"So, babe, what d'ya wanna do?" he said, full anticipation of his plans showing on his face.
"Oh, just as I said before we left that burger joint. That we'd come back to my place, and here we are." I splayed my arms. "What was that second part?" I inquired teasingly, my hand hovering slightly above the light switch.
"Fun! You promised fun . . . and I can do fun." His voice ragged with the quickening pulls of his excited breath.
He reached for me, and I quickly took my hand from the switch—might as well let him have a little fun of his own. His urgent hands grabbed my arm and pulled me closer to him. His mouth found mine. The hunger from his lips was unmistakable as our tongues embraced and danced together. His hands roamed over my body, rubbing my breast strongly, and groping me with an insatiable need. I pulled away just enough to grab hold of his shirt. I ripped it open, and buttons flew, bouncing along the floor. My mouth found his chest, and I traced my tongue down to his muscular stomach. It was when my hands were on the front of his pants, feeling his stiffness, that I remembered why I'd brought him there. I stopped myself from going further before my libido had gotten out of control.
"Ah, too bad," I teased.
"What? What's wrong?" he said between gasping breaths.
"I was just thinking what a shame it is that my fun is going to be much greater than your own. A pity, really." I made my way back over to the light switch before I finished speaking.
"Oh, I thought I did something wrong." He reached for me, again, but I didn't give him a chance.
I flipped the switch and was across the room before he could blink. I stood silently while his eyes adjusted to the sudden assault of light. It took him even longer to realize I no longer stood within arm's length, but instead, I stood on the other side of the room. The confusion on his face was obvious, and I waited for him to speak first.
"How . . . but . . . you were just by me? Th-th-That's impossible. Who else is here?" He fumbled over his words.
"No one else is here. Only you and me, but now, it's my turn to have fun," I said in a soothing voice, and then I allowed a menacing laugh to escape my throat.
That did the trick. Simultaneously, his breaths picked up, his pulse raced, and fear etched his face. That was exactly what I wanted because I needed him to be afraid. I craved the fear. He said nothing and was unmoving.
"What's wrong, did I scare you?" I mocked, taking a step forward. His heart skipped a beat, and then it raced even faster.
"Y-yes," he stuttered, finally, but still he'd made no effort to move.
"Ah, that's good. I need you to be afraid. The fear makes it so much sweeter." I smiled, flashing my teeth.
"Sweeter?" he managed.
"Yes, sweeter. The adrenaline that's making your heart race right now, somehow, I'm not sure . . . It makes the taste divine. But, you smelled delicious, to begin with, so I can only imagine . . . Well . . . " I let the words hang in the air.
"What . . . tastes . . . s-s-sweeter?" His heart thundered with every racing beat. It was pure music to my instincts.
"Your blood, what else?" I practically moaned.
His frozen stature faltered, and he stumbled backward. Had it not been for the wall, he would have fallen flat on his ass. I slowly started to close the gap between us, and I heard his breath catch. I neared the halfway point to him when he snapped his eyes shut and inhaled deeply. I stopped my approach. Cautiously, he opened his eyes, and a single tear rolled down his cheek.
"I know I haven't been the kindest person. I could've been better, but I haven't been so bad. Not to deserve anything like this. Not to die now! I'm only twenty-three. Please, let me go? Please! Why me? Why are you doing this?" He choked out the words, nearly bawling, and it surprised me that he didn't fall to his knees.
"Why you? Well, you were where I was looking. I guess you could say, you were in the wrong place at the wrong time. I already told you the reason why we're here. Also, this isn't happening 'cause you're a bad person. You could be a true saint, for all I know. So don't beat yourself up over things you've done, or haven't done. I don't really care." I worked to make sure there was enough menace in my voice to keep his heart pounding.
I kept a pocketknife on me for such occasions, because there was a normal procedure. I'd done it hundreds of times. I'd been doing it since I was nineteen. For six years before that night, I'd brought men—and the occasional woman—to that very place, my home, to get blood from them. One quick slash on their forearm with my pocketknife, and I'd let their blood drain into my mouth until my craving was satisfied. There was no harm, really. When I was finished, I'd dose them with a little something to make it seem like they drank to the point where they couldn't quite remember what happened. Then I'd take them where they lived, and have it seem as if they passed out on their lawn or doorstep.
So, I didn't know why I couldn't concentrate on my plan. All I could think was how delicious he smelled. How hot, thick, and smooth his blood would be going down my throat. Every hammering beat of his heart made all my thought and reason get lost. There was no longer a plan or procedure to follow. All that mattered was the nectar of his being and me getting it. My focus narrowed on the throbbing pulse of his jugular. Without thought, I leaped across the remainder of the room and landed on top of him, throwing him to the floor.
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