Bloom
By: Sleepy Lotus
Disclaimer: Don't own shit.
The renewing breath of life entered Henry as the sun sank below the horizon, and he woke just in time to see Vicki padding out of his room, his robe clutched about bare shoulders. What the devil?
He listened, hearing the doorman knocking, Vicki answering, and heading the man off. Really, he was too nosy for his own good.
A wicked grin curled the vampire's lips, at hearing the P.I's excuses for his being indisposed. Tied up indeed. Her little diversion filled his mind with the most interesting thoughts, longings, and hopes. True, they'd only just met, but the chemistry was undeniable. A tell tale sign, an age-old story he never tired of. Surely it was only a matter of time?
He pretended to sleep still as she returned, and watched hungrily as she slipped the red silk from her shoulders, leaving her only in her black lace bra. She was beautiful, there was no doubt about it, and the sight of her bare filled him with an undeniable desire to know her skin.
With only a thought, for that was all it took, he suddenly had moved to perch upon the edge of the bed behind her. "Vicki." Her name came from between his lips as a sigh, and on impulse he reached out to trace the curve of her spine with a feather light touch.
The P.I. paused, breath hitched in her throat, heartbeat suddenly racing frantically. Cautiously, she turned towards him, shirt still bunched in her hands.
"Henry…how long have you been awake?"
His lips curled in a smirk worthy of Puck himself. "Long enough."
With a finger in her belt loop, he pulled her forward slowly, to stand between his parted legs. She resisted a little, but found herself giving in, caught in the azure of his eyes. What was it with this man, this vampire, that inspired the impulse to give him everything?
It scared her a little.
She would fight it, the way she fought everything.
"What are you…we have work to do," she mumbled, as he reached up to gently take the shirt from her hands. She released it as though it were a meaningless bundle of fabric. Not hers. Not important.
Then again, maybe she was running a little low on fight, for once.
He ignored her light protest, understanding fully well that Vicki was the kind of woman who had to protest, at least a little. She would never allow herself to be taken without a fight, and love and violence were tied more closely than anyone ever cared to admit. "Would you like to tie me up?" he asked, one mischievous brow raised high.
"It's not -" she paused as he leaned forward, sliding lips across the contours of her abdomen. "Exactly my style-" she confessed on the wings of a sigh, hands raising to slide into his curls. His hair was so soft, impossibly soft, as was his touch as his hands slid up her thighs, lightly clasping her hips.
"I didn't really think you were the type," he murmured against her skin, and her knees went weak as his tongue dipped past the waistline of her jeans. Sensing her weakness, Henry happily drew her into his lap, one strong arm looped about her waist.
"Does that disappoint you?" she asked, cautiously placing hands upon his shoulder and chest. His skin was smooth, if not cool to the touch. It soothed the fire suddenly burning in her fingertips.
What the hell was she doing?
"Not at all," he confided, his smile suddenly displaying a hungry edge. "But I think I would let you do anything you do like, to me."
Vicki inhaled a shaky breath, fingering a stray curl, suddenly feeling too shy to meet his eyes. What did she like? It had been almost too long to remember. The sex had been good between she and Celucci, but fairly straight vanilla. She found herself wondering what Henry could teach her, and the thought sent a rush of heat to brighten her cheeks.
The vampire watched the secret thoughts play across her face, delighted by her enjoyment and embarrassment of her own imagination. "You're so warm," he sighed hungrily, fingers tracing her cheek. "So alive."
He began to lean in for a kiss, and Vicki's heart fluttered at she watched him. Panic? Anticipation? Curiosity? A small cry escaped her when he bypassed her lips, ducking down to kiss her pulse instead. "You must be hungry, after last night," she observed, voice cracking as his lips traveled the curve of her shoulder.
"Yes," he confirmed, voice filled with the bass growl of vampiric power as he inhaled her scent, sensed the hot blood that traveled just beneath her skin. "But one hunger easily bleeds into another, with a woman like you."
