by J. E.
It wasn’t a secret that Anjasa was addicted to sex. To bad boys. To pain. Anyone who spent a moment’s time with her could sense it, and this man promised all three. This... beast.
It was power unspoken of. Unimagined. It was as if he were a pure demon with all their skills and abilities and none of their drawbacks.
Her stomach clenched, and she shifted to her other foot. “Go forward... convincing Loren to...” She couldn’t remember. Spirits, how could his face do such things to her mind?
“Loren is yours,” he said to her smoothly in his deep voice. “Your play thing. You shall mould him. Make him into a useful man,” he said. “I have no doubts you can handle him, but he is not what I speak of.” His dark eyes studied her, his head tilting one side, then the other, almost like a hungry predator eying a very delicious prey.
Her pulse raced and her tongue ran along the seam of her mouth as she slowly forced her gaze back to him. “What do you want me to do?”
With his mask dropped to dangle from his neck, he reached out, took her hand in his. “Follow your desires,” he said, guiding her hand towards him, touching her fingers to his chest and abs through the leather he wore. “Embrace a new Master, who recognizes your potential. Your worth,” and each word seemed so honey sweet on his deep voice.
Her fingertips twitched, rubbing against his firm body and she swallowed. Was that what she wanted? To leap into the arms of another dangerous man, one who she knew full well could end her in a blink of an eye? He’d seemed kind to her, but then, Zarach was initially as well.
Better question still... did she have a choice?
Undeniably, she wanted him. He was what she’d been looking for, for decades, without her fully knowing it. Someone incontestably strong and handsome. Someone she wouldn’t have to hide her nature from.
It was like she was watching herself, heading down a path she knew was dark and ominous and fraught with horrors, but her screams of warning died in her throat.
The alternate path looked too dull.
“What do I do?”
With his chin tucked down as he watched her. He raised his hand from hers—that powerful, deadly hand which had been responsible for slaying a man—and brushed his knuckles back across her cheek and into her hair. “Be mine. Attempt to please me further. Do your best not to disappoint me... too much.” He leaned in, tilted his head and let his cheek graze hers as he murmured into her ear lowly, “I can smell your cunt. And it yearns still.”
Oh, the things she knew she should have felt at that cool hand, those crass words.
It didn’t matter. She didn’t feel them.
Instead, she felt the things that no other woman could. Arousal. Desire. Lust. Her breath held as she pushed her body into his, her curvy form pressing against his hard, leather coverings. She wanted him. That was irrefutable and had been for some time, and she would drop to her knees and beg for him if she had to.
Everything that held her back—pride, shame, fear—were all things she was told would hinder her ability to please. It was, quite likely, why she’d not been happy in so long. She was fighting her true nature, her true desires, and she didn’t want to anymore.
Anjasa’s head tilted to his cheek, feeling her burning flesh cool against him as her lips parted. “And if I refuse?” she asked, though she knew she wouldn’t.
His fingers combed through her thick hair, his neatly trimmed beard grazed her skin as he nuzzled against her. All the while he rubbed his other hand up her side, then down, skirting her round ass.
“I will punish you without leaving a mark,” the deep words a thrum against her eardrum. “I will make you serve me as tool, reward you with things, and all the while dangle before you what you could have, what you could be. With me.” His cool breath with each word washed over her ear. “You will go from here. You will take your toy Loren, groom him. Serve my will whether you realize it or not. But all the while you will suffer from the void of having turned me down.”
His voice changed then, his next words something else, as if quaked by desire so rarely exposed on that charming but cool man, “I’ve not found a mortal woman whose body has interested me in many long years. But yours stirs my loins as if I still had a beating heart to pump my dick full.” Poetry or no, she felt the bulge that attested to the reality: he was hard for her, so very firm and large.
How did he make her potential refusal sound like such sweet, agonizing torture? It was if he spoke to her very soul, plucking at the strings of her body like an expert musician.
How did he know her so well?
