"Emma," he gentlysqueezes my hands, "you're only thirty. Do you want to die?"

I want him to keep holding my hands, kissing my knuckles like that, his lips soft and cool against my dry skin. I want to him to wake me, right before dawn, just so that he can tell me he loves me one more time before he passes out till sunset. I want to always remember to draw the curtains for him (he calls it a tomb, but honestly, it's just our bedroom, blackout curtains are un-lifesavers.) I want him to take me to a Stevie Nicks show. I want to take him to knock the bitches who teased me off their 'I settled for the prom king' horses at my next high school reunion, and to his first Broadway show (at four hundred and twenty-seven, can you believe that?). I want him to teach me how he makes scrambled eggs so good when he can't even eat them.

"I want to be with you," my voice is small.

"You are with me."

"I want scrambled eggs."

"Sorry?"

I launch myself into Nick's arms. He catches me. With grace. But there is definitely no grace about the way I'm crying and drooling against his chest. I don't even know why. Damn it, what day is it? I am getting my period? That would explain a lot.

"You... want to eat eggs? Now?"

"I'm not expecting you make me eggs!" My breath hitches, "I really, really like the way you cook them, I guess."

Nick folds his arms snugly around my shoulders, drawing me in, burying his nose in my hair. I lock my hands together behind his back.

"Oh, babe, I want to make you scrambled eggs. I would love to make you scrambled eggs. I will absolutely commit to making you loads and loads of scrambled eggs for the rest of your natural life."

I'm not sure I intended scrambled eggs to be this kind of metaphor, but hey, we're both on the same, uh, plate with it, I guess.

"What about when I get old and cranky?" I sniffle.

"There's plastic surgery for that."

I pinch his side, "I said cranky, not saggy! So long as I can walk, I'm staying fit! But that's nothing compared to how unfairly pretty you are, eternally on the edge of what, twenty-two? I'm already visibly older than you."

Which had raised a brow and placed some hands on the hips of my mother.

Nick rolls his eyes. "Yeah, cause getting carded in every bar I go to forever is just the best."

I laugh. He laughs too. I can feel the salt from my tears drying on my cheeks.

"I don't give a shit about how perky your tits are," — jeez, what's with men always thinking about your tits, even in a serious moment? — "old or young, I will adore you forever. Do I need to murder you to prove it?"

A jolt of gross, nauseating fear socks me in the gut. Mom. Mornings. Brunch. The girls. Yoga class. Sunshine. Doritos.

"No. Fuck it, no. I don't want to die. I really, really don't."

"Okay. Then I'm not going to kill you."

"What about your family business?"

I feel him shrug. "Like you said, fuck it. The family business thing is so seventeenth century. Besides, I'm a bit looking forward to doting on you when you're a sexy cougar."

He bites my ear. Though not hard enough to draw blood. Never that hard.

I rake my nails across his back. Nick groans, deep in his throat. I kiss his jaw. His cheeks. His neck. His lips.

He pulls away, smirking, "I thought you wanted scrambled eggs?"

"They can wait."

I nudge him and he falls, comfortably, onto his back, sighing, playing helpless. Sucking on his bottom lip, I feel him shiver.

"I love you," I say.

"I love you."

I straddle my vampire boyfriend.

"You're going to be the hottest hot for teacher boy in my Burning Man, Yoga bondage class."

"Your what?"

"Don't worry about it," I say, and grind hard against him.

He moans. His grip on my hips tightens—but not too tight. Just tight enough. Just enough to make me have to work a little harder to roll my hips over him.

I'm slick again. Or maybe still slick from before? Doesn't matter. Nick's enthusiasm matches mine in no time. He's hard beneath me, making my clit tingle as I rub against him.

"No more teasing," he whispers.

"Uh uh," I pull his wrists away from my hips. He growls a bit. Playfully. "What's the magic word?"

In an instant Nick turned my hold on him against me, twisting his hands, and somehow managing to snatch my wrists with his iron grip. He pulled one of my hands to his mouth and traced my fingers with his tongue.

"Fuck me till you're screaming loud enough to wake the dead," he says, and thrusts inside of me.

I moan. Or scream. Not sure. Volume is such a stupid construct. But I think Nick is laughing in that smug, proud sort of way he does when he knows he's done a good job. And good is putting it mildly.

We move together. He's so deep. Every tiny shift sets all my nerves ablaze with pleasure. Nick feels it too. I can see the restraint in him, the way he grits his sharp, pointy teeth as he's trying to not to lose control, to fuck me so hard and fast he burns holes in our sheets and pours himself into me till I'm overflowing.

It's so fucking hot.

I smother his mouth in mine as I cum, sudden and stunning. He grabs my ass and thrusts up, hard and fast, joining me in an instant. I feel a chill, like always, as he climaxes. Vampires aren't exactly known for their body heat.

"Good girl," Nick coos as I pant against his chest. "But I still want to know more about this bondage Yoga class."

The end.