by Ana Calin
“I’m so sorry, my sweet white dove. I will take any punishment, but don’t try to leave me, because I’ll turn into a beast.” There’s true vulnerability in his usually hard stare. Compared to the cold detachment from that last party at the villa, this is a man capable of begging, clinging, and even forcing me to stay his. A rush flashes in my lower belly.
“That’s good my prince, that you’re willing to submit to my punishment. Because I’ll take you up on that.”
He gives in to the push of my hand, lying on his back in the grass.
“Isolde, we have to be on our way soon,” he says, but it doesn’t look like he actually wants me to stop.
“Yes, we have to.”
I straddle him and bite my lip as my hand traces his chiseled jaw down his neck, hooking into the collar of his black priestly shirt. God, seeing him like this under me, it makes me horny like a demoness.
“This love has been forbidden on so many levels from the beginning,” he says, looking at me fascinated as he surrenders to my exploring hands.
“I wonder if what we feel is only because of the love potion,” I whisper as I open his priest robe, revealing those smooth muscles that glisten like marble in the moonlight. I breathe in sharply, trying to control my desire as my hands spread possessively over his chest, my palms hot on flesh hard as granite.
“I thought I wasn’t able to feel at all,” Tristan says, his voice gruff with want. “But all the good and sweetness I felt from you, I don’t think I could have resisted that even without the potion.”
“Really? Because you barely noticed me at the weddings years ago.” My hands move lower down his body, causing his priestly shirt to open more and reveal yet more of that incredible body that seems sculpted from marble.
“That’s because we were never properly introduced to one another, my sweet white dove. We only knew each other from sight, and I was never attracted simply to a woman’s looks, no matter how sweet and pretty.” He raises his hand, brushing my cheek with his palm and sinking his hand into my hair. I purr like a cat, leaning my head into his touch.
“But when I felt the sweetness of those delicious pink lips, and the kindness in your sparkling blue eyes, I was hooked. The thought of never tasting you again these past two weeks, I wished for my own death. I was restless at night, even Soraya noticed. Thoughts of you in bed with Mark tormented me. And then, after I managed to persuade myself he wouldn’t touch you, because he needed you, other thoughts came over me, ripping me apart.” He swallows, his eyes bloodshot like a maniac’s as he remembers. “I imagined you, freed from the monster, landing in some other guy’s arms. You, married to another man, leading a quiet life in some town villa, children around the house. You, in his bed, opening your legs for him, ugh.” He bares his teeth, hurt by his own words.
“I felt you,” I whisper.
Both his hands sink lovingly into my hair, his eyes searching mine. I can see the yearning and the hurt in them. “Before I left with Soraya, I was determined to let you go, because in the long run I’d be as dangerous to you as Mark. I could take your blood in the ecstasy of lovemaking. But the idea of living without you hurt so badly I now know beyond a doubt that I’m capable of anything in order to keep you.”
His words, the way he looks at me, the way he caresses me as if he wants to feel every inch of my body, as if he wants to be in my every cell, makes me drunk with desire.
I bend down to him and kiss him passionately, his lips hard like granite under mine, then softening as they open. He’s giving himself to me completely. As a vampire, his whole body feels hard as rock against mine, even his earlobes. But when he lets me in, his lips, his tongue and his palms become soft. He allows his body to become vulnerable as he bares his soul to me.
I kiss him deeply, pressing my body to his like a greedy snake, eager to feel his granite cock inside of me. But I’ll drive him insane with pleasure first, making him beg for it. My nub throbs with anticipation as his hard cock grinds into the soft flesh of my folds.
Tristan reaches under my skirt with eager hands, ripping my pantyhose and my panties.
“Ah, yes,” I whisper, breaking the kiss and offering him my neck, taunting him willingly with the scent of my arousal and my blood. I’m not afraid of him biting me. It would only make things easier, there will be no more restrictions between us, and we’d be able to devour each other.
