by Ines Johnson
She is stretched out for me. Arms pulled tight. One leg splayed open for me. Time to get to work.
I snap the strap holding her left thigh. Her leg trembles in its freedom. Using the edge of the strap, I press it flat over her core.
Carignan bucks off the ground. But she can only lift her hips, and only an inch or two off the ground. She is almost entirely at my mercy.
There will be no relief unless I give it. There will be no escape unless I offer it. And I am not feeling charitable.
“Hadrian,” she whispers in the dark.
I barely hear her. My gaze is trained on the nectar between her legs. I’ve only rubbed the strap once and she has soaked the fabric of her clothing. She is so wet that the imprint of her labia is clear.
I press deeper. Turning the rope to the sharp edge so that her core is divided in half. I do this lightly. She strains towards the ropes, towards me.
“Do the ropes get you off?” I ask.
“Yes,” she moans. “Yes, please.”
I’m so used to my victims taking time before they beg. Not Carignan. I don’t even need to ask her to beg. She does it so readily, so prettily.
“Do you want more?” I ask.
“Please,” she begs. “I want more. Please.”
She is not the only one who is wet. My mouth is so filled with desire that I can’t swallow it down fast enough. My fangs are dripping with a need I haven’t had in centuries.
I wipe the top of the strap over her clit. Back and forth like a windshield wiper would. Like my tongue soon will.
Her hips chase the motion. She is unpracticed. Has no man ever taken his pleasure from that bud? No man but me ever will.
No man but me will ever see her like this. Hands bound and stretched. Thighs spread. Hips trembling. What I wouldn’t give for a flogger to watch her body jerk and jump.
I know her nipples must be tight pebbles. Her eyes flutter closed. Her mewled words become unintelligible.
I have her total surrender. If she were in confession, she would tell me everything, give me anything. All I want is her release.
Her body’s natural pleasure-seeking brain has taken over. I know this because her hips move in tight circles. Her chest heaves in short pants. Her eyes blast open as her orgasm takes her.
Her fingers twitch. Her eyelashes flutter. Her belly quakes. All while she screams.
It’s then that I can take no more of the torture that I am inflicting. I pull the strap taut over her quivering pussy, and I take her lips. My kiss is as brutal as her orgasm. It’s a jerking, rocking, biting thing.
One fang sinks into her plump lip. A bead of her sweet blood seeps out. They say it only takes one hit of heroin to become hooked.
It takes one drop of Carignan, and I am addicted.
She is still bound as she comes down from her orgasm and I return to my senses. But the ropes mean nothing. She is mine. And I am keeping her.
I snap the remaining ropes of the harness with my nail, tearing the frayed edges into a sharp edge. She is quiet, docile, sated. I feel like I just awoke from a long slumber.
I glance down and that's when I notice it. The edge of the strap that is attached to her harness, half of it is frayed. The other half is a perfect edge. As though it has been cut with a straight edge.
The taste of her blood on my tongue goes bitter. Her fall was no accident. Someone cut the harness.
Chapter 16
Cari
I’ve diddled my pleasure bump before like any curious girl who wanted to understand her body. There have been a few tingles, a pleasant rush, even some thigh squeezing as tiny ripples of pleasure tickled my toes. But there has never been waves wracking over my body, pulling me under so that I can’t breathe. I have never been pulled under, water going over my head, my body convulsing as pleasure breaks over my entire being.
My throat is hoarse from begging Hadrian. Begging him to stop. Begging him to not stop. Begging complete gibberish as my brain turned to mush and my body turned on me.
Once the tremors stop and the world rights itself, I am sure all my fingernails are cracked and broken from clenching them into my palms. I can’t feel my pinkie toes because they are so curled. My knees are knocking together now that they are no longer bound. I’ll definitely need to call a chiropractor because I’m certain I’ve thrown my back out.
