wrist, something that, annoyingly, refused to break when he pulled against it.
“Ellie? Ellie!” he called, his voice quickly taking on the baritone vibrations that shook his chest when he was angry.
From the shadows in the hallway, Ellie sauntered into the bedroom, long legs bare beneath his white dress shirt. The unbuttoned sleeves hung long over her wrists, showing just her fingertips intertwined together as she stared at him, her head cocked, an odd smile on her face.
“Something wrong, Simon?” she purred.
“I…you’re wearing my shirt,” he replied, stupidly.
“Yes. I could take it off, if you like.”
He threw his head back in frustration. Light was beginning to peek in under the bedroom curtains, and the itch in his skin was turning into a sting.
“What is this, Ellie? What have you done?”
He tugged at the chains binding him once again, pulling until the metal cut into his skin and cold, slow-moving blood began to seep out around the links.
“Silver,” she said.
“Silver? Ellie, you’re a terrible liar. Silver is for chaining dogs, not vampires. What is this?”
“Those Elders you were so terrified of disappointing? I’ve met them as well, dear Simon. And you were right. They are, in fact, awfully disappointed with you. That’s a chain of their own making, one that they assured me would keep you from going anywhere without my leave.”
The rising sun made it difficult to think. The chains biting into his wrists – silver, apparently – were actually starting to hurt.
“Your, what? Your bloody leave, what the hell are you talking about?”
She moved to the window and pulled the curtains fully closed against the encroaching sun. Blissful darkness enveloped him.
“Get some rest, Simon,” she said. “I’m supposed to teach you a lesson tomorrow night. You’re going to need your strength.”
As the unconsciousness of daytime sleep stole over him, Simon heard the smile in her voice, the smirk she had learned from him, and wondered whether he ought to be afraid or intrigued by her dangerous little game. He decided, finally, on a healthy measure of both.
Michele London is an author, editor, and romance consultant with Scarlet Girl. She is a regular contributor to Scarlet’s Letter and the archive of articles at ScarletGirl.com. She writes dark fiction and erotic fantasy, and dips into real-life tales of sexy for the lovely ladies as a Scarlet Girl pleasure party consultant in the San Francisco Bay Area.
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