Rising, he turned me fast, bending me over an empty outdoor planter. He took the time to take off my right shoe and then lifted my trapped leg from the confines of my pant leg, clearly wanting me to widen my stance for him. There was the sound of foil tearing, and then his fingers were back, two of them, now slathered in lube as he pushed them inside me.
His name came from my chest, and it didn’t matter where I was because he was there and that was all that mattered.
He pulled his fingers free.
“Fuck me,” I begged him, hungry, frantic, craving his heat, his power, everything in me screaming to submit, to reforge my bond with him.
His cock was there, at my entrance, shoving into me hard, the lube allowing for the savage breech that took my breath away.
Clenching my hands tight on the cement under my palms, I rode the fine line between pleasure and pain before I felt first a tug on my T-shirt and then heard the sound of ripping as it was shredded. He fisted a hand in my hair and yanked hard, arching my back so my ass lifted, and then rolled his hips forward and buried himself to the hilt.
It took a second to realize that the keening noise of surrender was coming from me.
He pounded inside of me, back and forth, mercilessly, brutally, taking what he wanted, hands that would leave bruises digging into my hips as his damp skin slapped against mine.
“Varic,” I cried out as my balls tightened and sizzling heat slithered up my spine.
“Your body wants me deeper,” he husked into my ear. “Do you feel how much you want me, Jason?”
“Yes,” I choked out, not proud of the whimper at the end, lost in the sensation of my muscles tightening, clamping down around him.
“I made you mine,” he told me before he curled over my back, twisted my head sideways, and then bit down into the hollow between my shoulder and neck.
I came hard, spurting over the dust-covered concrete, frozen as the tremors ran through me even as he rutted inside, driving to my core at the same time he drank deep, gorging on my body as he did on my blood.
When he came, straightening me so I was impaled on his cock, arms wrapped tight around my chest, pinning my arms to my sides as he pumped inside of me, I would have sunk to the ground if he wasn’t clutching me against him.
He slid his fangs free and licked over the bite, stemming the blood flow, another oddity with vampyrs, that their salvia promoted clotting. It made sense biologically. A creature that drank blood also had to be able to control its flow so nothing was ever wasted. What good was a source of sustenance that was drained dry?
I smiled to myself, loving, as always, the thought that I alone fed him and gave him life.
He inhaled deeply, his face in my nape, and I knew I was a mess. Covered in sweat with cum running down the inside of my thighs, I was not at all suitable to be seen in public.
“You should have waited until I got home and took a shower,” I mumbled, shivering, my muscles still contracting around his hard shaft. “I smell gross.”
“No,” he said gruffly, “as I said, you smelled too good. Like sweat and salt, like wind and sun, and most of all, like you, earthy, musky and sweet.”
“You smelled my blood.”
“And now I smell your cum,” he said, slipping carefully free of my body, still holding me tight, tipping my head to the right before he bit into my throat, high, directly under my jaw, drinking deeply as his hand slipped down over my stomach to my flaccid cock.
I was oversensitized, overstimulated, and yet still, after only moments of him teasing my flesh, working me in his hand, I thickened lazily in his fist.
The tug and suction on my throat, combined with the languorous stroking, had me pushing in and out of his grip, until all I could hear was my own panting as my hips rocked forward and back. His fangs slid free, and there was his hot, wet tongue on the wound for no more than a second before he spun me around and bumped me back against the wall, taking me down the back of his throat, gripping my ass as I fucked his mouth. It took only seconds and he swallowed deeply, taking the little I had left before he let my cock slip free and he turned and lifted my left thigh and bit down deeply. I crumpled in his arms, legs giving out, sinking down on the dusty, dirty stones, my jacket protecting my ass as I collapsed slowly under his guiding hands into a sated sprawl.
He was staring at me and it had to have been so lewd: me, all spread out in what looked like some gutted back patio, shirt torn, one leg draped over his shoulder, shoe on, pants and underwear bunched above it, the other held under the knee so he could gorge on my blood, drinking from my inner thigh in great gulps.
When his tongue finally swirled over my skin and he gently lowered my leg, I saw instantly how hard he was.
Slowly, I slid my feet back, bending my knees and letting my thighs fall apart, opening myself up in offering. His hooded eyes were a sight to behold, glittering evilly as his lips curled in a hungry smile.
“You give and give and give,” he murmured, leaning forward to finish the mess he’d already made of my T-shirt, baring me completely but for the jacket. He leaned back then, stroking himself fast, staring down at me smugly in blatant ownership. “Which is how I know you’re mine and why it was never possible for me to outlive you, my consort.”
I should have been more focused on his words, but he was working his beautiful long, thick cock, and in seconds he was coming, pumping cum down onto me, splattering my chest and abdomen, marking me as his.
The only sound was his rough breathing as I stared up at him, looking my fill of the breathtaking man who I had clearly scared to death merely by not answering his calls. He had needed to fuck me, bite me, and then mark me just to soothe himself, body and soul, that I was safe and sound and utterly and completely his.
“I’ll be more careful,” I assured him, watching him take deep breaths, calming, tucking himself in, zipping up and buckling. In seconds, after he dusted off his knees, tugged on his cuffs, and straightened his jacket, he looked again like the polished and elegant prince of the vampyrs, without even a hair out of place.
“As will I,” he promised, his eyes riveted on my abdomen, staring at his cum decorating my skin.
“You do a lot of your communicating through sex, and while I enjoy that,” I made clear, “you need to talk to me, whether it’s comfortable or not.”
“Yes,” he agreed, squatting down, helping me sit up.
“Shit,” I gasped, light-headed, feeling like everything swung sharply to the left.
“Just go slow,” he insisted, his voice gentle, soothing, hands all over me, lifting me to my feet before bending to assist me, pulling up first my briefs, then my pants, and helping me on with my running shoe. “Can you walk?”
“Yes,” I said as he untied my jacket and eased me into it before he picked up the empty foil packets off the ground.
“I should use that to clean myself off,” I said hoarsely, pointing at the rag that had once been my shirt.
“No,” he said, his voice cracking, full of gravel as he tried to thread the zipper of my jacket.
“No? You don’t want me to wipe your cum off me?”
He shook his head.
“Why not?”
“You know why not.”
I smiled, because his drives were so often primal and I loved that about him. It probably should have been scary, that in the throes of a desperate joining he could hurt me, but since I’d craved a possessive lover my whole life, the only thing I felt was a deep sense of rightness.