A collar around my neck, a white dress, a pet, the touch of a starved man already bunching my skirt up and unzipping his fly. Right there in the elevator. He’d already had me before the soiree, he’d had me dozens of times the evening prior. Insatiable. A word I’d never have considered applying to Malcom. But one second I was breathing out a response, the next he was inside me.
Full.
I don’t know why out of all the cocks I’d ever choked with my cunt, his felt so very different. Breath stolen, jerking from the frantic way he worked to bury himself deeper, and clung. It was either that or fall spiraling backward into the abyss.
“Tell me!” He panted at my ear.
He hit a spot inside me that was tender yet eager to know friction. When I squealed and hiked my leg higher, Malcom was not appeased. Not when he wanted words.
“Tell me, or I’ll take it, and I won’t even give you the ghost of a choice.” Why was he doing this to me, here, where I could not control the pitch of my moans and was ashamed? This wasn’t like fucking Ethan in all the dirty ways and silly places. Here, I wasn’t in ultimate control.
In fact, I had none.
At all.
Not over my own body’s reactions to a throbbing, glorious shaft. Not to my mental state, which grew more precarious by the minute. Not over my future.
This man had taken it regardless of what I might be underneath my father’s influence. He’d called me wife, borne my teasing because it was nothing to him. Because there was no undoing it no matter if I agreed, disagreed, desired another, or wanted none at all.
And I was coming, and rabid, head thrown back to cry out like a beast.
“It’s the end of me.” I’d said, breath lost in the waves of saturating, perfect pleasure that was so far beyond sex I didn’t understand up from down.
Filled, fluttering and clenching with every bit of unnatural strength my pussy possessed, I milked his cum, sucked it from him. Felt each burst run from the grinding base of his cock to the uncut head.
My body seemed hungry for him, for a chance to be what it was without holding back for fear of breaking a fragile human. And I’d never climaxed with a vampire before Malcom—unless I’d been in the feed and too consumed to consider something as inconsequential as sperm.
It was over almost as quickly as it had begun, but no less earth-shattering.
With so many mirrors, it was impossible to miss that I looked truly fucked… and not just physically.
After smoothing down my skirt, pocketing panties I didn’t even know he’d torn, Malcom took my chin and made a clear, concise demand. “Lick me clean.”
This was no test.
Mascara having run down my cheeks, hair mussed, dress half here and half there, I looked every bit the prostitute I’d played for years. But I knelt, holding his eyes, lost utterly, and took him in my mouth as a wife.
***
The elevator moved, the door opened, and I strolled into the lobby on the arm of a well-satisfied male. With the flavor of his cum on my tongue, I followed along, a bit dazed, my thoughts stuck on the fact he tasted different than a human.
Less bleachy. Salty, but also almost radiant like blood. Which had drawn down my fangs once he’d popped from my mouth, because I’d wanted more. Tempted to reach under my skirt and gather what ran down my thighs, but somewhat humiliated over the thought.
Because it wasn’t a sex game where I’d lick my fingers to entice him, it was hunger. Groaning I’d forced my eyes from his swollen member, already having sucked the entire thing down my throat, to ‘lick clean’ until it was only my spit that shined the fat head peeking from his foreskin. I’d wanted to nibble there, to play and rub at him. To see what made his knees weak and what made him hiss frustration.
Cocks could be such fun things.
I also wanted to sink my teeth into that perfect vein running down his turgid length and drain him until he’d be too weak to fight me. At that thought, I’d known Malcom would have allowed it, because we both knew he’d overpower me no matter how I might gorge.
And I found the idea somewhat exciting, my cheeks going pink. Still on my knees before him, but looking to the floor.
No mirrors, no male. Only his leg and a polished shoe that I could ignore. Until he’d put his hand to my hair, told me he loved me, and that I’d earned a great reward. That he was proud of me. That he’d never witnessed in all his years of endless life such a survivor. That I would give him fine sons and deadly daughters.