Author's Note: This piece is actually based on a line of Mick's in "Fated to Pretend". I keep trying to write one of these scenes from Beth's point of view, but I keep getting distracted by the idea of Mick's vamp senses. Heightened sense of smell, of sight, of hearing--and touch?
Because I love you.
The taste of tears on her tongue. The faint echo of wine, from her supper. The soft satin of her lips against his. His arms are around her, his mouth on hers, demanding and tasting and eager. Her mouth opens and he feels her tongue slick and wet, and the tight thing in his chest gets tighter and then loosens suddenly, and he's gathered her up in his arms and he feels the rush coming on, the black swirling tide.
We shouldn't. I shouldn't. I have to warn her. He pulls his mouth away. "Beth..."
Her mouth, so soft under his, hardens into a thin line. "Don't tell me again that this won't work."
"When vamps have sex, furniture gets broken," he says tensely. "A human can't take that kind of physical ... action. I...I don't want to break you."
There's a long, hot moment, with something singing between them. He realizes what he's said--as if he's laid down the last barrier, given her an opportunity to back away, or go over it.
"So break me," she says in a whisper. "Or let me go forever."
Drunk. He feels drunk, with that dizzying sensation and the feeling that he might fly. She's already hot and ready for him, he feels it in her hands against him and her mouth on his. She's already across the boundary he drew between them, deep into his territory. The war is over, and he lost.
"Tell me when to stop," he says against her seeking mouth and he knows he's said that to her before and she will know that it's how he says yes, how he surrenders to her. Because he may be a vampire and she's a weak, frail human, but she's so much stronger than him that it scares him. Right now her power is to make him weak-kneed with desire, as he walks them into her living room.
She makes a little sound in her throat between laughter and surprise, and the surge of lust in him tops out. He can feel his fingernails already changing, becoming sharper and harder, almost talons, so when he reaches up to the neckline of her blouse he's very careful not to scratch her. He's careful to slide his fingernails under the neckline even as he's devouring her mouth (soft warm delight so hot) and with one swift jerk he rips the blouse from neckline to hem.
"Mick!" She pulls her mouth free and looks up at him, shock in her eyes.
He knows his eyes are already half silver when he looks back into hers. "This is how it is, for vamps. Are you telling me to stop?"
She shakes her head, a small tremor going through her. If his nose had told him that tremor was based on fear, he would have stopped right there. Or so he hopes. But his nose catches the pheromones her body is releasing right now and they're definitely saying "Don't stop."
So he jerks again, and the blouse rips again, and he tosses it away. His blood is truly up now, pumping through him at twice the normal human rate, feeding that rising darkness even as it sharpens his senses to an unbearable degree.
She sighs, and it's thunder in his ears. She smiles, and he is dazzled. The sound of her heartbeat is like drums in his head. And when she touches him, there's no word for the satin feel of her skin against his. He closes his eyes and hisses, feeling the fangs form, knowing his muscles are hardening as the demon within takes over.
And she is not afraid. He smells no fear in her. He opens his eyes and all he sees is Beth in his arms, half naked, looking at him with that soft look, her mouth open and red and sweet.
"Beth," he says, and it's half a moan. She takes his face in her hands (so soft, yet he feels strength in them) and brings it down to hers, and kisses him. Her tongue dances lightly against his fangs and he feels butterflies in his stomach. Her tongue tastes amazing--like her and like salt and honey and a thousand things he cannot name, and it fills his head with dark smoke.
He isn't even aware of what his hands are doing until there's another ripping sound and he's holding the remnants of her brassiere in his hands. She pulls away, laughing, unafraid of him.
"You're laughing at me," he says, wonderingly. "I'm a vampire, and you're laughing at me."
"You so owe me a new set of lingerie," she says, teasing. Her laughter holds joy and desire and innocence. "You're going to max out that credit card at Victoria's Secret."
"Hell, yes."
The wonder of her fearlessness drives him insane with love and desire. What kind of woman is this, who laughs literally in the teeth of a blood sucking monster? But he remembers that he's no longer a monster; to her, he's a hero. And damned if he won't be one tonight.
She's tugging at his shirt. "I can't rip things like you can," she says. "Help me out."
