This slow-burn is killing me too, you guys, but the plot demands it! (#sorrynotsorry) Fortunately for you, however, V&F desperately need some easing of the tension, so...
CW: full-blown seduction ahead, including explicit sexual content and dialogue. You have been warned.
Copyright © 2021 TSM. All rights reserved.
Chapter 22
La Petite Mort
He was dreaming.
This he understood as soon as the familiar grey mist of rest cleared from his mind's eye, replaced with visions of darkness and warmth.
Vladislaus felt relaxed, yet excited. She was nearby. He could sense her, his Francesca, somewhere in this darkness with him – the scent of roses, the rustling of fabric, and then he felt skin on his, a pair of soft lips and the gentle rush of air at his neck, hands on his chest as a pair of legs moved to straddle his hips. She was perched above him in this dream, dressed in deep indigo blue like she had been that night in Venice, only this gown was loosely fitted and on the verge of slipping off.
The sight of her on top of him was arousing enough on its own, but with her shoulders bare and that swell of unblemished cleavage on display – he was hopelessly ensnared at the sight of her. And then she moved up a little to look into his eyes, her face inches from his, dark hair cascading down one side of her head, a curtain of soft waves and ringlets. Her gaze was smoldering.
"Kiss me," she whispered, and she leaned forward some to lessen the distance.
He smiled, amused at her insistence, but obeyed nonetheless, kissing her softly on the lips, once, twice. The third time was the firmest of all, and he bit her bottom lip as if claiming her. The next had him tasting tongue and he felt all the blood in his body rush southward, his cock hard and straining against the fly of his trousers. She smiled as if she had felt the change in him, and then she moved against him, rubbing herself against the clothed bulge beneath her. His eyes fluttered shut as he involuntarily bucked up a little to meet the cradle of her hips with a groan.
The friction was delicious.
She moved again, rolling her hips slowly, purposefully, and his hands slid up to her waist, holding her firmly atop of him as he trembled beneath her. The more she rocked, the more the darkness retreated around them, the consuming black being replaced by a spark and then a brilliant fire that mirrored the intensity of his building arousal.
"Touch me," she whimpered between kisses, the command sounding more like a desperate plea, as if she were on the edge of something that only he could carry her over.
His hands slipped beneath the bunched up skirt of her gown, smoothing over her thighs before grabbing hold of her ass. He dug the tips of his fingers into the soft, bare flesh. She crooned wantonly, pressing herself harder against him as if in reward, increasing the pressure building at the base of his spine.
"More," she begged him, straightening, running her own hands along the column of her neck and then down. She grabbed hold of the low collar of her dress, bunching it in her fists and pulling as if it were restricting her. The action freed more of her bosom to his greedy gaze.
It nearly undid him and instinctually he reached up to help her, fingers tangling in the laces of her bodice before tugging until he could hear the garment ripping.
"Yes! More… more…"
Whatever restraint he had possessed faltered.
He yanked her gown hard, the action sending her down against his chest and their next kiss seared his mouth. Vladislaus became vaguely aware of the needy pulsing in his groin, yet their bodies weren't close enough, never enough. He wanted to be in her, seated fully, buried to the hilt and entirely lost. Before he could roll her over to take this to the next level, she sat up straight again, hands firmly on his chest, holding him beneath her. She rode him, hips gyrating in a rhythmic, purposeful movement, her dark hair open and wild like a lion's mane, mahogany waves cascading over her shoulders and blocking the sight of her newly freed breasts from his view.
He wanted to push her hair back, to let his eyes drink in the sight of her completely and unobstructed, but he was so perilously close to the brink… and she looked so perfect where she was, seated on his lap, grinding against his clothed cock as if she owned it, as if she owned him.
Before he could finish chasing his pending release, however, something disturbed his slumber – a loud noise somewhere in the distance like a door being slammed.
In a cruel twist of fate, Dracula was violently yanked out of the dream.
His eyes opened to the darkness, senses attuning on instinct to the sound of what he quickly ascertained was Rémy leaving his room just down the hall. The man's irritated mutterings soon vanished as he drew farther away. Vlad grumbled quietly to himself in disapproval, muttering an oath in his native tongue as he closed his eyes again, hoping that he'd be able to slip back into that feral dream with a half-naked Francesca waiting for him.
He went to roll over to get more comfortable, but the slightest movement had him realizing that he was not as alone in this bed as he had previously thought. What was more – he was also painfully erect and something – or rather someone – was tangled up in him.
Opening his eyes slowly, the man was shocked to find that he was in Francesca's room of all places, in her bed… And as if this couldn't get any better – or worse, his mind wasn't quite made up on the matter just yet – she was curled up beside him, tucked away in his arms, face buried in that crook where his neck and shoulder met. She was clinging to his shirt with both fists, and a single leg had been draped over his waist.
Dracula swallowed hard.
His throbbing stiffness was situated right between her thighs and when he had moved, there had been contact – exquisite contact.
But he knew that if she awoke to discover them situated as they were… well, it wasn't difficult to imagine what her reaction would be. Most likely something akin to panic or even outrage. How she had gotten all the way over here he could not account for, however. They had fallen asleep at some point a safe enough distance from each other. I suppose it doesn't really matter….
Deciding that it would be best to at least untangle them before she woke, he carefully, slowly began to release her from his arms, but the movement disturbed her slumber. Frankie, eyes closed and seemingly still asleep, whimpered in protest, her grip on his shirt tightening. Her body moved involuntarily closer to his, the soft grind of her hips pulling a hiss from him as his length immediately responded to the friction.
