A shudder shook Neave’s entire body, and she emitted small, gorgeously feminine sound. Then her tension melted – almost all of it – and she rested her back on my chest, letting her head fall back onto my shoulder. Her neck, the beautiful, smooth length of the unbitten side, lay bare and exposed to me. Even sated as I was, it was almost too irresistible anyway. I lowered my mouth to her, her inner walls fluttering around my cock from the mere contact of my breath.
“As his fangs go in,” Neave clamped down on my cock, gasping as I followed Daci’s description, breaking her pristine flesh again, “I know there is real pain, if fleeting. And you feel a wash of heat, blooming from your neck. Yes?”
Neave couldn’t really nod, but seemed to whine something affirmative. Her body went rigid as my fangs sank fully in.
“That’s Alak’s gift to you, as well as his mark. As he draws your blood, you can feel the flow to and from, in and out, of body and… spirit. Over time you may be able to touch his mind directly this way.”
Neave moaned, louder. She tasted so good. I hadn’t gone for a big vein this time; just a taste, but that red mouthful… there was something about it I could not quite place; like drinking fire.
I felt it approach, long moments before Neave came. Daci continued to describe the chemistry, the psychic exchange happening between us, but I don’t know if Neave was listening anymore. She sighed and went completely limp in my arms and jaws, every ounce of tension momentarily vanished; I was biting and fucking a hot ragdoll. Then, a short low cry of “Oh, God!” and seizure-like spasms took her body over.
Mewls and whimpers escaped her, her orgasm enveloping both of us as I took another swallow and gave myself over as well, coming in her spasming passage. A wolf with the deer firmly, finally in his jaws, I could hold and take all of her, this way, settle her into that peaceful finality, consume all of her…
No. Still jetting in her, panting, groaning my pleasure, I stopped sucking; opened my mouth, pulling my fangs, swiping my tongue over the weeping holes. Neave’s head yet lay on my shoulder, her dazed eyes staring up at nothing. I looked down at Daci; she crouched between Neave’s and my open legs, inches from where my shaft disappeared into our artist’s body. She was watching me, guarding, ready, vigilant even now, even when she was nearly as intoxicated as I.
I smiled down at her, a tiny nod all she needed to know that I was where I needed to be, and she was free. I whispered to Neave as Daci’s mouth opened, fangs bared.
“We’re told Daci feels very different from me, maybe because she was stricken instead of turned, maybe because she is a woman also, maybe because of where she prefers to feed.”
Daci’s mouth settled over Neave’s mound, just above our joining. Her fangs bracketed Neave’s clit, and her lower teeth rested against the junction of cock and cunt as the fangs sunk in. Neave jerked, still limply draped on me, but drew deep a breath and screamed as Daci bit, and sucked, and swirled her tongue. A second breath, a second scream, and Neave was coming again, squeezing my still hard cock rhythmically and beautifully, for a long time.
We all three ignored the trilling of Neave’s phone – a ring tone set to rather pleasant wind chime chimes – the first two times it rang. Daciana’s head rested on Neave’s thigh, hands lightly caressing Neave’s still-limp legs and stomach. Neave lay on me, dazed, breathing finally slowed to a normal, almost somnolent cadence. I was also in a bit of a stupor, happily drunk on… this woman. She was not a ‘new prize’, or our latest dalience, or a thrall. She felt like something else. Something we hadn’t had in a very long time. Long enough and rare enough there wasn’t really a name for it. But then, maybe I was blood- and lust-besotted…
“Phone,” Neave, still boneless and slack everywhere else, raised an arm and waved in the general direction of the source of the wind chimes starting up for the third time. I looked down at Daci; clearly I wasn’t getting it.
A blur of motion and she’d located the phone on the kitchen counter. Daciana’s energy almost shone from her now. I’m sure I looked the same to her, even sitting languidly as I was.
“Flynn Studio,” Daci answered the phone in a perfect ‘American Secretary’ voice. She listened along moment, eyes sparkling. “Just a moment, I’ll check.”
Neave’s head had risen from its extended lolling on my shoulder, and she looked somewhat uncertainly at Daci. She spoke without covering the mouthpiece.
“A Mister Poul Marlboro wants to know where ‘the fuck’ have you been, if you are ‘fucking dead’, or if you planned on ever crawling out of your ‘bloody sty of a “studio”‘ to meet him tonight and help him celebrate like you ‘fucking promised’.”
Poul Marlboro, the artist who’s opening we’d stolen Neave from.
“He also wants to know where you get off having ‘goddamn staff’-”
“Please, just hand me the phone,” Neave was smiling. More than that, she was on the verge of breaking out in laughter. The ripples in her body and mind translated to me, her revival a near palpable thing. She took the phone and began speaking to Poul, wiggling her ass one last time on my lap before standing, fluidly and elegantly, my softened cock finally slipping from her, along with dribbles of our combined cum. Neave paused, briefly, a visible shiver running through her as she passed her free hand down her belly, but then resumed reassuring Poul that she was indeed alive, that she had indeed slept with “that tart who answered the phone” and agreeing (again) to meet him at Cyrano’s ‘as soon as she could drag her lazy ass out’ and yes, she could bring her ‘new fucking friends’ with her.
I smiled over at Daciana, who was leaning hip canted against the kitchen counter. Plans for the evening.