He keeps his eyes on hers as he casually rips his shirt off, throwing the rags of it in the general direction of the couch. The coffee table is in the way; he gives it a casual shove with one knee and it crashes into the opposite wall. Glass tinkles to the floor. Neither of them cares.
They sink to their knees on the living room floor, mouths locked. Her hands are in his hair, his on her cheeks. "Beth..." It's a call and a moan and a growl but mostly it's the sound of his loneliness hoping for a way out, a hint of daylight, as he catches a glimpse of dawn in her eyes. "My Beth."
She's paying no attention, running her hands up and down his bare arms and his chest and his shoulders. Everywhere she touches, his awareness follows. Her skin is warm and sweet beneath his tongue (no fangs no fangs God no fangs NO), and as he sinks deeper into that smoky haze that says the vamp nature is taking over, he is aware of that sixth sense clicking in. It's something between telepathy and sonar--he can almost see beneath her skin. He's aware of the soft movement of bone in muscle as she dances her fingers across his chest, brushes a nipple with her thumb. He reads the muscle under her skin like a fisherman reads water--when he touches her breast he knows all her awareness focuses on his hands.
She draws in a breath and he maps her consciousness to the muscular contractions under her skin, and he knows he can tease her to the edge of madness with it. He kisses her (careful with the fangs), and feels her whole being focus on his mouth and his tongue. And while she's distracted, he brushes his fingers across her nipple and feels it rise, feels the shiver of delight go through her and her awareness shifts to his fingers just as he withdraws them and trails them down her cheek. And then she's focused on her cheek and he moves his mouth down her neck (skimming quickly over her jugular that throbs drink me into his soul) until his lips find her nipple, satin on satin on the soft swelling mound of her breast. He bites it, ever so gently, but firmly, and her whole body spasms. His smile is wide and wicked. He licks her nipple like a cat licking milk, then blows gently on it. It cools her skin, and the nipple rises to an even tighter peak. He sucks on it gently, aware of her gasps and the racing beat of her heart.
Oh, how he will drive her mad. He looks forward to it.
Then her hand trails down his chest, sweeping over his nipple, flat and warm and seeking, and Mick suddenly realizes that actually he's the one at a disadvantage here. He's the one with the supernatural sense of touch and taste and smell, the one who's being overwhelmed by her. His lips skim over her neck again (tendon and skin and the beat beat beat of her heart) and her hair brushes across his face and it's like the kiss of an angel's wings or something. Her hands skim down to his waist and he gasps because he has never been this hard, ever.
Mick starts to think this just might kill him. And that's okay too.
Her hands are wandering his back now, he can feel their quick delicate play across his skin. He's trying to distract her, tease her again, but when he bites down (gently, gently) on her nipple again, her nails dig into his shoulders and he feels the pain when they scratch him and he laughs inside to think it's her that's drawing blood with the little half-moon cuts her nails make in his skin. And he makes a note to be sure she doesn't suck on her fingers because she might Turn.
Then she's moaning this soft little sound that is almost words but mostly not, and arching up under him. And God, he realizes they're still half dressed. Can't have that, he thinks, and claws at the waistband of her jeans. The denim is a little tougher than the thin cotton of her shirt was, but in the end it surrenders to hands that can break bricks. There's a long, low ripping sound, and something catches and he has to tug again so he jerks impatiently. It hurts her, or alarms her, and she says, "Oh!" in a soft, surprised way that goes straight through him. He throws the shreds of her jeans (and something filmy and delicate--her panties?) behind him and he hears them land in a soft thump on the floor.
And she's naked under him, bathed in the dying light of sunset filtering through her windows, looking up at him with those soft, trusting blue eyes. He's poised over her, supported on his hands. He can feel her heat burning through his jeans, right up against his cock and he thinks he's losing his mind. Mick feels like the conqueror of the world, and he can barely hold on because God he's hard and yet he wants to make this last. If only for her. His Beth.
She smiles, and he loves the way her eyes crinkle at the corners like that. Her body is soft and sweet and he wants to lick her all over. He bends his head to do that, but then his tongue meets his fangs and he realizes he must look like a monster to her. Shame and lust curdle in him and he hesitates. "I, uh..."
