Hunting Karoly

by Marie Treanor

  “Bastard,” I whispered, as he began to rub his creamed finger over my nipple, driving me almost insane. He bent his head and slowly licked my pussy moisture off my nipple. Abruptly, I seized his ponytail in one hand, tugging.

  “Fuck me,” I gasped. “Fuck me now or I’ll die.”

  Raising his head, he smiled wolfishly. His green eyes were so dark they looked black. Grasping my leg, he pulled it up over his hip. “I like to hear you say please…”

  I had never begged in my life before, certainly not for sex, but here the words, the situation were all so strange that that the idea of saying them just aroused me even more. Letting go of his cock, I took his face between my hands and looked into his amazing eyes.

  “Please,” I said clearly. “Please fuck me, you beautiful, beautiful bastard. Please fuck me right here, right now…”

  I had to break off as he pushed himself straight inside me with one smooth stroke. It was incredible. Showers of sensation flew outward from my pussy. He was so big within me, so huge, so…

  “Cold!” I gasped. “Your cock is cold!”

  “What do you expect?” he asked, pulling back until he almost left me, then pushing back in, long and slow. “I’ve been dead for five hundred years. It will warm inside you. But I’m told the cold can be pleasurable too. You might find you like it.”

  And God help me, I did. He fucked me with big, powerful strokes, slow at first and interspersed with a sensual grinding that drove me wild. I could feel his cock rubbing delightfully against all my internal muscles. Every movement inside me brought a weird, icy pleasure that built impossibly.

  “How many men have you had, vampire hunter?” he asked unsteadily.

  “Too many,” I gasped.

  “Did any of them please you like this?”

  “None,” I said with total honesty. If I’d got any true pleasure from it at all, I’d been doing well, but even the best of them had been nothing like this. This was wild and overpowering and I couldn’t get enough of him. I wanted my orgasm so badly I thought I would explode and yet I didn’t want ever to stop feeling just what I was now.

  He laughed softly. “That’s good. And I’ve barely begun…”

  I moaned as he thrust full into me. His mouth claimed mine, sucking my tongue and playing with it. His hands moved all over my body, stroking my breasts, my hips, my clitoris, sweeping back up to breast and throat. His mouth left mine trailing fiery kisses down my jaw to my throat, closing on my neck.

  “Dear God,” I whispered as lips moved, sucking the sensitive skin there. His tongue licked me, his lips caressed, shaking my body with yet more sensation. I wasn’t even surprised when I felt him bite me. It was all part of the astounding pleasure when his teeth broke the skin of my neck and his mouth kissed me strongly, pulling. I felt my blood drawn out into his mouth, each agonizing, wonderful suck in rhythm with the beating of my heart, and all the time he fucked me.

  “Use the pain,” he whispered into my wound and I, careless now of the hurt, cried out only with pleasure as his mouth pulled once more. I felt his tongue gently lapping at the wound, his lips softly kissing it, before they returned to mine in a kiss so deep and intense I was completely lost. I could taste my own blood, was so lost in him, in the feel of his cock ramming into me that I didn’t care.

  I thrust my hips upward and into him, taking him farther inside me than anyone had ever been and fucked with him, rocking and sliding on his cock, squeezing him, determined to make him come as he had made me last night. If vampires could come.

  He smiled, groaning deep in his throat. “I can and I will, any minute now.” He pressed me back into the door, slid both hands under my buttocks and began to increase the speed of his thrusts. Each stroke brought almost unbearable pleasure and as they grew faster and faster I could hardly deal with it. Certainly I gave up trying to match him. I could only hang in his hands, pressed back against the door while he pounded into me.

  His cock was no longer cold—the friction alone should have set us both on fire—but somehow I hung onto the strange, icy pleasure it had invoked earlier, letting it swirl and mingle with the heat of the present. My orgasm mounted with unstoppable pace, rolling in with a sharpness I had never known before, growing to an intensity I had never imagined, even after last night. Crying out with the impossible joy, my hands fell helplessly to my sides, my fingers opening and closing against the glass and metal of the door behind me. Even more exciting, I actually felt his cock throb fiercely inside me while a weird noise began to emanate from him, half howl, half groan, building in volume with his orgasm and mine until he sounded more like a wolf than anything else.