I stretch my limbs. Though I’m no longer bound, I’m not able to get very far. The harness and ropes are gone. I am in someone’s arms. I know it’s Hadrian’s arms because of the warmth and the feeling of utter safety.
I open my eyes and see the honey gold of his chest. I inhale and the spicy scent of him tickles my nose. I splay my hand over his chest.
Surprisingly my palms are dry of blood. My nails are intact, mostly. I flex my feet and straighten my back. Looking down I see the nail on my right middle finger has bent, but it’s hanging on.
There is a warm hum still buzzing through me. Not the strong current of the orgasm. I can still feel, and I feel alive. I am alive. Hadrian has saved me. Again.
We are walking. Not in the building in downtown. We are outside in the moonlight. The scent of saplings fills the air. We’re in a vineyard.
How did we get here? Did he drive? I don’t remember getting into a car. I don’t see a car. Did I sleep the entire way? I guess it’s possible. I must’ve blacked out after the orgasm.
“Hey?” I say.
Hadrian lowers his gaze and regards me. A sliver of moonlight curls around his cheek. “Hey.”
I feel each of his ten fingers on me. I know their exact locations. Ten pressure points that are the only thing keeping me tethered to this plane of existence.
I’ve been running away for a year, diving into thin air, leaping into the unknown. For the first time that I can remember, I don’t want to move. I just want to stay put. Forever.
“Are you still angry with me?” I ask.
Hadrian doesn’t answer. His gaze roves my face. I feel each place his pupils land, like one of those heat sensors. Though it's my nipples as well as my cheeks and lips that are so hot right now.
“I’m not suicidal,” I say, remembering his accusation.
“I believe that,” he says. “You like the rush. It’s clear to me now.”
His gaze slips to my nipples. The twin points are completely wanton and they perk for him. His nostrils flare like he can tell.
“But you will not be doing any more adventures,” he says. “Not without my leave.”
“Your leave?” I ask.
“My permission,” he clarifies.
A giggle escapes my lips. Then a laugh, followed by a very unladylike snort. My sister raised me a feminist. “Like, what? You’re the boss of me now?”
His green eyes are as hard as jade. His lips thin into a cruel line. “That’s exactly what it’s like.”
Something inside me rears up like he spoke a long-held truth.
“I’ve saved your life twice now,” he continues. “You owe me two.”
“I…”
I what? Wasn’t this what I wanted? To be with Hadrian.
And he knew it. He knew it by the way I acted when he gave me that mind-blowing orgasm. It blew me away, so hard I blacked out.
“You’re mine now.”
That is crazy talk. I could’ve jumped out of his arms. His hold is loose. But I hold still.
A delicious heat washes over me from my fingertips down to my toes. It pulses in my core. A stronger pulse than my first skydive. Steeper than the first step onto the plank. Faster than my first time around the race track. I feel it is only the beginning.
“Yes,” I admit.
“Ragazza brava.”
My Italian is rough. But I think he just called me a good girl.
“What are you going to do with me?” I ask, still not struggling in his arms.
“I’m going to punish you.”
“Punish me? Why?”
“Because you’re mine and you nearly broke my possession.
”
There’s a war raging inside me. Hot and cold. The heat flushes out of my pores with the fact that I am his. But my ardor is cooled by shame remembering my actions earlier this night.
“But didn’t you already punish me?” I say. “Back in the building When you… you know?”
“You mean when I fucked you with the strap of your harness and made you come all over your panties?”
I swallow, but the lump stays in my throat. I nod but my head feels light and heavy at the same time.
“Say it.” His voice is a hiss, like the devil tempting Eve with forbidden fruit.
I reach for the apple and bite. “Wasn’t my punishment being fucked with my harness strap and coming in my panties?”
Saying it out loud doesn’t sound like a punishment. It sounds like a gift. And I want another bite of the apple.
“No, stellia. I let you come. I’m not going to be so nice this time. I’m going to strip you bare. Tie you down. Bring you to the brink of orgasm over and over again. But never let you crest. Not until you learn your lesson.”