Vicky's hand clenched to a fist in his hair as he moved farther south, the flat of his teeth drawing across her collarbone, and even lower to plant kisses upon the mounds of her cleavage. He knew, with his brain at least, that she'd fed him just the night before, that it wasn't a good idea to take blood again so soon. But the beast in him hungered for her, desired her just as much as the man. He could remember the strength in her blood, the heady taste.
Henry swallowed hard, forcing himself to stop, resting his head in the bend of her neck. "Henry?" she inquired, a note of worry apparent in her tone. Was he hurt still? More damaged than he let on? He wouldn't be the first man to forgo his health for the promise of sex. "Are you alright?
He laughed, a self derisive chuckle. "Yes, my lady, I'm fine. It's just-easy to forget that you gave me blood last night, and probably shouldn't again so soon, when you're half naked in my arms."
She bit her lip, suddenly, slightly embarrassed about the half-naked part. They'd only just met, for Christ's sake! That was easy for her to forget too. She couldn't remember ever wanting anyone this completely, this voraciously, so soon after meeting them. "Is blood and sex inextricable for you?" she questioned aloud, wondering if they did become lovers, if she would bleed a little every time.
"They are closely tied," he admitted. "But not inseparable."
She gasped as his hands resumed motion again, trailing lightly up her back, causing her to arch against him in the most intoxicating way. When he unclasped her bra with a deft flick of fingers, Vicki's eyebrows shot high upon her brow. But she did not stop him from sliding down the straps, and it was only at the last moment did she lose her nerve, hands flying to cover her breasts, the last remaining support for the black lace garment, the only thing separating she and the vampire from being bare chest to bare chest.
"Henry…"
"Do you want me to stop?"
She didn't, he knew. Not really. Her heartbeat sang to him her praise, her skin quivered at his touch, aching for a long forgotten fulfillment. There had to be a reason, he mused, we all feel so empty when absent from another's touch, when left alone in our own skins. If love, physical and emotional, was not God's greatest gift to man to make the weight of life bearable, he didn't know what was. And he'd had plenty of time to contemplate the question.
Vicki gave no answer, and as his hands traced the curves of her waist, climbing once more, she allowed him to slip beneath her own hands and the bra, cupping her breasts lightly. They were small but filled his hands with firm, smooth flesh, ripe and perfect. Her own hands retreated, and the scrap of lacy brassiere fell away.
"My God, you are a beautiful creature," he sighed, a thumb grazing her nipple lightly.
"The pot and the kettle, maybe" she teased, but her smirk melted as he ducked to take a single nipple between his lips, kissing it gingerly, tongue tweaking the sensitive center expertly. She threw her head back as a spear of pleasure shot through her, straight to her core, to the hidden place between her legs that she'd kept locked away for so long. Neglected. Ignored. But it had not forgotten desire, and her libido make its presence known, paving the way with a spill of slick moisture, inviting exploration.
"You've had a while to perfect that skill." She couldn't quite seem to quit her quips, but he took satisfaction in the quaver of her voice, her shaky vocals a testament to the effect he had on her. But he liked her fire, he decided. He liked her strength, the way she refused to bow to anyone, refused to take no for an answer.
"Not just that one," he promised her, finally leaning in to touch her lips with his. The kiss grew into a passionate, heady thing, and both cried out as Henry pulled her flush with an arm wrapped about her bare waist.
"Are you sure you're well enough to do this?" gasped Vicki as the vampire rose from the bed, easily supporting her weight with buttocks cupped in his hands. He turned and transferred them to lay upon the bed, his bodyweight pressing into her in a long, deliciously unbroken line. Well…almost unbroken. Henry seemed well on his way to remedying it though, shifting slightly to the side to unbutton her jeans.
"Even if I wasn't, I think I would lie to you to share this treasure of an experience with you," Henry admitted.
"Well, how do I know if you're not lying now?"