"Shhh," she says, and draws both her hands, flat, down his body from his shoulders to his chest, lingering over his pecs. "Ooo," she says softly. God, she's enjoying him. It stuns him that she sees him as sexual, not as the monster he imagines himself to be. She glances at him, smiles (her white teeth in the light) and continues to caress him.
Oh God those hands...His body is on fire. His entire skin feels alert, shivery, almost cold. Her hands are hot, quick, alive. She dances them across his belly, and he sucks in his breath as they come to rest on his waistband.
"No fair," she whispers at him. "I'm naked and you're not."
Now he's a little scared. Will he startle her? Disgust her? And frankly, it's been so long since he did this with a woman who wasn't fanged herself, that he wonders if maybe they should stop.
Oh, yeah, that's so not going to happen. He can't stop now. Unless she says so.
She's tugging at his belt, and frees it. It dangles down, and the hard metal buckle strikes her soft belly, and he wants to catch it and save her tender skin, but she doesn't even flinch. He bends down and puts his face in her hair as her hand works buttons and zippers and then, with a little sound of impatience, she snakes her hand inside and finds him. "Oo!"
The growl that comes out him then shocks even Mick. It's raw and passionate and feral. It comes out of the bone and blood of a man on the edge, not from the vampire soul riding him. He wants her, Beth, not just a woman, not just a human prey. Her hand on him is fire and temptation and overwhelming, crying need. For you, he thinks. It's for you. My Beth.
She tightens her grip and he gasps, except it's more like a moan, and he can't help it that his hips move, down and forward, wanting to bury him in her. She giggles a little, breathlessly, and he growls again in her ear. He doesn't even have to open his eyes to know that her skin erupts in goose flesh when he does that. His focus is divided between her fingers on him and the feel of her hair against his mouth.
This is going to end sooner than he wants, if he doesn't do something. He suddenly moves up and away from her, her hand slipping out of his jeans as he leans back in for a long, slow kiss, putting everything into it he can--love and lust and longing and gratitude. Her mouth is so tender and he holds back for fear of hurting her with his fangs. When he knows she's feeling only his kiss, he drifts a hand down her body to her belly, draws circles on it. She gasps into his mouth and he trails kisses down her neck and over her collarbone and settles in to a long, thorough exploration of her breasts. One is slightly higher than the other, and he kisses his way from nipple to nipple, deliberately slow, leaving a hot trail of saliva. He smiles when he hears her moan, feels her arch against his mouth, wanting more. He circles a satiny nipple, bites her gently again. As her consciousness zings to where his mouth is, he deliberately slides his fingers south, slipping them between her thighs and finding her oh God so wet and warm and open, ready for him. His cock presses so hard against his jeans he wonders if it will actually rip them. He swallows another growl in his throat, not wanting to scare her.
"Mmmm..." she purrs. Now she makes little gasping noises that he tries to capture with his mouth as he teases her with his fingers. Again that sixth sense lets him almost see into her, as if she were translucent. He can sense the tremors building at the base of her belly, knows how the nerves are signaling home that it's time to let go, let go, let go.
And suddenly, it's there, that twitch and flutter under his fingers, and she's coming in his arms, shuddering. Mick thinks it may well be the finest moment of his life, making her come so deep. He can sense the spasms shaking her, almost feels the flood of endorphins. He sees the flush of blood to her skin surface and fights the urge, the desperate need to taste that blood, to share the hormones spiraling through her even now. It's even more maddening because he remembers what she tastes like, and it's like fine wine and nectar and he thinks this must be what an ex-junkie feels like.
"Come for me, my love." He wraps her deep in his arms, chest to chest, skin to skin, his hands in her hair now and his mouth on her neck. He will not bite. He will not. He will not. In his arms she moans and writhes, hot and sleek.
She subsides, eyes closed, gasping on the carpet. He takes the moment to slither out of his jeans, and finally gathers her nakedness against his, turning so that her back is against his chest and she's facing away. He feels her relax (not fully--she's still on an orgasmic plateau and he intends to keep her there) and pushes the hair off her nape. He sets his fangs just barely against her skin, feeling the goose flesh rise against his tongue.
"Mick," she says, a tad breathless.
"Beth."
"I have never ... that was ..."
"The appetizer," he says. "First course. An aperitif. Something to get us started."
She laughs and he loves the way her body jiggles against him. "Started?"