  For some reason, his howl drove my desire and my pleasure to greater heights, setting it all off again, making me writhe on his cock to get the feel of him on my clitoris again, stroking him with the walls of my pussy, dragging myself up and down his shaft to force the pleasure on and on.

  It was astounding, unbelievable, a total abandonment of self to wild sensation. I thought I would lose consciousness when it eventually stopped—already I felt as if I were falling.

  Abruptly, my eyes snapped open. I was falling.

  We both were. The door behind me had flown open—it can’t have been locked and my flailing fingers must have somehow opened the catch. Now we both tumbled helplessly though the opening door and down the few steps into the room. Twisting around, the vampire yanked me so that he fell on his back with me on top of him.

  We were on a carpeted floor in an empty, half-darkened room. Beside me, a maze of wooden legs stretched upward into a dining table and chairs. Karoly had stopped howling, but I was still very aware of him inside me, the afterglow of my curtailed climax filling my pussy, my stomach, my whole body.

  For a moment, we were silent, listening. “Is there anybody in?” I whispered.

  “I don’t care. Little vampire hunter, you fuck like a demon, too, and I want more. Fuck me again.”

  A sound that was half laughter, half excitement bubbled up in my throat. Without a second invitation, I straddled his beautiful, tartan-clad body and gasped as his cock reached even further up inside me. More than that, it grazed the rare, special spot that produced such blinding pleasure. Previous lovers had stumbled upon it only very occasionally and that by accident. And yet on the balcony, he had found it unerringly with the first stroke of his big, cold cock. Now, I couldn’t resist pausing to wriggle, and enjoy as much as I could get of this intense thrill. He didn’t mind. In fact he circled his hips under me, so that his cock rubbed it over and over and I had to close my eyes with ecstasy.

  I became aware of his hands on my skirt, bundling it upward to my waist.

  “Look,” he commanded, and I opened my eyes again to gaze down at the junction of our bodies. My triangle of black pubic hair mingled with his golden thatch. I moaned at the sheer sexiness of the sight, then again as he pulled slowly back, allowing me a glimpse of his thickly veined shaft before he thrust upward into me.

  “Oh Jesus,” I whispered in bliss. I moved with him, slowly, achingly. On impulse, I took his hands from my hips and placed them palm down on my exposed breasts. He smiled wickedly as he began to caress and knead, catching my nipples between his fingers. Gasping, I rose up on his shaft and rode him hard and furiously until I caught again the waves of pleasure, for him as well as me.

  Then, while the thunder crashed around us, drowning his howl and my inarticulate cries, I slowed, just squeezing him with the pulsing walls of my pussy. I moved once more in slow, sensual, circles, my eyes closed, to extract and feel every ounce of the orgasm. It went on a long time. He held onto my breasts, kneading, while I moaned out my pleasure and his howl began to fade.

  I came back to Earth slowly. I had never known any bodily pleasure like it, such intensity of desire or satisfaction. It was natural to feel happy after sex like that and I did. I grinned down at him and he smiled back. His arms reached behind me, drawing me down to lie with him.

  Only then, face to face wi
th him, did I begin to think rationally about what we had just done.

  I must have looked as stricken as I felt, because I saw his face change. I whispered, “You drank from me!”

  After which I’d let him carry on fucking me. In fact, I’d just fucked him back. Losing all sense, all safety in blind, menacing lust. Had I really imagined he wouldn’t feed from me, just because we were having sex? Why did it feel like betrayal now? When at the time…

  His fingers touched my neck. I could feel sensitivity there but no pain. The notes had talked about healing as well as hypnotizing.

  He said, “You taste delicious. Strong and sweet, with traces of spice…”

  “Have you no shame?” I demanded, sitting up. Which, considering my own state, with my boobs hanging out of my shirt and my skirt round my waist after the best screw—the best two screws—of my life, was perhaps a little cheeky.

  He only smiled. “No.”