When he tried again to retreat, her hold only intensified, her leg around his waist bringing him back to her.
Oh, this was cruel!
It was as if she – or some other nefarious force at work – was testing the limits of his self-control, and if he was being wholly honest with himself, Dracula felt torn. The dark whispers of temptation were now caressing his mind with images and ideas of him taking full advantage of the situation. He was quick to banish the thoughts before they could take root, of course; taking a deep breath while remaining very still, reining his demon back in.
When he felt better in control of his faculties, he decided that waking her was the best option. He could deal with the aftermath as it came.
He whispered her name softly, hoping it would be enough to rouse her, but she whimpered once more in protest, face nuzzling against his chest.
"Francesca," he said again, a little louder this time. She whined softly.
"It's too early," Frankie muttered in her mother tongue and she snuggled closer, the action causing another bout of more intimate friction – sex to sex. He shuddered, eyes glowing in arousal, an oath stuttering past his lips as the pressure in his pelvis increased.
That temptation to indulge returned, cloying teasingly at the back of his brain. It would be so easy – she was already cradling him between her thighs. The more rakish part of him wondered how she'd receive his advances, if he brought his hips to push in response to hers, to meet her soft grind with one of his own – to tease and work her body into a wanton mess until she'd finally rouse beneath him. The thought left his entire length aching.
What he wouldn't give to be able to just bury himself into her damp, heated core.
He could almost feel it – the slick, snug slide of her around him. The rhythmic push and pull, a fluid and feral dance of hips…
A shiver spider-crawled down his spine and straight into his cock as the fantasy coiled and twisted around his mind, ready to hook in its claws. Before it could, however, he managed to shake his head once as if to dispel the temptation. Sex wasn't an option, not without her explicit consent – and so once again, with an exertion of will, he struggled to cool his desire – to little avail.
The lust she had awoken in him was now running hot in his veins, and since it could not be pacified through fruition, it now sought an outlet in frustration.
His brows furrowed.
"Miss Chase," he said, louder this time and with a bit of a snap. "Wake up."
Francesca sighed, reluctantly submitting to consciousness, despite the fact that the sun wasn't due to set for at least a couple of hours still. When she did finally open her eyes, he felt her body stiffen. Her head moved back abruptly, eyes seeking his, gaze brimming with alarm as she realized who she was actually in bed with.
Her expression demanded an explanation, though her ability to speak had temporarily abandoned her.
"I'm just as surprised as you," he confessed.
Frankie said nothing as she released his shirt from her grip rather abruptly, but when she tried to remove her leg from around his waist, she became acutely aware of what part of him had been pressed so intimately between her thighs. The sudden friction left both quivering.
Vlad had to stifle the groan clawing in the back of his throat and his eyes grew heavy lidded, his arousal intensifying.
"Francesca, if you keep moving like that, I will not be held responsible for what follows."
She blushed wildly at the implication, but when she tried to roll away from him, she didn't get far. For some inexplicable reason, the lace at the end of her nightgown had gotten caught in his belt buckle.
"Hold on. I think I'm stuck in your…" and she reached between them to unhook herself, but then the back of her hand grazed against the strained bulge in his too-tight trousers and his entire body jolted as if he had just been electrocuted. She gasped, flustered, embarrassed, but also a little astonished at how sensitive he was.
How long had he been trying to wake her?
Vlad was gritting his teeth.
"Madam…"
The word came out in a soft, smoldering growl, all air and rumbling, his whole body tense. The sound left her far more heated than it had any right to.
"Sorry," she whispered.
"Just… let me," and his hand reached down, joining hers between their bodies as he started to work at the end of her nightgown.
"I don't know how this happened," was all she could think to say, eyes struggling to find a spot that she could focus on. "Why are you even here? I thought you returned to your room?"
"We must have fallen asleep talking," he replied.
"Evidently. Don't… don't tug on it," and she grabbed his hand. "You'll rip the lace."
"It's not coming loose."
"Then undo your belt."
"What?"
"Just… unfasten the buckle and see if that helps."
Vlad did as he was instructed and to his surprise – and relief – it worked.
"I don't know how this happened," she said again as he delicately removed the tangled lace from the prong.
"Well, there's no use fretting about it," he assured her. "No harm has been done."
With that, she was freed and Frankie immediately rolled away, sliding off the bed. After adjusting her robe and tightly tying the sash so she was more suitably presentable, she turned to look back at him as he too finished making his way off the bed.
Brushing a few stray locks of hair from her face, she met his gaze. Their eyes held for only a moment before she diverted her attention elsewhere, but the way his regard lingered left her feeling hot. Frankie continued to struggle on where exactly she should be looking until her eyes caught a proper view of the state of his trousers – the outline of his cock, thick and long, pushing down one of his pant legs.
Her mouth went dry and she quickly pressed her thighs together to keep the trickle of slick from leaking out of her sex.
"So is this a regular occurrence with you?" he asked conversationally, fastening his buckle again as casually as he could as if he were entirely unmoved by the situation. The sound of his voice caught her off guard.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Are you usually so cuddly in bed?" he clarified, the corner of his lips twitching just so.
He was teasing her.
She looked up to meet his gaze briefly, chuckling softly through her nose.
"Not usually, no."