I am panting. I am writhing. “My lesson?”
“That the only jump, the only leap, or dive you ever will want to take will be that peak into an orgasm that I bring you to.”
He sets me on my feet. For the last ten minutes, he was the only thing in my sight. Now I see that we are in his bedroom. He steps behind me. The door is wide open in front of me. I could run.
I turn to him. His gaze is stern, like an avenging god.
“I’ll be good,” I say.
I see the pleasure spark in his gaze in real-time.
“But,” I say, “There is one thing you should know. I’m a virgin.”
Chapter 17
Hadrian
Carignan’s declaration doesn’t rattle me. For all intents and purposes I, too, am a virgin now. I’ve been celibate for nearly two centuries. That’s over two lifetimes.
But I don’t tell her this. I take her by the hand and lead her to my bed.
Unlike Gaius, I actually sleep on the mattress and not hardwood. Being born poor and sleeping on straw for the majority of his life makes it a difficult habit to break. Gaius showcases his riches in his clothes. But when he closes his eyes, he is still the broken slave that he was born, the man who fought hard to win his freedom, only to lose it to a vampire seductress.
Gaius’s daytime proclivities are not my concern right now. Carignan and her pleasure are. I sit her down atop my pillow top mattress, another of my favorite modern conveniences. Though my family wasn’t poor, straw was the height of comfort in my youth. I’d burn the fodder before I let it come in contact with Carignan’s soft flesh.
There’s not much else in my bedroom other than the bed. There are clothes in the closet. A few odds and ends I’ve collected over the centuries are tucked in the closet as well. I’m not very sentimental. All I care for is either planted in the vineyard outside or down the hall preparing to turn in for a day’s rest. Grapes and my blooded brothers. Everything else always turns to tatters and fades.
Carignan will fade someday, as well. I will never turn a living soul and condemn them to this existence. At some point, I will have to tell her what I am. She will grow older and watch me remain youthful.
And yes, I plan to keep her that long. Perhaps when she goes to ground I will finally step into the sun. But that is a ways off.
She is here now. Safe. Under my protection. Under my command.
I will find who slit her safety harness. That person I will torture and show no mercy. No one tampers with what is mine.
But first, my little daredevil needs to learn her lesson.
The torn harness is long removed from her skin. Only the jumpsuit and her footwear remain. I cup her calf to remove her boots one by one. The moonlight is at my back as I work. The windows of my private sanctuary are dressed with blackout curtains, my most favorite convenience in the advancement of technology. Before I lose my head in the valley between her thighs, I press the button that casts us into complete darkness.
Because I want to look upon my new possession, I rise to light a fire in the hearth. Incandescent bulbs and fluorescent lights would destroy the mood.
Carignan waits for me on the bed. She shivers, but I know it’s not from the cold. I take pleasure in making her wait. She knows what I can do to her body with just a strap of fabric. I know she’s anticipating my cock.
I peel off the layers of her clothing to reveal sun-kissed flesh. So different from Domitia. She was paler than porcelain. Unlike the fine, ceramic material, Domitia was unbreakable. But she enjoyed having others take a crack at it.
Domitia and I fought for dominance in the bedroom, in life. Carignan gives me her total submission. She acquiesces as I peel the jumper from her breasts. She is pliant when I urge her to lift her hips to rid her body of the garment. She yields as I divest her of the remaining scraps of fabric that cover her intimate places. Perfectly obedient.
“I want you to kiss me,” Carignan demands.
I lift an eyebrow as I tower over her. “You’re in no position to make demands.”
Her chin lowers, along with her eyes. “Please?”
I’ve never heard that word from Domitia. Now. Again. Harder. Faster. Yes, all of those were a regular utterance. But never please.
I capture Carignan’s lips with my own. It’s like tasting one of those sugar sweets that has a hidden center of something even sweeter. It takes everything in me not to bite down to get at the center of her Tootsie Pop.