  I pulled myself out of his arms, trying to ignore the sharp pang of pleasure as his cock sprang out of my body. I scuttled away from his too-dangerous presence to sit against the wall while I tried to fasten my shirt with too few buttons. After a moment, I gave up and just put my head in my hands to think.

  I didn’t see him move, but I felt his touch, butterfly light on my shoulder. I jerked as though he’d burned me, staring up at him fearfully.

  “Jenny,” he said. It was the first time he had said my name. I didn’t even know he knew it. “Jenny, stay with me.”

  My mouth fell open.

  Then, unmistakably, the doorbell rang.

  Chapter Six

  The mundane clang cut through my confusion like a knife. My reality was that I had just had sex in a complete stranger’s house, a house I had for all intents and purposes broken into, with a vampire I should have been trying to kill. But the rest of the world didn’t stop for my orgasms.

  “Frank and Hilda,” I said aloud, and when he did no more than twitch one sculpted eyebrow at me, I repeated, “Frank and Hilda, my colleagues. It’s probably them at the door. If they don’t get an answer, they’ll come in anyway. They’ll know we’re here.”

  “So?” the vampire inquired.

  “So they’ve come to kill you! And they’re not blunderers like me!”

  He smiled at me and, ridiculously, my heart turned over. “You’re not a blunderer. For what it’s worth, that blow would have killed most vampires. It was your bad luck that I’m old enough to have skin as hard as leather.” It didn’t feel like leather to me, I thought irrelevantly, remembering its smooth silkiness under my palms.

  The vampire said, “You’re a very powerful psychic who hasn’t learned yet either to appreciate or to control her gift.”

  “You can’t possibly know that,” I said as the doorbell rang again. It seemed no one was at home. If they were they must have been stone deaf not to hear the sound of our wild sexual encounter with its accompanying screams and howls coming from their dining room.

  “Of course I know that. You’ve tracked me twice without difficulty and now you’re projecting some of your thoughts. If you concentrate, you can probably receive them too.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I heard you wondering if vampires come.” And while I felt myself color in embarrassment, he crouched down beside me and took my hand. It jumped at his touch and then, held by his eyes, I let it lie in his. It was curiously soothing. “Now you know I do, without releasing semen, since I have none. And you made me come very hard. Try this,” he said, changing subjects with bewildering speed. “Listen to what I’m thinking…”

  I shrugged. And even though the bell rang for a third time, I closed my eyes and thought about Karoly and his deep, green eyes and how hard I had made him come.

  At first there was only silence, in the house as in my head. Then I heard a peculiar soft roar, like many voices in the distance. It faded quickly, ’til I heard only one, his.

  I thought he said, I love you. Then, amused, What do you mean ‘crap’?

  Taken aback, I tried to send to him, You know nothing about me.

  I know you love me.

  My eyes flew open. “I do not love you!” I exclaimed aloud. For some reason, the very thought agitated me.

  “Well you love sex with me. It’s the same thing.”

  “It is not the same thing!”

  “It will be, if you stay with me.”

  I snatched my hand free, “What is this about staying with you? Stay with you where? How? You’re a bored, lazy, amoral Magyar vampire in an antique kilt! I like daylight! Apart from that, although I may set fire to my hair and bring houses down on top of myself, I do have standards, namely that I prefer to live my life away from the taint of murder and bloodshed. What the hell was that?”

  That was, in fact, the sound of the front door being broken in. I knew as soon as I asked the silly question.

  “It’s them,” I said with total despair, and I didn’t even know over what.

  “What do you want me to do?” he asked quietly. From the hall, I could hear Frank’s voice, the sound of a door being pushed open farther down the hall from us. I lifted my eyes to his face once more. God he was beautiful. You could drown in those eyes, in his mouth, die there without regret…

  “I want you to go away,” I whispered, “and stop torturing me.”

  His eyebrows twitched once. His full lips parted. An expression crossed his face that was neither anger nor lust nor hurt, but might have been all three, or none. Then he turned away and walked toward the balcony door.

  My throat felt tight. Some sharp yet unspecific pain grasped me, filled me. But I had no time to dwell on it, for the door of the room swung open and Frank walked in.

  “Jenny!” he said with surprising relief. “Are you all right? Where is he?”