Her smile faltered as her eyes helplessly diverted back down to that distracting swell between his hips. Heat speared her sex as her mind immediately dove headfirst into the gutter. She knew what hid behind that bit of fabric – the length and girth of him… Frankie swallowed a little, forcing her attention down to the carpet in a desperate attempt to reclaim her senses. It was quite the challenge. Just the thought of him had her painfully aware of how long it had been since she had been filled and in a way only a man could. She nervously nibbled her lower lip, unable to keep herself from wondering what he would feel like.
"Well, I'm going to get dressed," she announced rather awkwardly, eyes still glued to the floor as the general lack of conversation and meaningful eye contact only made the tension worse. "You may want to… uh…" and she waved her hand in the direction of his bedroom while stealing one last look, unable to help herself.
But he had noticed her appraisal, along with the simmering lust burning violet in her eyes. His grin was slow and lethal.
"What? Is la sirène suddenly afraid of a…" he began, motioning with his hand toward his state. The movement had its intended effect, guiding her eyes back downward.
"I am not afraid of your morning wood… don't be absurd," she countered boldly, gaze purposefully shooting back up to his face as she interrupted him.
But he had witnessed her moment of weakness and there was no denying it.
He shrugged a little in response to her, smile broadening.
"Afternoon, technically."
Frankie's eyes narrowed before darting back to the floor.
The floor was safe.
She had never realized how lovely the pattern of the rug underneath her bed was before…
"Semantics."
"Well, if you're not afraid, then why are you so fascinated by the carpet?"
She met his eyes once again, this time making a point to keep her gaze there, staring hard at him. He was clearly pleased to have her attention on him, but she was flustered. It made him feel mischievous.
"I just woke up with you, in my private chambers, in my bed… like that…" she explained, motioning to his impressive erection.
"So?"
"So…" and she put her hands on her hips, "so it's wildly inappropriate, and, well, you're… you're you."
"And what is that supposed to mean?" he asked, still standing on the opposite side of the bed. But then he took a step forward as if he intended to join her. That single predatory movement sent a quiver through her channel, an unspooling of heat and liquid. She internally cursed her body's response to him – get it together, Francesca. You should not be this wet already. Jesus. "Would you prefer I were someone else?"
"What? No… I mean… that- that's beside the point," she struggled, only vaguely aware of her impulsive slip of honesty, but Vlad had noticed it and he perked up at the confession.
"You know," he replied, a playful spark in his eyes as he took another step, "I'm technically not the one who moved from one end of the bed to the other. You're the one that came to me."
As intended, his words ruffled her.
"No I didn't," Frankie insisted. Her denial was met with blatant scrutiny. He reached out to hold one of the bedposts as he rounded the corner of the mattress, drawing nearer. His movements were slow, precise – like a hunter stalking its prey.
"Yes, Francesca," he countered, voice deep yet teasing. "You did."
"If I did, then it was unconsciously done," she managed, but then he cocked a brow, tilting his head just so, in full doubt of her assertions.
"Was it?"
That head-tilt nearly undid her.
"I… of course it was," she stammered, but what she had intended to be an affirmation came out more like a question.
The way he was looking at her, clearly taking in her every single detail, it made focusing – let alone standing – damn near impossible. In that moment, the man before her seemed less Leinhart and more Dracula, more predator, more warrior… more king. His expression had a faint viciousness to it, an almost possessed look that left her body quivering faintly in anticipation, as if some unconscious part of her was cognizant of the beast their unintended intimacy had awoken in him. She should have been afraid, but even the devil knew how much she loved the way his eyes raked over her repeatedly.
The suggestion in his gaze, in the tone of his voice – it should have worried her, but it didn't. It thrilled her, down to the very marrow in her bones.
"You're blushing, dragă," he purred, closing the distance between them.
She titled her chin up to hold his gaze, but her mind had gone blank as her treacherous flesh made more rapid preparations for what it assumed was coming. Her breasts had grown heavy, nipples furled and straining against the soft material of her nightgown; she could even feel the moisture accumulating more abundantly between her thighs. A colorful bit of profanity danced soundlessly on the tip of her tongue.
How was it possible?
How could this man, with a single look, make her so indecently turned on – to the point where she was struggling to keep herself in check? It was vulgar. It was maddening. It was… unprecedented, really.
"I… never…" she began, but her words fell silent when he emitted a low rumble of a growl in the back of his throat, eyes darkening. She could feel the echo of it all the way down in her cunt.
No more lies, his expression seemed to say, and the remnants of that primal noise of his was left to reverberate in the air. The warning in that sound sent her imagination running wild as she couldn't help but wonder what other noises he could make.
Would he growl like an animal as he took her, or would he moan and hiss as the pleasure consumed him? When he made love, was he more man or beast? Could he be both? Or was he something else entirely?
No, the more rational side of her mind interrupted. No, stop it. It's too dangerous…
His gaze never strayed from her face, his attentiveness, his intensity – it made her feel warm all over, as if she had just stepped into a hot bath. He was so close to her now, the energy pulsating between their bodies making her feel weak.
"Francesca…"
The sound of her name on his tongue nearly sent her knees buckling beneath her. She quickly reached out to rest her hand on the bed at her side to steady herself.
It took very little imagination to guess what was on his mind.
When she offered no reply, he tsked once and said her name again, taunting, elongating the syllables – a sensuous note in his voice and wicked gleam in his eyes, darkened with something that made her flustered, feverish… hungry. And then he licked his lips…
Fuck. Oh, she was in so much trouble…
"We can't," she whispered.