He hushed her with a languid kiss, lips plying her and his fingers dipped past her waistband, beneath the panties that matched the bra (he'd been curious from the start) and into the moist curls of her sex. "You don't," he murmured against her lips, and began to touch with the same rhythm as he kissed her. His middle finger lost no time at all in finding the nub between her folds, the tiny bundle of nerves that held the key to woman's heaven.
He loved to watch women as he pleasured them, their soft features contorting in unbridled expressions of ecstasy. It was like sharing a secret, a certain face only allowed out of the box for special occasions. And he took pride in being the one who knew the secret to untying the ribbon, lifting the lid, releasing the passion within. Henry knew that so few men did, that such pleasures had always been a rarity for most women. Over four centuries it never changed. Oblivious men would take their pleasure, assume it had been reciprocated, or selfishly not care one way or the other. And for centuries, what could a woman do, but take her sorry lot, or be declared a sinful harlot for lusting?
A lady did not lust, did not entertain unchaste thoughts.
Oh, he knew so different.
Every time he proved the notion wrong, awakening a woman to her natural desires, the dormant pleasure innate in every lady, Henry felt as though he'd won a tiny battle with those who oppressed the fairer sex. It was ongoing, but a war he gladly waged.
For so long, it had been a man's world. For the most part, it still was. But this had been a curious century for women; in the past hundred years alone, they had forged so much progress. Here was a very example before him, a lady with a will of iron who worked in a man's world, who beat them at their own game. So tough, was Vicki Nelson. So brave.
Yet still, she too was vulnerable, perhaps her very iron will betraying her in the end, denying her.
But he would not.
He understood that she wanted to be touched, and loved, and cherished, as much as anyone. He even understood perhaps better than she.
Vicki's hands scrabbled for something to anchor her, the nails of one hand digging into Henry's back, the other, fisted in the silk sheets. "Oh, God, Henry!" she exclaimed as he played her like his own personal instrument. As though he himself had made her, and understood how she worked better than anyone else. The subtle nuances, the hidden quirks. The moisture he found as he slipped a finger inside tore a groan from his lips, reverberated through his chest. He teased her and touched her, eliciting sensations deep inside she'd never known before.
"Let go, lover," he whispered in her ear, for he could still see the tension in her shoulders, the deep wrinkles upon her brow. "Bloom for me."He could tell from the beginning that she was the kind of woman so used to being in control, that she'd nearly forgotten how to cut lose from herself. To let someone else take her for a ride.
But Vicki knew she was about to bloom, as he so poetically put it, whether she wanted to or not. A flurry of color began to dance before her tunneled vision, an explosion coiling deep between her hips and at the base of her spine. The orgasm took her like a tidal wave, crashing over her nervous system, shining pleasure scintillating over her skin in a rolling wash. Her back bowed, her nails upon his back broke skin, but he didn't mind, smiling triumphantly as she shook with the aftershock of the force of nature he'd unleashed from within her body.
Near paralyzed, she watched him withdraw, licking the taste of her from his fingers. "Mmm, an excellent vintage," he praised.
Vicki rolled into his arms, planting a kiss at the base of his neck. She slowly, regained control of her limbs, and as she did her hands traveled down his torso, reveling in the smooth skin, the sculpted muscle. But as her fingers slipped into his waistband he tut-tutted her, gathering her hand in his.
"But…what about you?" she asked, suddenly confused.
"I don't think I could stop myself from feeding on you, if I we made love," he explained, "And that could be very dangerous for you."
"Oh." Her face fell, obviously disappointed, and he chuckled, kissing the tip of her nose.
"However, I would most graciously accept a rain check for later," he assured her, kissing her languidly in a way that somehow echoed the pleasure he'd just given her, like the retreating rumble of thunder in the distance from a passing storm.
"Mmm. Yes, I think that would be most acceptable," Vicki agreed. But until then, there was a case to solve.
The story of her life, always another case.
Once, she'd lived for it, solely and completely. But staring up at Henry, she began to think that just maybe she could make a little room for some other more sensual things in her life.
Or maybe, just maybe, a lot.