AN: I'm not going to bore you with the details of my daytime soap opera of a life—suffice to say that I'm really sorry for the delay in updating. I hope to finish this according to schedule. Thanks for your patience and understanding.
The slashed figure of the bloodied man crying for mercy had filled her heart with unparalleled contentment. A few tears of irrepressible joy trickled down her pretty face, for she had never experienced anything as perfect as that moment—bound to her bed and gagged with her panties, he was the picture of perfection.
Tentatively, she touched one of his deepest wounds, excitedly watching the gush of blood pouring out of it. On a whim, she dipped her finger in the red puddle and brought it to her mouth. The taste was revolting, but the act of drinking a man's blood gave her a rush of excitement.
Her nipples pebbled and her sex moistened—she wanted to feast on his blood while riding his hardened cock. Apparently, the sick bastard enjoyed the pain she was inflicting. Somehow, it didn't detract from her fun, for he couldn't know that he wouldn't leave her bed alive. Especially now, when the drunken haze had left her mind and recognition sweetened the interaction with the feeling of closure.
Seeing the desire in his eyes, she smiled bitterly: men were so easy manipulated. Lowering herself on his awaiting member, she took a knife and slashed his throat. Latching her delicate lips to his neck, she drank his life while he poured a new one inside her body.
In her frenzy, Rosalie had forgotten about using protection.