"The question that needs answering in this moment, iubito, is not a matter of ability…" and he leaned in just a little closer, the breath of his words lightly fanning her face. She tried to look away, turning her head to the side, but he was quick to quell her denial with a firm, "Don't play the coward now." He reached up and with a single finger at her chin, guided her gaze back to his. "Look at me," he commanded her. "Look me in the eye."
She obeyed in spite of herself, and when he allowed his hand to drop back down to his side, the denial of his touch left her aching. They stared at one another for several long, agonizing moments of silence.
Vlad observed the violent mélange of intense and conflicting emotions in her eyes – fear, uncertainty, desire, longing…. He couldn't help but wonder which one would win this time.
Suddenly possessed with this need to test the extent of her will, he found himself using his inherent authority over her, seducing her with his mind while maintaining unbroken eye-contact. He opened her slowly, delicately, like the petals of some exotic flower as the fingers of his right hand reached up between them to lightly tug at the sash of her robe. He gradually loosened the bow she had tied in haste, a deliberate pull that brought her hips just a fraction of an inch closer to him.
Frankie made no attempts to stop him. She could feel him lightly cloying in her mind, challenging her, tempting her, but she held firm, holding his gaze with fluctuating resolution.
Her restraint impressed him.
But he wasn't the sort of man to give up so easily.
"How much longer will you deny it?" he asked her.
"Deny what?" she replied, her tone innocent, breathless.
"How badly you want me to fuck you?"
His words made Francesca's pupils dilate and he knew in that instant that he had articulated what she had been denying for ages now. His use of profanity had only served to heighten her arousal, the suggestion making her salivate. He watched in fascination as the tip of her tongue lightly moistened her lips before she swallowed hard.
She was teeming with desire and he knew it, knew perfectly well the temptation he was presenting. The awareness was all there in his eyes.
But Frankie proved herself ever the model of self-control as she whispered once more, "What I want doesn't matter..."
She hadn't denied his accusation, but her insistence, while clearly half-hearted, simultaneously irritated and enthralled him.
"Why not?"
"You know why."
"Then tell me that that's stopped you before," he dared her. "Tell me that the danger doesn't excite you even just a little."
He knew her answer without her even needing to utter the words. His reply was to take another half step closer to her, crowding her, tempting her with his nearness, his scent. He leaned his head down, careful not to touch her as he whispered in her ear, his words low and dark, like a secret.
"I want you," he breathed.
The confession sent yet another quiver through her tightly clenched thighs as she struggled in vain to keep the moisture inside. The lids of her eyes grew heavy, lashes fluttering.
"I know we agreed to be friends, that I'm not supposed to say such things, but I can't maintain this charade," he continued. "I've wanted you from the moment I laid eyes on you and I haven't been able to stop. I can't stop… I don't want to…"
Vlad gently raised his hand to caress her, but then hesitated.
The distance was minuscule, yet it felt calculated, agonizing, and Frankie's unconscious whimper at the lack of contact was telling. Every inch of her body was screaming for his touch to the point where she was positive he could feel the sexual energy radiating off of her like an electrical current.
It would take nothing for him to send her over the edge. The mere thought had him licking his lips, another surge of excitement shooting down his spine and straight into his cock like a bolt of lightning.
"Don't tease me," she pleaded with him.
"Who said anything about teasing? I want you, Francesca. I want you naked and spread on that bed wearing nothing but those ridiculous secret weapon shoes of yours… and perhaps my belt around your wrists to restrain you."
Frankie felt another gush of liquid warmth between her legs and she visibly shivered in response to his suggestion. He leaned in a little closer, just a fraction of an inch, his lips brushing faintly against the lobe of her ear.
"I want to hear you beg as I make you come using only my mouth and these fingers," he whispered, and together their eyes briefly dropped to his slightly raised hand. "I did make you that promise all those months ago and you've yet to collect… Did you think I would forget?"
"I had hoped you hadn't."
She had not intended to make such a confession, but the words had left of their own accord and his responding smile was one of pure male arrogance.
Vlad inhaled deep through his nose, a silent pull of the air and her scent into his lungs and he held it there, savoring. Devil in hell, she was soaked. He could almost taste it. Her lust was as intoxicating as her restraint and it left his mouth watering.
"How long, Francesca?" he asked again. She held his gaze, unblinking. "How long have you been this hot, this wet for me?"
Frankie swallowed hard and he noticed the faintest quiver of her knees.
"Don't," she breathed, a trembling plea. "You mustn't... you shouldn't say such things."
"Why?" he inquired, his nose brushing against her hairline before pulling back so he could look into her eyes again. "We gave one another carte blanche this morning. Am I no longer permitted to ask questions, to speak the truth?"
Her gaze burned, but still she remained rooted to the spot.
"We can't," she said once more, but her words only brought him closer.
"Oh, but we can," he countered. "We really should. Would be a crime to let all that go to waste," and he licked his lips, eyes darting down to that apex between her thighs.
Another tremor moved through her sex, another wave of liquid heat on the verge of leaking between her weeping slit.
Then she felt it – her dark passenger – its interest piquing at the shift in her.
"I don't think I could hold it in…"
"Then don't," and he brushed the tip of his nose against hers, teasing her with the nearness of his lips. "I'm not afraid of a little danger… if anything, I welcome it."
"You don't know what you're asking for."
"Don't I?" he challenged, the words rolling off his tongue and she nearly kissed him then, but abstained by some miracle.
This was getting out of hand.