But Tristan clenches his jaw, struggling to control the wildness that shows in his eyes. I will provoke him further, bring him to his limits, make him ache with need under me, begging for my pussy.
Keeping my eyes on Tristan’s face, I reach behind myself, undoing the apron, then dealing with the buttons of my grey dress at the front. Planting my knees firmly on the ground on each side of Tristan’s hips, I lift myself just enough to take it off.
He swallows hard as I reveal my breasts in a black lace bra, my legs wrapped in the black pantyhose that he’s just torn. I spread out the hole in my pantyhose and panties between my legs, showing him my glistening pussy. Hunger flashes through Tristan’s sharp irises.
“Oh, God.”
He reaches up to me, his hands sliding down my body, his upper lip curling over his teeth. His palms graze my skin down to my lower belly like he worships me, but the intensity in his face tells me what he really wants is to ravage me like a wanton.
I open his fly and reach hungrily inside for his erection. I bite hard into my lip as I free his iron-hard manhood, long and throbbing into my touch, ready to pierce me.
I want to impale myself with it, and ride him hard until I come all over his balls. I hiss as I imagine this, but I keep it in, remembering my purpose—to make him want it so badly that he’ll beg.
I lower my hand between my legs, slipping two fingers and opening my pussy to him, bending backwards from my waist to let him see her better in the moonlight.
“Do you want her, Tristan?”
“Ah, yes, come, slide down on me, my sweet angel.” He grips my hips, ready to impale me, but I resist. Of course, he could easily take what he wants, but he doesn’t want to force me in the least, which I use to my advantage.
“Not just yet, my prince,” I say seductively as I slide my hand through the juice of my arousal, then wrap it around his cock. He hisses, his hands clenching on my hips.
“Oh, woman,” he growls, eyes locked on my hand moving slowly up and down his shaft. He leans his head back, his eyes rolling as he takes the pleasure. Looking at his now exposed jugular, I bite my lip—I want to see that neck red from strain, the veins swollen as he struggles to resist red hot desire.
“It’s proof of great trust,” I say, rolling my hips on top of him, riding the knuckles of my own fingers as I give him a hand job. “Offering me your neck like that. If I had a silver blade, I could slit your throat.”
Tristan lifts his head from the ground, his eyes intense, his jaw tight as he tries to control the pleasure I’m giving him. I expect him to lose it, pressing his cock to my pussy, rubbing himself against me, but no.
He reaches into his sleeve, whipping out a dagger from his sidearm. I freeze as he takes my free hand and presses the dagger into it, his eyes boring into mine.
“I’ve been keeping one single silver dagger on me for centuries, in case I ever run into an ill-willing vampire,” he says gravely. “You never know. But a silver dagger can also kill me.” His focus intensifies, his features locking dangerously. “I’m an undefeated vampire assassin, Isolde. But my life is now in your hands. If you wish to take it, go ahead. It’s yours.”
All I can do is stare into his face, the dagger’s leather handle pressing into my palm.
“If I ever raise my hand to you,” I tell him while tears well in my eyes, “It’ll be to give you pleasure, never pain.” I want to drop the dagger, but Tristan’s fist clenches around my hand.
“No. I want you to have power over my life while you climax on my cock.”
Dark desire shoots through my veins as I watch him spread
his arms on the grass, offering himself to me. Laying down his eternal life for me. “Do whatever you want with me, my sweet angel.”
That’s it, I’m gonna come undone. I open the hand I’m using on his shaft, and touch my throbbing pussy to him. He moans, his head back and his hands fisting the grass as I work him and rub myself against his manhood, coming on him. I buck and whimper with pleasure, a hand working on him, the other holding the dagger up by my side, as if poised to plunge.
I descend from my climax, looking down at Tristan whose fists white-knuckle the grass, his eyes rolled back, and his strong jaw tight.
My head swimming with the need to make him spill his seed, I come down fast on him, taking his cock into my mouth so deep that it reaches deep into my throat.
“Heaven’s saves, Isolde,” he cries, his eyes blasting wide at me, the icy blue in his irises electric.
