Лорел Гамильтон - Danse Macabre

I screamed, screamed, and screamed, screamed my pleasure, but it was a sound that would have been pain for most people. It wasn't pain; it was release. I gave myself over to that moment, completely and utterly. Jean-Claude's hand inside me, Micah's body in my mouth, Nathaniel's flesh under my nails. I let go of the headboard, and had just enough of me left to mark higher up on Micah's back, while my other hand just kept digging at Nathaniel's hip and ass.

I heard voices, and knew vaguely that they weren't us. I heard Jean-Claude say, «Get out,» but I was too far gone to look, or care.

He shoved more of his hand inside me in one quick motion, and that brought me, too. He'd worked me until my body would give orgasms like a gift, so wet, so excited, so thick, so tight, swollen with pleasure.

Micah's body was beginning to lose its rhythm, he tasted close. The apex of his thrust climbed down my throat, and back out; my own saliva poured down my mouth, because there was no time to swallow.

Jean-Claude leaned over me, with his fingers still inside, but his mouth licked between my legs, while his fingers kept going in and out of me. He couldn't do the deep sucking that the others could — fangs got in the way — but I didn't need deep. He'd worked me to the point where quick flicks of his tongue, back and forth, back and forth, started to bring me. That warmth building up, up inside me, as if the center of my body were a cup, filling up drop by drop with pleasure, until with one last lick, the cup spilled, and I screamed around Micah's body. He thrust one last time, so deep that I choked, and I knew in that moment that he'd been careful, and now he wasn't, now he finally did make me take those last two inches. I finally touched his body for longer than a second. I started to pull away. His hand went to the back of my head, as if he'd hold me in place, but he moved, and let me draw back, and drew himself out.

I watched Micah fight for control. Jean-Claude moved inches to the side, so his mouth nestled in the very upper, very inside of my thigh. Jean-Claude's fangs plunged into me, and I was to that point where pain was pleasure, and the feel of him piercing my skin, his mouth sucking on me, brought me up off the bed, throwing my upper body upward, screaming. My body brushed against the front of Micah's body, and it was that little bit too much. My body came back to rest on the bed, and Micah spilled himself across my breasts, hot, so hot, the liquid thick and heavy, running between my breasts, down the side of my body, pooling trickling down my stomach. The sensation of it made me cry out.

Jean-Claude raised his mouth off me. His mouth was smeared with my blood, and his body was hard and ready, full of my blood, so he could pleasure my body, and his. He usually started out slow for intercourse, but tonight he, like Micah, had done his slow. He was suddenly above me, held up on his arms like a push-up, but his lower body didn't stay up. He thrust into me as hard and fast as I'd ever felt him, and I could watch every thrust as he moved in and out of me. Three strokes, five, and he brought me. I thrust my hips up to meet his, writhing under him. He brought me twice more, before I felt him begin to lose the rhythm of it, and with one last thrust he spilled himself inside me. He stayed above me, holding himself on shaking arms, while he gazed down at me, lips open, fighting for breath. He normally collapsed on top of me afterward, but my chest was covered in Micah's juice. It was already growing thinner, beginning to trickle down my sides like icing melting in the heat.

He stayed above me, panting, and smiling, his mouth still smeared with my blood. He bent down, carefully, keeping his upper body and hair out of everything, but he kissed me. Kissed me with my blood like sweet copper in his mouth.

He pulled out, and left me blinking, dazed with it all. He had barely moved out of the way, and Nathaniel was there, above me. I couldn't remember when he'd moved from the head of the bed. I'd lost track.

I stared down the line of his body, poised above me, and I thought, Didn't I promise to start using condoms ? But the worst had happened, I was already pregnant, it didn't matter anymore. Jean-Claude had caught me by surprise, but I let Nathaniel plunge himself inside me, naked, his flesh inside mine with nothing between us.

He found that rhythm that he did sometimes, like a shuddering wave down his body, like he was dancing inside me. And with each shuddering wave, he thrust into me, thrust into me, right over that spot. Jean-Claude had given himself over to the sex, but Nathaniel was doing his usual careful job of it, as if even after all the foreplay he was going to give me my money's worth. His emotions were raw, but his intercourse was controlled. He wouldn't come until I did, he just wouldn't. He'd made a game of making me come over and over, until I begged him to. It wasn't going to take long tonight.

It didn't. I felt that weight begin to build between my legs, slow and steady, but faster than normal because of all that had gone before. «Close,» I whispered, «close.» My hips began to rise up and down with his movements, so we danced for each other, my hips thrusting upward as his thrust down, so that we met again and again. The orgasm caught me, and there was no more dancing for me. There was just screaming, and nails along his sides, me writhing, but no rhythm, no control.

I came to myself panting, double-visioned, and found his body back in the same rhythm. He kept going in and out of me, as if he could do it all night. He damn near could. He brought me again, and this time I wound my upper body around him, pressed our chests together, dug claws into his back. He pressed his upper body against me, putting his upper chest against my mouth, while his body kept pumping away. I knew what he wanted, and I gave it to him. I bit him, bit him until I tasted blood. I held his upper body against mine, so that he wouldn't jerk away and cause me to hurt him more than I planned. My mouth filled with blood, and his rhythm faltered. Pleasure he could fight off all night, but pain, pain would bring him faster.

But he brought me again first, and I tore my mouth away from his body, so I didn't bite him too much. I turned my face to the side, and screamed. I wrapped my legs around his body, locked my heels at the top of his ass, and pinned him to me, so he couldn't get the rhythm he wanted.

He raised himself up on hands and knees, with me clinging to the front of his body. He crawled us both to the head of the bed, and used one hand on my ass, and the other on the headboard, to lift me up, and put my back against the headboard. His voice came in a strangled whisper. «I want to move more.» And he did, he moved in and out of me, over and over and over, while I clung to him with my arms and legs. He brought me again, and again, and finally one more time, and then he asked, «Please, please.»

Some nights he liked to beg before I said yes, but tonight I didn't think either of us could stand much more. I whispered it against the sweet smell of his neck, «Yes, go, go, go inside me. God, go, please!»

He stopped trying for rhythm and thrust inside me as hard and fast as he could. He brought me again; I dug my nails into his shoulders and back, and he finally thrust up inside me. Thrust as far and hard as he could. He stayed there like that for a heartbeat, forever, then he slumped lower on his knees, while I still clung to him.

Our bodies were slick with sweat, and blood, and other things. He clung with his hands to the headboard, his heart beating so fast I could see it. «God, that was good,» he said, voice breathless, and not quite like his voice at all, yet.

I tried to say yes, and couldn't do it. It was as if I couldn't figure out how to form words, and I still couldn't make my eyes work. The world was still a white-edged blur, like something wrapped in cotton.