Frankie closed her eyes in the hopes that having him out of sight would give her the strength she needed to collect herself, but it only weakened her resolve. Her conscious mind was immediately flooded with the visions that had haunted her throughout the day as she had slept – salacious, erotic dreams of him – of kisses, of night air and the hiking up of skirts and the damp, shuddering glide of flesh on flesh – and pushes.
She visibly trembled at the recollections and when her eyes opened, though they were heavy lidded, he could see that her irises were burning brilliantly now, large pupils wreathed in a glowing swirl of violet blue with flecks of red, like rubies – a sign that all these propositions of his had roused her dark passenger.
Dracula noted the change, but instead of taking it as a sign to back down, it only made him bolder.
"I'm not afraid of your demon, dragă," he insisted. "Let it come out and play with me."
She realized of course that he had no clue what he was asking for, but there was an ever-growing part of her that longed to give him what he wanted. The rumors about him had to be true, after all. Not to mention, she had already seen what he was packing. It would be dangerous, certainly, but she knew she'd enjoy it, knew her body needed it, needed him, needed some kind of release. Maybe if he tied me down first…
Her dark passenger liked that suggestion a little too much, but before she could surrender to her baser instincts, there was a knock at the door.
The interruption startled them both, causing Vlad's attention to falter and the spell between them cracked.
Neither of them moved right away, each utterly still as they waited with mounting anticipation for whomever was at her door to depart, but then there was a second knock and the sound of her brother, Rémy, on the other side.
"Frankie? Hey Frank, are you up?"
The knob jiggled as he tried to help himself in, but it was locked and the door remained closed.
Francesca could feel Dracula willing her to stay silent, to ignore her brother's presence out in the hall, to stay in this moment with him, but she felt torn down the middle – stuck between surrender and the habitual self-deprivation.
But it was the third knock that brought her to her senses, Rémy's presence reminding the woman of the dangers that came with submitting. And even though Vlad's nearness made it difficult to resist, especially with his confession still hanging in the air between them, Frankie – by some miracle – was able to find the inner strength to tear herself from his side. Her eyes prickled as the distance between them grew, becoming more agonizing with each step she took as she went to answer the door.
However, Vladislaus would not be thwarted so easily. Not this time.
Before she could reach the doorknob to unlock it, he materialized across the room, standing behind her as he pressed his hand against the door, holding it shut and consequently trapping her between him and the exit.
"Frankie?" Rémy called out again, knocking.
"I'm up, Rémy. What is it?" she called out, voice trembling just a little.
With Vlad at her back, it was so easy to imagine him taking her from behind as she stood, his breath hard and littered with moans at her neck, his strong hands on her waist. Her sex throbbed at the thought.
God, have mercy… she pleaded silently.
"Hey – can I come in?" Rémy asked through the door.
"I'm afraid I'm not decent. What do you need?"
"I was just wondering if you've seen Leinhart anywhere. Or if you heard him get up earlier? He's not in his room."
"I haven't seen him since the morning," she lied, although some nefarious voice in her head insisted it was the truth. Sure, she saw Leinhart before dawn, but it was Dracula seducing her right now, not her brother's friend.
"Damn it. I was hoping I could catch him. I've barely seen him the last two weeks. I was thinking we could chat for a bit, maybe see if he wanted to join Benicio and I when we head into town. I feel kind of bad for being so MIA."
"I haven't seen him," she insisted.
"Oh well. Wonder what he could be up to…"
"Definitely nothing good," Frankie replied when she felt Vlad lean against her, his nose in her hair and his front brushing lightly against her back. And then she felt that stiff rod in his trousers lightly caress the cleft of her ass, heightening the sexual tension and her own lust. She could almost taste the man's amusement in the air.
Rémy laughed, assuming his sister was just teasing.
"Wouldn't surprise me. I wonder if Alayna finally got to him."
"I couldn't care if I tried," she said, feigning indifference as she rested her brow against the door, eyes closed as Vlad's hand disturbed what little space lingered between them. His fingers were lightly running down the length of her spine to the dip in her lower back. She leaned into his touch without meaning to.
"Well, if you see him, apologize for me, will you?"
"I will."
"And Frankie?"
"Yes?"
Dracula's hand had moved from her back to her waist now and the thought of him reaching between her legs nearly had her crying out in desperation.
"Just a heads up – Gigi's having the servants run through the house to start prepping for the party next weekend and she's already in a bit of a mood. Might be best to steer clear if you can."
"I'll keep that in mind," she managed to respond, though words were growing more difficult to utter as Vlad continued to test her restraint… or maybe he just couldn't help himself. She hardly knew. Honestly, she didn't really care, so long as he didn't stop touching her.
After what felt like an eternity, Rémy finally left, but even with his departure, Frankie remained facing the door, her head resting against the cool, polished wood as she struggled to steady herself, but to no avail. With her brother's absence, the man behind her could now continue where they had left off and with his hand still on her hip, he gently turned her around so she could face him.
With her back against the door, Frankie was swallowed up in Dracula's shadow. His eyes were burning blue with a passionate fire that sent her knees quaking beneath her, but she held fast to her resolve – and even to what parts of the door she could grab at her back. Vlad moved forward a little as if to kiss her and she braced herself for the impact of his lips, but instead he took her throat in his hand. And then he held her still, the pair practically nose-to-nose and vibrating with emotional intensity.
She could see now that she wasn't the only party struggling here.
He appeared to be fighting to leash his own demon as well. A part of her wondered how long he had been suppressing his desire for her, how deep it actually ran. Before she could try to come up with an answer on her own, she became distracted by the look in his eyes.