I lick at the fleshy part of her lips. I suck at the underside of her tongue. And then I crack. I knick the space at the center of her upper lip.
The essence of Carignan is pure saccharine. Richer than honey. Denser than the darkest chocolate. The shock of the sweetness goes to my head.
I rear back.
My fangs elongate, dripping with need.
Carignan’s eyes are shut. Her neck is exposed. I realize then that she has complete trust and faith in me.
I swallow. My fangs retract. For now.
Wrapping my hands around her hips, I lift her and toss her body back towards the headboard. She startles and flails.
Good. She needs that jolt to wake up. To be alert. There is a monster in the bed.
“Hands,” I growl.
It takes her a second, but she offers me her hands. I take the edge of the expensive sheet and I tear. With the strip of fabric, I bind her wrists. The loops of the sheets make the sign of the cross as I fasten her hands together. There is no savior in this room tonight.
Her gaze goes wide. Her breathing goes shallow. Her tongue darts out and she licks her lower lip.
The sound of fabric ripping again snaps her back to attention. She bites down on her lip as I bind her breasts. Again, I make the sign of the cross, making sure to leave her nipples exposed for my torture.
Carignan offers not a single whimper of protest. She holds still as I strap her body down and manacle her hands to the headboard of my bed. I sit back on my haunches to admire my handiwork. I only look for a second before I am on her.
Her lower body arches off the bed when my tongue attacks her left breast. I lick and suckle. She writhes and shivers. By the Fates, she might be one of the rare birds who can come from nipple stimulation only. But we will test that theory later.
I slap the edge of the bind across her breast and she snaps out of the trance. Her lips pout like a child whose toy has been taken away. She is not getting the point of all this.
“Please, Hadrian. Tell me what you want.”
“Sei una ragazza brava.”
I tear another strip of the sheets. Stretching down the length of her body, I bend her leg at the knee. The knot I tie here is tight. It leaves her core exposed to me, as it always should be. I can’t wait to hogtie her, but that will be for another night.
“Please, Hadrian. I need you inside me.”
“Sei una ragazza brava.”
After tying her other thigh so t
hat she is both exposed and immobile, I come down slowly to my belly. I simply gaze at her weeping pussy. Those tears are all for me. No sharing. Just mine.
I take my first taste.
Carignan can’t move. She can only feel. That’s what she said she wanted. That’s exactly what I’m giving her.
I lift her ass in my hands and bring her to my mouth. I taste each of her folds singly. Fuck if she’s not sweeter than a mango. I swirl my tongue over her pink flesh, tugging her labia with my lips all the way to the edge. At the edge of her intimate skin, I break the skin.
Sweet blood and cunt juice. Fuck me. I meant to torture her with pleasure. But the pain of not having my dick buried deep inside of her is becoming too much to bear.
Her whimpered pleas weaken my will. The taste of her on my tongue clouds my resolve. The feel of her, alive and trembling in my hands, makes me forget my purpose.
I know where she wants me. Her pussy pulses with need, leaking more tears. I slap her inner thigh, to bring us both back down. Carignan screams her frustration. Now she’s getting it.
“Sei una ragazza brava.”
My dick is weeping now. I give her another knick on her right labia, taking in another sip of her blood. Her punishment is nearing an end because I can’t last much longer. My hips buck into the mattress as I suck her clit. Her bud is overripe, begging to be plucked.
“I am,” she whispers. “I am being a good girl.”
Thank the Fates she figures it out. Too bad I can’t answer. My mouth is full.
Her hips rock only slightly in the binds, but her pussy clenches hard around my tongue as her inner muscles convulse. As I spill into the sheets, I lose all semblance of control. My fangs sharpen and I sink my teeth into the crease of her thigh.
I swallow her down into my throat, into my heart, into my soul.
She is a part of me now.
She is mine.
But the real lesson that we learned this night, is that I am hers.
Chapter 18
Cari