Лорел Гамильтон - Incubus Dreams

“Bleed me,” I said.

He rolled his eyes up to me, so he could see my face.

“Bleed me, I know how long you’ve wanted to do that now. How careful you’ve been.”

He stopped and released my breast slowly, carefully. He said, “Ma petite, you are drunk with the new powers, but tomorrow night, you will not be.”

I shook my head. “Let me feel what it’s like to have you stretch me tight in your mouth and draw just a little blood. I’m not saying that the whole ride will appeal to me, but I am saying that I’m willing to try a little, to see if I’ll like a lot, or not.”

He looked strangely suspicious, and I realized that it was my expression in his eyes, more than his, as if I’d taught him that look, and this caution.

“I give you my word that I won’t punish you for anything I agree to try tonight. A little blood tonight, only a little, barely a nick, just a taste.” I leaned in toward his face. “I know that you want to feed there now. You never told me.”

“Nor would I have, ma petite, you let me take blood so infrequently, that I would never have dreamt to ask such a liberty.

When you will not share your neck, why would I think to ask for more delicate parts?”

“I’m offering now. I’d take me up on it, if I were you. Who knows if I’ll ever offer again, if you say no now.” I stared into his face from inches away and let him see that there was no conflict here, no doubts, just eagerness. Eagerness to try.

“What has gotten into you, ma petite? ”

“You, you’ve gotten into me, or I want you to. I want you inside me, Jean-Claude, I want you inside me. I want you to lie me back across this desk, with my breasts bare and your mark on them. I want you to push yourself inside me and watch the blood flow from the wound that you made. I want you to watch the blood flow fast and faster, while you fuck me.”

“You are echoing my fantasy, ma petite, have I taken you over?”

“I don’t think so,” I said, but even the thought of it didn’t panic me. “Just a little tonight, Jean-Claude, just a little nick.”

He reached around my body, and it took me a second to realize he was undoing the back of my bra. He slipped it off my shoulders, down my arms, and let it fall to the floor. He gazed up at me, and his eyes never got higher than my breasts. I didn’t mind in the least.

He cupped my breasts in his hands, gently, reverently, and laid the gentlest of kisses upon each of them. He raised eyes to me that were back to their normal midnight blue, as human as his eyes ever became. “Are you sure, ma petite, are you sure?”

I nodded. “Yes, oh, yes.”

He cupped my right breast in his hand, then took just the tip of it in his mouth, a quick drawing of his mouth over my flesh. He sucked and pulled until my nipple was tight and thick under his touch. It brought my breath faster, made my pulse race. He rolled his eyes upward to watch my face, and whatever he saw there reassured him, because he drew hard and fast, made me gasp. Then he drew, slowly, so slowly, more and more of my breast into his mouth. He’d never taken so much in at once, because to do even this much was to risk drawing blood. His mouth was so warm, so wide, the hard press of his teeth was as distant as he could make it and still hold me in his mouth.

He used his hands to help his mouth, pour so carefully over me, his breath like heat against my skin. He moved carefully off of me, his mouth sliding back until there was much less between his lips. He went back out to the safe distance that he’d been before. He drew just the tip of my breast in his mouth, and he sucked. He sucked and pulled and stretched it out and out, until I made small sounds low in my throat.

He squeezed my breast between his hand, squeezed it, and rolled his eyes up to watch my face. When I didn’t tell him to stop, he squeezed tighter, tighter until it felt like he was trying to garrote my breast with his fingers. It hurt, it did, but it was all mixed up with the sucking and the pulling on my nipple, and that didn’t hurt, not really. In fact it felt good, so good.

It fell out of my mouth in a voice that was almost a moan, “Yes, please, please, yes.”

He rolled his eyes up again to watch my face, and there was something in those eyes, some knowledge, or warning, and suddenly he bit down, not as hard as I’d seen in his head, but a little. He let the barest tips of those sharp fangs graze my breast as he sucked it, as he squeezed it with his hand. It was sharp, but it didn’t hurt. It was lost in the other sensations. His hand squeezing so tight, his mouth sucking so hard, the tiny bit of the fangs was nothing compared to the rest.

He let his mouth slide down my breast until only the nipple was caught between his teeth. But there on the mound of my breast were two tiny dots of crimson. As I watched those two tiny dots began to glide down my skin. He drew my nipple out and out, and we both watched those two tiny trails of red slide down my skin. He pulled on my nipple so hard and so long, that I cried out, “Enough, enough.”

He drew back, gently, and knelt for a moment watching the colors flow on my skin, not just of the blood, but of the marks of his fingers. They faded, but the two lines of blood didn’t fade. They glided down my skin, and as the sensation returned to my breast, they tickled down my skin. The feel of that tiny gliding touch, the sight of it easing down my skin, made me shiver.

He smoothed his hands up the insides of my thighs, and it was only as his fingers brushed certain parts that I made real pain sounds. “No manual manipulation tonight.”

He frowned. “Are you hurt?”

I explained as briefly as possible. “Let’s just say that theardeur needed feeding and Requiem was a gentleman. I think we’d both be less sore if he’d been a little less of a gentleman.”

He looked puzzled.

“I’ll explain everything in detail, but later, please, Jean-Claude. Take off the pants, I’ve had all the leather pants up close and personal that I can handle tonight. Let me see you nude.”

He peeled off boots and the leather pants with the practiced ease of someone who wears a lot of them. I’d seen him nude more times than I could count now, but he never stopped amazing me with his beauty.

Flawless was the only word I had for him. White and pale, and perfect, as if someone could carve cold white marble and breathe life into it, and plant a blush of color at his groin, where he sat straight and thick and ready. The hair that trailed from the delicate thimble of his belly button down to his groin was as black as the curls that fell around his shoulders. That black, black hair stark and unreal against the whiteness of him.

There should have been gentler words for what I wanted, but all I could think of was how much I wanted him inside me. How much I wanted him to sink that shining color inside my body. “Fuck me,” I said, becausemake love was not what I meant. I wanted the sex that went with what he’d done to my breast. I wanted the sex that matched the blood trailing down my skin.

“Fuck me.”

He bent over me and licked the blood off my chest, not a quick lick, but thick, long movements of his tongue, as if he’d never tasted anything so good and didn’t want to lose a single drop. I was making small wordless noises and writhing on the desk by the time he raised his face up and showed me eyes that had drowned in blue flame.

I whispered, “Please, Jean-Claude, please.”

He did what I’d seen in his head, he did what I’d offered. He laid me back against the desk and pulled my hips to the very edge of the wood. My skirt was completely bunched around my waist like a belt. I was still wearing the thigh-highs and the boots, and nothing else. He used his hands to spread my legs apart, then came to me, the tip of him sliding against my opening.