She inhaled sharply, and her hands rose to his arms, feeling the bare flesh there as she pulled her body into his. “And if I accept?” She was surprised that her voice sounded so... hungry. Pleading.
Desperate.
The whole of his demeanor changed then, if only subtly. He wrapped his arm about her, slipped a hand beneath her skirt and squeezed her bare rump against his powerful palm. The other brushed through her hair, down to her neck and together he used those mighty limbs to nearly crush her against his hard body. “You will,” he said, his dark eyes a glitter in the dim room. His beautifully masculine face so delicious, even with the mark of evil upon them: those sharp fangs. “And you shall see.”
He pressed his mouth to hers then, his tongue slinking out between those two prongs and betwixt her lips. How strange it was, the cool yet moist muscle meeting her hot mouth, prodding and exploring as he kissed her with such passionate desire.
Her fingers gripped him tighter as her breath became shallower, her lips pressed against his so eagerly. The metallic tang of blood was still in the air, but it didn’t bother her. It was the scent of victory, of success, and this beautiful devil was the victor.
He’d fought for her and won, and she couldn’t resist him. She didn’t want to.
She felt like she was stumbling headfirst into another trap, but it simply didn’t matter to her. She’d always been impulsive, led more by her arousal then her mind, and he was stunning. Gorgeous.
And she was already so fucking turned on.
Amidst a sea of opulence and destruction, the dark vampire lifted her up with his hand upon her shapely ass, gripping it and holding aloft her weight without the slightest strain. Jaral pressed her to him as their tongues lashed and danced. And though he’d claimed to have not lusted for a woman in many long years, he groped and grabbed at her with an intensity and passion that dwarfed any of the heart throb young men she’d encountered.
Those strong arms of his held her up as he moved towards one of the cushy sofas, his cold, hard fingers digging into her shapely cheek and weighty breast.
She was actually surprised how much that difference in their body temperatures stoked her lust. She felt her skin become more responsive as his hands so rudely made her his, and another moan pressed from her lips. Fuck, she needed this. Something real. There was no sorrow, no anger. Just need. Primal and true, and it ran through both of them.
Her hands gripped his arms, her legs wrapping about him lewdly as her nude, wet slit rubbed against his leather clothing.
Jaral skirted the sofas and pressed her up against the wall, as he went for her mouth again and again. He only relinquished his hold upon her flesh to pull back and begin to undo the buckles and straps that held his leather into place. Once she felt him begin to undress, her own dexterous digits took over and he went right back to fondling those large breasts.
She peeled back that skin tight leather bit by bit, revealing the chiseled muscle atop smooth, brown flesh beneath. A chest of dark hair that formed a ‘V’, then trailed down betwixt abs, leading towards the treasure of a stunning male organ once she pulled enough of that suit away.
Anjasa had been fortunate enough to have met men of such generous proportions as of late, but like Jaral’s stunningly attractive face, his cock too was not only big, but beautiful sculpted. Thick and with just a slight curve, it bloomed into a ridged crown beneath a dark foreskin.
She c
ouldn’t stop trying to glance between them, to stare at it. She wanted to simply pay homage to it, and she could already feel her mouth begin to water. She swallowed back her saliva and gasped as he kissed her once more,. Even though her tongue still danced with his, she was distracted.
Her fingers wrapped around his shaft and pulled back the foreskin, her wrist awkwardly positioned between the two of them, but it didn’t matter. She couldn’t relinquish her hold on him.
The dark killer that had stalked her shadows was revealed from his coverings to be a morsel of perfect human masculinity. A male beauty that any elven man would be jealous of, but with a stature and bulk few of them could have ever dared challenge.
Whatever twisted sorcery was responsible for his vampiric nature, it had enshrined an exquisite male form with immortality. As that thick shaft pulsed within her grip, she could only be thankful.
And for his part, Jaral lusted for her hardly any less. He kissed with passion and intensity. He moved from her lips down her neck, and with a yank on her skimpy top, he exposed a breast to make his way towards it.