There was a feral quality to his lust. For the first time since they had met, she began to notice something about him that she hadn't been aware of previously, something unseen that called to her darkness in some primal, inexplicable way. She wanted to explore that shadow behind his eyes, the beast he kept as tightly leashed as she kept her own, but then she caught herself speaking, her words not only in reply to her own desire, but also to the invitation in his eyes.
"Vlad… we can't… we mustn't."
It was immediately clear to him that she didn't mean it. Her heart wasn't in it, but her insistence had his grip gently tightening around her throat – not to choke her, but in a silent communication of the depth of his struggle.
"Don't lie to me," he replied, emphasizing each word with deliberation to drive his point home. "That's an excuse, and you know it."
"I can't risk losing control," she maintained. "I don't need more blood on my hands… especially yours. There's just too much at stake."
Vladislaus gripped the frame of the door with his free hand as he stared intently at her lips, clearly considering his next course of action, torn between heeding her words and making her suffer for them later, or throwing caution to the wind and initiating what they both desired.
"Do you want me?" The words were barely a whisper – the tang of uncertainty having its intended effect.
"That isn't the issue…" but he interrupted her.
"Answer the question. Yes or no?"
Frankie paused. She knew she shouldn't say the words aloud, knew that doing so would make what she had been feeling for months now real, undeniable, unavoidable. There would be no going back from this.
But the way he was looking at her…
She couldn't deny him.
She didn't have it in her anymore.
Her heart swelled, eyes pricking with unshed tears – fear and need leaving her leaden and weightless simultaneously.
"Yes," she whispered, and she released a shuddering breath at the confession, her voice barely audible. "God, yes. More than you could ever begin to understand."
Relief softened his features for only a moment before a visible resolve set fire to his countenance. Without a second thought, he closed the distance between them.
"Then it is worth the risk," he breathed, and he pressed his lips soundly against her mouth.
Francesca placed both of her hands on his chest and for a heartbeat, Vlad braced himself for the feeling of her pushing him away.
But it never came.
She was melting into the door behind her – pliable, yielding – and then he felt her hands clutch the front of his shirt, drawing him nearer.
The last remnants of Frankie's sense of discipline pleaded with her to reconsider, but it was too late. She was already in free fall, ready to drown in the sea of her desire and rather than fight the undertow, she surrendered to it. She was so tired of fighting. That current pulled her under so quickly and so deep, that the moment Vlad broke away for a half-breath, she was already moving to close the space again, drawing him back into another searing kiss, pulling him under with her.
The kisses were unlike anything that had passed between them previously, all tongue and teeth and bites, as if the distance she had placed between them to keep him safe from her had left them both starved. He was all but devouring her – each kiss deeper than the last, his hands drinking her in. A sweep of palm, the grip of fingers.
Frankie had forgotten just how wonderful it felt – to be this close to him, the weight of his body against her own, the intimacy of shared breath, the taste of him in her mouth, the way he set fire to her blood with a mere caress of his tongue. She had missed this, and now that she was experiencing it again, she never wanted it to stop. Despite the half-hearted protests of her conscience, she was going to savor this, savor him.
Her hands still hadn't quite settled on a spot, lost somewhere on his chest, torn between moving up to get tangled in his hair or to move to his waist to pull his lower body hungrily against her. Vlad, on the other hand, seemed more than sure of what he was doing, now caressing his fingers along the side of her neck and then over her shoulders, leaving Frankie to remain momentarily overwhelmed by the mere hint of his mouth when it moved to hover over her pulse point.
A moan started to fight its way past her lips. She wasn't quite ready for it to escape, but there was nothing she could do to stifle it, especially not when that unmistakable stiffness between his hips brushed her thigh and then her lower belly as he straightened, towering over her. His unapologetic arousal heightened her own and her breath came out in a shuddering gasp.
More liquid.
More heat.
Her body's reaction to him made the flush in her cheeks spread all the way down her neck.
At last, her hands made a decision, fingers sinking into his hair as she brought his lips back to her mouth, enthusiastically tasting him without thought or inhibition.
The feel of her tongue only inspired Vlad into further depths of insanity as he nudged open her robe, pushing it down her arms so it could slide and pool at her feet.
His tongue joined hers, his every sense drunk on her.
How had he gone so long without this?
How had he even survived nearly nine months without her kisses, without the feeling of her body against his, her hands in his hair, her scent filling his lungs?
The internal queries had him pausing for just a moment so he could look at her, his eyes needing to be certain that this was real, that this was happening, that this wasn't another cruel dream.
Francesca was staring up at him, breathless and in wonder. Her lips were plump and pink from his abuse, eyes heavy lidded with lust as she held the back of his head in one hand and allowed her other to slide down his neck to the center of his chest.
She could feel the concealment charm hidden beneath his shirt.
How much of it kept him hidden from her view?
She wanted to do this with her eyes wide open. She wanted to see and feel him as he truly was.
Without even considering the consequences, Frankie took both of her hands and with a sharp yank she pulled open the front of his shirt, a button or two popping with her impatience. She then grabbed the pendant around his neck and with a tug, the chain broke and she tossed the enchanted item to the ground, the loud clunk of metal hitting wood deafening, but poignant.
With his concealment charm gone and the lion brand visible on his chest, Frankie drank him in long and deep. The instant the necklace had fallen to the floor, his visage shifted, as if his face had become clearer, those eyes even sharper and darker than they already were. She noted a tangible change in the air around him as well, the raw, unadulterated power that pulsated from his very being like a beacon in the darkness.
