Richie places her on the edge of the bed, gently, like she's a fragile doll or something, and kneels down in front of her. Hands intertwined, they remain in place, unmoving, enthralled with each other. Despite his earlier declarations about starving, he doesn't seem to be in any hurry to feed, instead studying her with an intensity that makes her toes curl. At long last he leans forward, taking a few strands of her hair, smoothing it between his fingers, tucking it in behind her ear. Light as a feather his fingertips caress down the length of her neck, lingering on the incredibly sensitive spot which connects to her shoulder. Taking in the stark desire on his face, she trembles, finding it hard to breathe.

His voice is raw, tense, when he speaks. "Take off your top."

"Why?"

He cocks his eyebrow. "Because I don't want to mess it up."

Feeling foolish for assuming he meant something more, a heated blush spreads across her cheeks. "Oh."

"And because I want to see you naked."

Her heart starts racing wildly in her chest, fingers shaking as she pulls the eyelet fabric over her shoulder. She sets it aside, her stomach coiled into tight knots, nervous, afraid, yet also strangely excited at the thought of what's coming next. His breaths grow shallow, his blue eyes darken, but he doesn't say anything, do anything, simply watching her like a predator lying in wait for its prey, his gaze fixated on her breasts. He seems mesmerised by the sight of her and she isn't sure why. It's not like he hasn't seen her like this before, the first day they met at the pool she was actually wearing much less, but maybe because things are so different between them now, they've shared experiences that have changed both their lives - and Seth's - that it makes sense this moment feels special, extraordinary even.

If only she was wearing a prettier bra.

"You're beautiful," he whispers, looking at her.

"I bet you say that to all the girls."

A wry smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "Only the ones I can't stop thinking about."

One hand snakes around to pull her forward while the other brushes the remaining strands of her hair over her shoulder. He leans in, his lips blow a hushed, cold breath on her skin, and all of a sudden her senses are on high alert, taut, every nerve in her body heightened with anticipation.

Pain shoots through her the moment his fangs pierce into her delicate skin, the sensation sharp and biting, and she gasps, clinging to him for comfort. It's unsettling, awkward and she's almost about to ask him to stop when he gently nudges her backward, forcing her to lie down. Maybe it's the change in position, or simply her body becoming accustomed to the strangeness of his mouth sucking on her, but the discomfort rapidly shifts to something more potent, raw. Something quite close to ecstasy. White-hot heat spreads through her, spooling between her legs, and her body arches against him, aching for something she doesn't quite understand.

He removes his mouth from her skin for a minute but she protests, tightening her legs around his waist, refusing to let him go.

"So you don't want me to stop?"

Breathless, she shakes her head 'no'.

Drops of blood drip down her chest and he laps it up with his tongue. A true expression of euphoria covers his face, like he's just experienced the most delicious thing in the world.

He moves up, hovering above her, fangs retracted but her blood still staining his lips. It shouldn't be hot, but it is, and she shouldn't like him when he looks so savage, but she does. Pressing her fingers against his lips, she peers at him closely. "What do I taste like?"

"Sweet." He teases her with a chaste kiss on the lips. "Like the richest chocolate you can imagine." He nips her jaw. "Pure decadence."

She smiles up at the ceiling while he trails wet kisses down her chest. "I like that."

"And then it changes, becomes more tart."

"Really? That doesn't sound good."

"Oh, it is. It's amazing, and just when I think I've gotten used to the tartness, you taste like vanilla, and honey."

"I sound like a dessert table."

He chuckles, dipping his tongue into her navel. "Blood tastes different, depending on where you drink it from."

"Really?" she whispers, feeling that familiar ache between her legs again.

"Yeah." His hands pause on the button of her shorts; he nudges her to look at him and she meets his stare, transfixed by the desire in them. "I want to taste every part of you."

Her throat goes dry. Unable to speak, she guides his fingers to unzip her shorts.

It's amazing how swiftly he moves when he wants. Within seconds, her shorts are thrown to the floor and he's easing down between her thighs to kneel on the ground.

One second her head is filled with nervous anticipation, the next she's incapable of any thought, let alone coherency as he feeds from an extremely sensitive spot in her inner thigh. She's simply a vessel of pure pleasure, desperate and moaning for more. Her body writhes with need, her fingers fisting the sheets to alleviate the pressure that's quickly unfurling in her stomach, The feeling of ecstasy grows stronger, more keen, until she thinks it's finally reached fever pitch but then somehow manages to exceed in intensity, again and again.

"Whiskey," he murmurs, sipping the blood from her thigh ever so gently. "Decades old."

He shifts. Fearing he's about to stop, she throws her leg over him, holding him tightly in place.

His fingers start to stroke her over her panties while he drinks from her, and she practically jumps up, unused to so much stimulation.

Oh god, he's good. He's great, and she doesn't know what he's doing but she never wants it to stop. His fingers play her like a guitar, smooth, melodic, downstrokes and upstrokes, while his mouth caresses her, licks her, and it's all too much, too strong, too fast.

Suddenly, everything goes black.