She didn’t tell him to be careful. She wanted to, of course, but she couldn’t. Part of her wanted him to be careless, but mostly she simply knew she was in no position to tell him what to do with her.
And that was part of the appeal. Her body writhed against his, needing him so badly. She wanted to feel him everywhere, to touch his chest, to worship his cock. She wanted to devour and explore him in a way she hadn’t felt in years.
The way her tanned flesh looked against his darker skin was exquisite, and how her large breasts dimpled around his hand... She whimpered his named, tinged with such lust.
For a man so cold to the touch, there was a fire of passion in him that was astounding. More so because it was all for her. It was no simple male desire for a warm, tight place to unload. It was all for her narrow slit, her large yet supple breasts. He wanted it all. He squeezed that massive mound of hers, pinched the peak of her areola as she felt the pointed fangs scrape and threaten her neck.
She’d never thought on such things, for vampires were a thing of legend, not one of the dark denizens of the world she had experience with. Yet to have him kissing, suckling and teasing her neck as his large dick throbbed needfully in her grasp, it was a high she could not explain.
This male beauty wanted her. Wanted her body. Wanted her beauty. Her charm. Her seduction. He so very obviously wanted her cunt, and he wanted to plunge into her neck and drink of her blood. She was everything this dark image of a man could want. It dawned on her just as his mouth reluctantly moved from her vulnerable neck to her breast, to kiss and suck at her teat.
Her mind was a fog and she didn’t know if she could take it much longer. Her nipples felt so tight that it was painful, and she swore that she heard a dollop of her honey hit the floor. It didn’t even matter that they were still in a room of death; Anjasa was used to that over the years. All that existed was them, alone in this house.
Alone in the arms of a man that could rip her to pieces. It sent the predictable shiver down her spine and she arched her large breasts towards his dangerous mouth. She couldn’t remember the last time she was so worked up.
His hunger could not be sated upon her breasts alone though. And at last he relinquished the fleshy mounds and stabbed for her womanhood with the same precision he’d ended Zarach; his thick cock plunging into her over wet cunny and jarringly striking the entrance to her womb as he let loose such a low groan of satisfaction.
Anjasa’s voice encircled them, that high scream of excitement piercing the air. It was so sudden, but it was perfect. She was so wet that it was no issue for him to sheath himself deep inside her body. Her head tilted back, breasts rising and falling with each rapid breath. Her body felt like it was on fire.
Jaral grasped her beneath her thighs, his strong grip digging into her fleshy legs as he tugged back then thrust again. The lust in him was a ceaseless buzzing, and he wasted no time with softness. He had to have her, and that sensation of having his cool, pulsing shaft inside her molten hot cunt was bizarrely satisfying.
The wet slaps of his hard body striking hers, sending her ample honey into his neatly trimmed dark pubic hair filled the shattered room. And the dark monster inside her moaned with each new jackhammering thrust.
She didn’t care what she’d gotten herself into. All she knew at that moment was pure, mindless bliss, and her moans and screams kept echoing off the walls around them. She barely knew him, but that didn’t matter. This was all she needed to know about him.
That he could calm her worries and fears, that she could trust him to fuck her right, and she squeezed his cock in thanks. He was exquisite, and she could already feel her body scream for release.
The motions of their rutting had caused his leather suit to strip back away from his chest, leaving it increasingly bare and vulnerable to her searching fingers. Her nails able to dig into that hard muscle, run through the beautifully light forest of black chest hair.
His tempo only increased, yet as she squeezed his manhood in her thanks, she could feel it: she elicited from that soulless monster his first satisfying orgasm in untold years. His motions never ceased though. She could feel the primal lust in him with each hammering stab. The spurts of his creamy white seed from his swollen glands not enough to end his ravaging, nor even slow it as he growled out her name as if reciting the title of a goddess.
