"Slow down, Count."
Her voice made him stop his movements momentarily. It was as if his body had been trained to respond, and submit, to it.
"At that pace, she won't finish before you," Agatha continued smugly.
It had been decades since he'd last done this, and this was definitely a new experience, hearing voices in his head as he fucked his neighbor, who happened to be a bored housewife who lived just a few doors away. Her name was something simple… Lottie? Lana?
"I'm doing just fine," he said as he continued pushing inside her with the same eager pace he had before.
"What?" asked the woman, between soft pants as she moved beneath him.
"Nothing," he reassured.
"I forgot, this is just for your pleasure isn't it, not hers," corrected Agatha. "Or maybe you don't know how to satisfy anybody except yourself?" But that couldn't be true. At least she had to be enjoying this, taunting him while he tried to get off.
"I can," he huffed. Lottie opened her eyes in confusion.
"What?"
"Now you're scaring her off," he heard Agatha laugh. "She isn't going to last like that. If you're so quick with her."
"Agatha, please," let me be, he finished the sentence in his mind.
"Agatha? No, my name is Lor-"
Dracula placed a hand over the woman's mouth, in some sad attempt to stop both her voice and Agatha's voice from flowing through his head–and that seemed to do the trick for a moment. Of course a nun would be in his head to ruin this for him.
Lottie (Lana's?) soft moans were muffled as he did as Agatha instructed—he slowed down his pace, pushing deliciously slow as he ran his hands over L's body…whatever her name was– taking time to lick the skin from her collarbone up to her neck and he lightly squeezed her breasts. She moaned loudly, moving around more restlessly, running her nails along his chest.
"See? That's better," Agatha said.
"I told you I can satisfy," he said, and he didn't register anything else—Lottie (Lana?) didn't even seem to hear him as she continued enjoying his touches and movements more and more.
He let thoughts of Agatha flood his mind, feeling a welcome release on his mind as he did so. The ecstasy of not denying his thoughts made him feel better—made this feel better.
Dracula thought of walking over to her during their decent enough conversations in his dining room in their dreams, laying her out like a meal and filling her there, in the worst and dirtiest of ways—He thought of sliding his hands up her clothes after she'd fed him her blood, and tasting her somewhere new as he ran his fingers up through her thighs and pierced her skin with his nails. He thought of her taunting him as she did now. But he also thought of taking what he wanted, and making her feel as desperate as she made him. The thoughts he didn't even realize he had repressed.
He didn't realize the actual woman underneath him was already writhing in her own release.
"Come, boy," he heard Agatha say, and with a quick lick of his lips he came immediately, chest heaving and his forehead sweating. He felt horribly, and deliciously, mortal.