I suck hard, tightening my lips and my jaw around him. This is the first time I’ve given a man a blowjob, but I do it with passion, relishing it.
I moan as I suck him, determined to make him come, and to swallow his sperm to the last drop. It turns me on just thinking of his climax, and imagining what we must look like from the outside—a dirty wanton in ripped pantyhose, probably a hooker, sucking the young priest’s cock in the woods like there’s no tomorrow.
Tristan groans, breaking his own decision of not touching me and keeping his hands on the grass. He fists his hands in my hair, pushing his cock deep into my mouth, his cum exploding down my throat. My eyes burn from how deeply I’ve taken him, and how he now fucks my mouth. I look at his face to see him staring hard at me like an animal about to ravish me.
“Ah, my angel,” he blurts gruffly as I suck my way up, freeing his cock and wiping my mouth. I’m not thinking anymore, I’m all instinct and impulse.
“I want you to take me now, rough and hard.”
Unbelievable, but his cock is still stiff, the veins showing. He wants it and he wants it now, but he hesitates.
“Isolde,” he whispers, his face hot with the strain of climax. “You mean the world to me. I could never—”
“But you just did, didn’t you?” I whisper, crawling on my hands up to him, and kissing him deeply. He opens his mouth, letting my tongue that tastes of him explore his mouth before I peel my lips off his and speak again.
“You grabbed my hair and fucked my mouth,” I say provokingly. “And you loved it.” I lick his upper lip. “And I loved it, too. I want more.”
He’s uncertain, I can tell. I turn my back to him and grab the nearest tree with both my hands, still on my knees.
Tristan sucks in air as I offer myself to him, the black pantyhose ripped and torn, crowning the sight of me as his own personal wanton.
“Fuck me, Tristan.”
This is it, Tristan breaks. I can feel him shift, and I look over my shoulder just in time to see him rising behind me, his chiseled marble torso glistening in the moonlight, his shirt open. He grips my hips and plunges inside of me, groaning with lust as he parts my walls. I arch my back at the ache and pleasure I feel at the same time. His first thrusts are powerful, and my muscles clench everywhere, but I refuse to show it. He would only stop and pet me, while all I want is this, him slamming into me like I’m his sex slave.
I try to look behind me at him, but he drives his cock inside of me too hard, his hips slamming into my butt cheeks, jerking me back and forth. My hair bounces around my head, my skin hot and sweaty.
When he’s close to coming, Tristan reaches under my bra, cupping my breasts and squeezing with lust. The pleasure and slight, just very slight pain is the perfect combination—I feel wanted and loved at the same time, which causes my G spot to explode.
I cry out, my fingers digging into the tree bark as I spill my female cum around my assassin’s cock.
“Pull my hair, Tristan, now,” I demand.
He fists my hair, tugging lightly as he claims both my tits with his free hand, his cock throbbing inside of me. He’s now bent over my back, his lips touching my ear.
“Jesus Christ, I’d fuck you into oblivion, woman. I’d fuck you day and night, until I have nothing more to give.”
He convulses in the shockwaves of his climax, then drops on the carpet of grass and pulls me into his side. Those muscular arms coil lovingly around me, holding me so tight that I can barely breathe. Everything in this vampire assassin’s touch tells me that he’d possess my very soul if he could.
“I’ll save you from Mark, but you’ll never be free of me, woman,” he whispers. “You’ll never be free.”
We lie here, tangled with each other for a long time. Tristan’s cock is sticking out of his fly, while one of my legs in the ripped pantyhose curls over his, my tits outside of my bra and pushing into his side.
I can feel his juice trickling from inside of me onto my thigh, while my fingers caress the smooth muscles of his chest.
“Isolde,” Tristan whispers after a while, as I stare up at the starlit sky, feeling happy to the bone. “When this is over, and you’re free of Mark.... Will you marry me?”
I stop breathing. Just when I thought I couldn’t feel happier, the juices of dopamine and oxytocin running through my veins, Tristan does something to take that happiness up a notch.