Oh gods, she whimpered as her vision went hazy and her fingers dug into his shoulders. She loved the feel of a man cumming in her, and Zarach had denied her that pleasure. The way his hips bucked, how hard he stabbed into her. How reckless he became and how little he cared for her comfort. It was pure selfishness on his part, and she wanted every last drop.
Her teeth found his ear and she tugged it, letting out a moan around that cool, brown flesh.
The incessant wet slap of their bodies as his dick crashed deep into her quim again and again resonated throughout the room. His brown flesh impacting her elven body with barely restrained desire.
He had emptied his loins into her, added his tainted essence to her flood of sexual fluids, yet he had no shortage of desire. He grabbed her breast in one hand, squeezed and mauled that beautiful mound as he then took her whole body and flung it—and him—onto a sofa, where he mounted atop her and continued his wild thrusts.
This was what she needed.
Definitely.
Her voice was strained with her screams and cries, and even though they sounded pain he had to know it was pure delight. She almost felt like crying with joy, for she’d finally found what she’d been looking for for so many years.
Someone worthy of her.
She hadn’t met someone that could handle her, control her, in a long and lonely decade, and her legs clamped around him, not wanting to let him go.
Jaral was locked into her, his brown, needful dick pounding into her cum sodden, honey slick pussy with no sign of slowing or stopping, as the virility of that gorgeous man refused to wane.
Chapter 9
It was impossible to say how long their first tryst had gone on. Anjasa couldn’t measure time, only count the aches, bruises, scratches and bite marks. Though one thing she knew was that dawn was not too far off as amidst the chaos of the shattered room, Jaral lay atop a broken divan that they’d busted, not during the fight, but during their fucking.
For a cold, immortal man, his sandy brown flesh glistened with perspiration somehow, heightening the appeal of his muscles as he stroked a hand along her thigh. Even then, as she leaked his seed from their countless climaxes and was too worn from the vigorous activity to move, he still had it in him to grope and fondle her.
She hadn’t felt so satisfied in so long, and she curled into him, letting his cool touch soothe her battered flesh.
“Is Berro still... around?” she managed to whisper, her voice as cracked and as worn as her body.
Splayed upon the sofa with her, the whole of his dark body was o
n display. Ripe with muscle, a delightful smattering of his dark hair across his form, that dark vision of beauty and male power put his arm around her, held her to him as he spoke in his deep voice “He is locked in the basement,” he said simply. “I took care of him before I came for you,” and his lips found hers again.
“He’s a jackass,” she yawned, stroking down his abs and revelling in their feel. “He put something in my porridge.” Their bodies looked beautiful together, hers so tanned and smooth, his so much darker and richer.
“I could put something in him to return the favour,” he remarked in that exotic accent of his, those curiously shaped eyes—outlined in black—moving to her as he admired her beauty even then. Though she couldn’t help but be reminded of how Jaral had plucked those daggers into Zarach.
She laughed. It wasn’t a rational response, but neither was killing someone over a stupid prank. Still, her fingertips traced along Jaral’s jaw, slowly making their way up towards his mouth. “How long have you been like this?” she mused, mostly to herself.
Those eyes of his, so entrancing and unique, were partially lidded as he watched her, letting her move towards his lips and those sharp fangs that marked him for what he was. “One might measure it in centuries,” he said to her, his strong fingers caressing the side of her breast as he lounged there with her.
Her lip quirked, “Yea. Me too. We’re lucky to be us.” Her fingers ran over his full lips before she let her hand drop to his chest casually. “So what now?”
She’d asked him before. She felt adrift without direction, without meaning, and he could give it to her. She needed him to give her purpose again.
Reclining upon a mound of cushions on their broken divan, he let his eyes drift shut—or very nearly so—before he answered her in his deep, foreign voice. “I have a business to run now,” he began. “The tedious tasks Zarach did are now mine. And you...” the slightest of curves came to his lips. “You shall cultivate your little sprout. Be there to wake him. To bring him the will. And, over time, to make sure he puts that gift to good use. My use.”