She felt her soul's response all the way down in her core, a delicious, painful need to be filled, to be devoured, to be possessed, to be claimed.
He is mine, some unknown voice called in the deeper recesses of her mind, a kind of greedy madness that she had never before experienced, and yet it felt perfectly natural, more a part of her than some separate entity.
She wanted more from him than just sex.
She wanted everything – all of him.
Starting with his lips.
Frankie pulled him back to her with a newfound voracity that surged through her veins like liquid starlight. Her head swam with lust and pleasure and with one final tug, she had freed him completely of his shirt. He kissed her back, hard and hungry, clearly needing to have her any way that he could. With every kiss and caress and soft moan, she weakened. It was exhilarating to be consumed like this, to be so openly desired by not just a man, but by Dracula, Prince of Darkness, King of the Undead… her king.
My king… mine, that voice hummed once more.
She was getting hazy, her thoughts slow and with blurred edges as all cognizance of her surroundings were swallowed up in the warm pleasure of his kisses, his caresses, the small grunts and groans that left him every time she returned his attentions in kind. Her irises burned violet when his lips moved downward to her throat again, his hands growing in their boldness, and gradually, beyond the haze of desire, Frankie began to sense her dark passenger rousing more fully from its slumber.
With a stroke of his hand, the strap of her nightgown fell to hang idly on her arm as he pressed ardent kisses along the curve of her shoulder before sinking his blunt teeth into her skin – not hard enough to break, but enough for it to sting and she sighed openly when he salved the indentations with a slow drag of his tongue. The wet suction of his mouth made her flesh tingle and her irises flicked red, nails lightly grazing his back when he did the same thing again, this time to the crook of her neck.
The feel of her claws on his skin made every stitch of muscle in his body harden painfully, a strangled groan her reward.
Oh, how she loved the sound. Eager to see what else she could do to inspire him further, she kissed him again and then bit his lower lip when his hands found their way beneath the hem of her nightgown to grab handfuls of her derrière.
He pressed his aching body against her, a silent plea for more, and she responded by slipping her hand between them, palm cupping the bulge in his trousers.
He went weak then, jolting once in surprise at the contact before purring softly into her hair, a deep, gravelly sound of approval that vibrated from within his chest as she ran her fingers over him, tracing the impressive outline through his pants. Then she was lightly stroking, massaging him, until his hips were instinctually thrusting forward to meet the ministrations of her hand.
The sounds he made turned her sex into an ocean.
His excitement escalated the more she touched him, his face buried, her name on his tongue like a hedonistic prayer until he followed her example and slipped his fingers between her thighs, fitting two long digits there and pressing upward. The feel of him so close to where she wanted him most distracted her as she whimpered once and then cried out softly when he ran his middle finger along the length of her slit, pressing her soaked gusset up between her lips, those wet panties the only thing keeping his skin from hers.
He groaned appreciatively at what he found between her legs, drenched and aching, and she could feel his wicked smile on the skin of her shoulder.
"It really would be a pity to let all of this go to waste," he growled, curling the damp crotch of the flimsy lace around one of his fingers before pulling it down and away from her skin. The air felt cool, but it was the faint caress of the back of his knuckle against the seam of those lips between her thighs that forced a strangled cry out of her. She didn't think it was possible, but that grin of his turned borderline cruel.
It excited her.
She quivered in anticipation.
"I want to make you come, iubito. I need to know what you sound like… how you feel," he then whispered into her ear, lightly nipping the lobe and that little prick of pain nearly undid her. "Will you let me?"
His salacious words held something dangerous in them. She could deny the needs of her body no longer.
"Touch me," she pleaded softly. "Touch me… please…"
An almost inhumanly malicious glee spread across his features at the sound of her surrender and he released her panties before deftly slipping two fingers behind the waistband, one sliding along her slit to open her a little before he pressed both up against her clit. The pressure of his digits made her knees buckle, the back of her head hitting the door with a soft knock.
Frankie bit down on her tongue to keep from crying out, pressing her lips hard together as her free hand came over her mouth to suppress the sound, but this only made his brow furrow in irritation. He immediately took her offensive hand and pulled it away, pinning her wrist to the door behind her. The act of restraint only made her wetter.
"Don't you dare hold back on me," he warned her, biting down on her shoulder again – harder than before, though still careful not to break the skin and she whimpered.
"Vlad… please. Please…"
His name left her, ragged and imploring, a desperate plea that he answered with the movement of his fingers against her. A strangled cry stuttered past her lips.
"Yes," he hissed, his voice so rough, she could feel the rumble of it deep in the marrow of her bones. "Beg me, iubito …"
"Touch me… touch me more. S'il te plaît, mon chéri, je t'en supplie..." (*)
He groaned quietly at the sound of her slipping into her native tongue, the way she so effortlessly glided into submission for him. The grip that held her wrist slithered away so he could run his palm over her breast.
She arched into his touch with an ecstatic yes, her hands immediately shooting to his hair, fingers threading through dark tresses, tugging at the roots, holding on for dear life. Frankie buried her face into the crook of his shoulder, giving him the vocal response she had denied him earlier, but still managing to muffle it a little against his skin. It was nearly a sob, his name staggering past her lips as she lifted one of her legs to grant him easier access to her aching cunt. He took her knee and propped it up with his free arm.
His fingers continued their dancing strokes, tender, but persistent.
Experienced.
Not an ounce of uncertainty in him.