I look up into his face, meeting his eye. I want to scream from the top of my lungs that I will, but a rustle in the woods makes us both sit up swiftly. It takes only the flash of a second for Tristan to tuck himself in, springing up to his feet and shielding me behind him.
I’m still desperately trying to slip into my dress when a man emerges from the shadows. The open shirt tightens on Tristan’s arms as he demands a name from the man.
The blood drains from my cheeks, my hands freezing on my buttons as a familiar voice replies carefully.
“I am Father Ruben.”
CHAPTER X – Meeting the Devil
Isolde
I MAKE SURE I LOOK decent enough before I step out from behind Tristan. I stare into Father Ruben’s dear face.
“It is you,” I whisper.
I inspect that ashen bearded face with the wide, innocent eyes, the thin man covered from neck to toes in a priestly garment similar to Tristan’s. Only that Tristan is wearing trousers and a shirt, while Father Ruben has a robe—a dirty, tattered one. Even his beard is caked with mud and leaves. His general color is gray and ash, and I imagine he could easily merge with nature if he chose to. The whole look of him can turn into camouflage.
I make to walk over and take his hand in mine, but I stop in my tracks. I can’t dare to touch the holy man, not right after I made love to Tristan.
“Where have you been all this time,” I manage. “My God, Father Ruben, how did you—?”I can’t even finish, I’m so surprised.
His stricken eyes move from me to Tristan with a thousand questions. It doesn’t take long until they settle into their usual calm though, because he understands all there is to understand.
“The young Father from the village,” he says in a rasping voice that hasn’t been used in a long time. “He’s your lover.”
I bite my lips and wring my hands, not knowing what to say. Tristan moves closer and takes my hand, lifting his chin.
“My name is Tristan DeKnight,” he says without reserve. “And as Lord Dracula’s second in command, I’ll take both Isolde and you under my protection from the serpents.”
“Tristan!” I react.
“You’re what?” the Father whispers, dumbfounded.
Tristan’s white blond eyebrows knit together. He looks down at me. “He doesn’t know? In all the time you spent with the Father, you never told him?”
“It’s not exactly easy to tell people you’re Dracula’s sister-in-law.”
“She never told me,” the Father says, moving closer. “Yet a year ago, I met a man at a hotel in Bucharest that wielded power over snakes.” He motions to me. “The sponsor Isolde had found for our nursing home. He tried to torture me using his snakes, so that
I’d surrender to him an unnatural secret of my own. So I’m less surprised than you might expect. But I am intrigued.”
He’s now very close to Tristan, analyzing his face, his wiry grey eyebrows furrowed. Tristan stands there like a statue, allowing the inspection. Long moments of silence lapse, the tension growing between the two men. I can tell Father Ruben is suspicious.
“Father Ruben, the serpents have been looking all over for you,” I cut in between them. “They left no stone unturned over the past year. Mark always said you’d return to these parts sooner or later, he said men like you always did. We have to get out of here, quickly, and I urge you to come with us.”
The father smiles, bunches of wrinkles gathering in the corners of his eyes, cutting through his temples.
“Men like me...” He looks at Tristan. “By ‘men like me’, they mean hermits and scholars. We draw our power from our roots.” He turns his attention to me, full of kindness.
He makes to take my hands, but he stops. It’s all too obvious that Tristan and I have just ‘sinned’ with each other, and I can tell the old man is embarrassed. Red creeps up to the little patches of skin visible on his cheekbones above his beard.
“A year ago you sacrificed yourself to save me,” he says, his head down, holding his hands together in a gesture of gratitude. “Now I’ll happily return the favor. The village down at the foot of the mountain is already crawling with serpents, and some have already started up the mountain. That’s why I came out, to help you.”
“Came out of where?” Tristan asks calmly, but he’s watching the Father with narrowed eyes. “Where have you been all this time?”
Father Ruben motions to the cave entrance, and starts towards it with small, quick steps, his feet pushing against the rim of his tattered garment.