  “Gone,” I said dully, and looked toward the balcony from where, typically enough, a watery sunshine now tried to fight its way through the clouds. My bewildered brain was slow to pick up the implications of that, though, even when I saw Karoly himself backing out of the room on to the balcony, with my stake through his heart.

  Without meaning to be, I was on my feet. Instinct propelled me to the door after him, for this was his second exit. The first had been to retrieve the stake. This, presumably, was his farewell. His beautiful, dramatically gleaming green eyes were full of genuine pain and in his voice was unspeakable sadness as he said, “There was never any peace but this.”

  Hilda ran into the room. I had never seen her move so fast. “He’ll burn up!” she cried. “The sun’s coming back out!”

  The vampire didn’t care. With one dive, he catapulted himself backward over the balcony railings. I couldn’t help it. I let out a cry of pain and rage and an unbearable grief I had no right to. Pointlessly, I ran out on to the balcony after him, but Frank caught me at the door, saying grimly, “Wait here, Jen, you’ve done enough.” And for once, it was not sarcastic.

  He really thought I had killed the vampire.

  * * * * *

  Flanked by Hilda and Frank, I crouched down on the road under the balcony where the pointed stick lay, smeared with blood. Apart from that, there was nothing except a damp rag that Frank gingerly picked up with tweezers.

  “Completely vaporized,” Hilda said with some awe. “Incredible.”

  She was damned right it was incredible. A vampire who had assiduously dodged death for five hundred years suddenly commits suicide? Twice? Why the hell would he stab himself with my stake and then throw himself into the sun? One or the other would have done and I didn’t believe in either for one moment.

  Frank said, “Any ideas, Jenny?”

  I looked at the wet rag he held up before my eyes. Pale, indeterminate colored cotton. Beneath the muddy stains, it looked like something that had been carelessly washed too often with dark colors. It had. It was my torn knickers.

  My breath caught. Bastard! I shouted out in my head. Complete and utter bastard! But there was no reply, not ev
en the faintest chuckle.

  * * * * *

  The next day, I flew south with Frank and Hilda. Frank still managed to get up my nose. Though his attitude to me had certainly changed since my supposed single-handed slaying of the vampire, this new and admittedly reluctant respect set me even further on edge, since I was very well aware I didn’t deserve it. Not for those reasons anyway.

  Besides, he was still slimy.

  On the other hand, I did have a talk with Hilda that came close to a heart to heart. I confessed to her that I hadn’t truly been trying in the last four months, that in the beginning I hadn’t believed in any of their psychic nonsense and even when I did I was sure I had no abilities of my own, whatever their tests had thrown up. I told her about the unmistakable recognition of the vampire and how I had given and received telepathic thoughts from him. I didn’t tell her what those thoughts were and she didn’t ask. In fact, she was oddly comforting. She appeared to take it for granted that some sort of emotional link had existed between me and the vampire and what was more, she didn’t find it unusual. For the first time it struck me that Hilda had her own stories to tell and that they were stories worth hearing. In the meantime however, I humbly accepted her denunciation of my laziness over the last four months and agreed without a quibble to her intense program of catch-up.

  That night, as I lay in my cool, single bed, I realized that somewhere I actually looked forward to Hilda’s tutoring. I wasn’t just compensating for taking their money under false pretenses. For some reason, I did actually want to do this now and I believed I could even be good at it. So long as there weren’t too many vampires involved.

  Restlessly, by the light of my bedside lamp, I looked around the bare walls of my room. There was no need to live at the Centre. I could have got my own flat in one of the nearby towns, but I had never really believed I would be staying long. For that reason too, I supposed, I had never made my room home. There were some of my books on the shelves, some favorite CDs lying loose on the desk. A rare photograph of my mother actually smiling—although she was trying hard to frown—sat on my bedside table, another on the dressing table of Maggie, Catherine, Nick and me crowded round the table of a Spanish café, grinning inanely at the camera. But there were no pictures on the wall, no knick-knacks or flowers that would have made the room mine. No wonder I had been unhappy here. For the first time it even entered my head that the people here—psychics, let’s face it—had picked up on all my negative emotions and had had no reason to like or even tolerate me.