He touched her as if he had been playing the instrument of her body for centuries and instead of questioning it, she indulged, basking in his fire. She leaned her head back at one point, crooning for him as he whispered to her.
He was nothing but filthy utterings, and to both of their delight, it only served to make her hotter for him, so wet that his fingers met no resistance when he finally slid one and then two digits inside of her. He worked her slow, deep and thorough, all the while filling her ears and her mind with debauched fantasies. The rich sound of his guttural voice caressed her from the inside out, tangling her nerves up in knots as he painted a vivid picture of just how good she'd look astride his cock, how delicious she'd be sinking down on his thick shaft, how much he longed to feel her shudder around him as she took every last inch the way she was taking his fingers. Between his wicked words and the masterful ministrations of his fingers, Frankie was near delirious, but he showed her no mercy, lightly nipping at her neck as he did so.
The wet sound of him working her was nothing short of vulgar, but she loved it. She could feel the pressure building in her womb, that delicious tightening, coiling sensation that started at her clit where his thumb now rubbed until it was pulsating deep within her, nudging her closer and closer to the edge.
She was going to come; god almighty, she could feel it.
His touch and the sound of his voice were like dark magic that had begun to settle in her bones, and she was ready to fall, ready to shatter in his hands and weep her relief.
But then she sensed it – her inner demon, that dark passenger alert and waiting patiently, and suddenly a surge of panic shot through her like poison. The hunger, along with her pending orgasm, had been building in the background as he had touched her and if he took her over the edge, she would lose control and the demon would emerge.
"Vlad…" she cried out, but he mistook her protest as a plea for more and his ministrations grew more firm, the rhythm faster and faster. She was barreling towards completion and her demon was poised and at the ready. "Vlad… Vlad don't…" she managed, but when he didn't respond right away, she gave way to panic and then everything derailed. "No… No, stop!"
Before he could react, she had violently pushed him away.
Her abrupt denial left him stumbling back in surprise, nearly tripping over the edge of the rug, but he caught himself, eyes glowing and fixed as she gripped the frame of the door with one hand, the other held out in his direction in a sign of warning.
A broken cry began to tumble from her lips but then it shattered into a demonic growl as her irises flashed red, fangs out, nails growing into talons. The network of veins and arteries had begun to darken beneath her pale skin, becoming visible, the edges along the whites of her eyes blackening.
The sudden deprivation had sent her demon into violent protestations, clawing inside of her like some kind of wild, caged animal that she was now presently struggling to contain.
Dracula remained rooted to the spot, stunned and admittedly a little frustrated at being thwarted when he had been so close to victory, but that sensation was short-lived when he beheld the way her eyes flashed between purple and red. A low rumble reverberated in her chest, thighs quaking and expression filled with lust, then anger, and then a despair that immediately sobered him.
He realized then that her blood-rage had nearly been incited and that recognition had him exchanging the high he had been riding just moments ago for a mutual expression of disappointment.
He had barely been able to contain her the last time her blood-rage had manifested itself.
It was clear that until they could get it under better control, sex of any kind was off the menu.
And if that wasn't enough to kill his erection, the sorrow in Francesca's eyes was.
As if she had read his mind, she finally managed to speak.
"We can't…" she said, adamant, in spite of the way her voice cracked with emotion "We can never… it's too dangerous…" Her eyes brimmed and sparkled with disappointed tears. "I'm sorry."
The words were spoken in barely a whisper, but the grief in her voice was genuine and it turned his discontentment to pity. It was difficult, seeing Francesca like this, her body teeming with sexual frustration, but her countenance was so tortured, her eyes brimming with anguish. He wanted to help her, wanted to ease the ache in her – the ache he had so thoughtlessly created. His instincts were insisting that he finish what he started, consequences be damned, but her outstretched hand kept him fixed to the spot.
"You need to go," she insisted. When he didn't move right away, even swaying forward as if he intended to console her, she repeated the command with sudden fervor, bending down to grab his shirt and necklace before tossing them at his feet. "NOW."
Her eyes flashed red when she said it, and unwilling to make things worse for her, Dracula gathered his things and then vanished in the blink of an eye.
She could feel the distance between them as acutely as she could feel the door at her back. The sudden separation sent a broken cry clawing its way up her throat as her dark passenger protested violently, demanding control and completion.
But Francesca did as she had always done.
She endured, viciously leashing her demon, in spite of the wave of utter despair that threatened to swallow her whole.
With the man gone, she was free to move and with a push against the door and an exertion of will, she stumbled over to her vanity, desperately trying to ignore the visions in her head of what could have been – of her coming on his fingers, of him nailing her to the door… their movements frantic, erratic.
She pulled open one of the drawers in front of her to find a syringe pre-filled with some of Rémy's serum and with tears streaming freely down her cheeks, she slammed the needle into her chest, directly into the dragon-shaped scar over her breast. The tip of the needle nicked a rib, but the pain was a welcomed change as the purple liquid emptied into her bloodstream, the irreversible chemical reaction immediate as her dark passenger was effectively tranquilized.
When it was done, Frankie fell to her knees on the floor as a familiar depression settled over her like a dark cloud, profound and borderline suffocating, made worse when she recalled the disappointment and pity in Vlad's eyes.
"Damn you, Marcus," she whispered, weeping bitterly as she rubbed the dull ache out of her flesh where the needle had punctured her skin. "Damn you."
(*) "S'il te plaît, mon chéri, je t'en supplie..." translates to "Please, my darling, I beg you...", (French to English) according to Google. Hopefully the grammar is accurate!
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