"I hope you didn't have any other plans for the evening," he says against her, his mouth skittering over her shoulder blades.
"I'll cancel," she laughs. "But you ... you haven't ... " She stops talking and moves her hips against him, trapping his very hard cock between their bodies.
He slides a hand around her waist and holds her with an arm like iron. "I will." He kisses the back of her neck. "Oh, I will. Eventually."
His arm holds her close as he slowly licks his way down her spine. She's squirming and breathless, and he can hear her heart pounding. He doesn't let her go until he reaches the top of her buttocks. Then he eases her onto her stomach and holds her down with one hand easily. Her ass is as round and pretty as he'd imagined. She has no idea how many times he's watched that perfect little ass walk away, and wanted to do just what he's doing. He kisses and licks and nibbles over those two sweet perfect mounds. She gasps and wiggles but he holds her in place, his other hand moving slowly, so slowly, so very slowly and tantalizingly up her thigh. Again he's aware of her consciousness focused on his hand, then his mouth. He teases her with bites and kisses and caresses until her confusion dissolves into electric fire; he can feel the energy in her center focusing, ready to ride another wave.
Oh, how she will ride this one.
His face brushes the top of her buttocks as his hand slips between her thighs, nudging them softly and inexorably apart until his fingers slip into her folds. She squeaks with surprise and delight as his fingers find just what he's looking for. Now it's like she's not only translucent, but that every nerve in her body--at least her lower body--is drawn in red fire under her skin. He strokes, she writhes, and he adjusts the angle of his fingers. She's whispering something, his name or maybe a prayer, he doesn't pay attention because her body is speaking to him more loudly--touch me yes there and there yes like that. And he obeys, his fingers stroking long and slow and steady, until she bows like a fish jumping from a lake, crying out and coming hard. He bites (not with the fangs, but the human teeth) on that soft buttock, tasting her skin so warm and soft. She writhes harder, and her thighs brush against his cock and his vision goes dark with lust for a moment.
He could do this all night, but he's not sure her heart will take the strain. He can sense it hammering in her chest, her blood pressure rising. That vampire sense tells him she's in no danger, but he really shouldn't push his luck.
He slides his fingers to her thigh, lifts the top thigh and surges against her. He feels the head of his cock touch her outer lips--slippery, wet, his for the taking, and he pauses.
His breath against her ear is a grunt or a growl or something in between, but she realizes that it's his request for permission. They're both so far beyond words now they're communicating on an almost chemical level; she thrusts backwards very gently, and he slides in slow and easy from behind, all the way, feeling her stretch to take him in. She gasps and he feels her delight. One arm clasps her close to him, holding her fast with a hand splayed across her breast, nipple between his fingers, as the other slides around to her front, dipping low, gliding between her thighs again, finding that soft spot. He strokes into her, feels the dark and feral tide in him rising, barely controlled. Her skin under his fangs is ripe and sweet, he wants to bite down so hard it's madness. But he doesn't. This is not another vamp, not a victim, not a terrified meal struggling to escape. This is his Beth, and he will not hurt her.
So he lets the fangs rest gently against her neck, and he thrusts home in her, hard and tight, his fingers stroking in the same rhythm, and she is shuddering and crying in his arms in no time. Holding back his urge to bite means he holds back everything else, and he realizes he can do this for a long time, maybe all night, if he doesn't go mad first. Because this fluid glide and thrust, her moans and her wriggling, are sucking him down into a whirlpool of sensual release. His balls are so tight he thinks they might explode.
"Mick..." Her breath whispers in his ear. "Please ... stop."
Fear spikes through him and he freezes instantly. "Did I hurt you?"
She shakes her head (honey hair caressing his face he kisses it in passing) and squirms around so that she's looking back over her shoulder. He's pinned her under his weight so he rocks back on his hip, and doing so slides him out of her. The air is suddenly cold on his dick.
She turns in his arms, her palms against his cheek. She's flushed and her eyes are very wide, her pupils dark. "Okay," she grins, and that imp of mischief curls in the corner of her mouth. "You've made your point." She undulates against him, trapping his cock between their bodies again. "You can make me come all night. I get it."
He grins down at her. Strange, but his fangs start to retract. What the hell? But he can't pay attention to that when she is so deliciously soft against him, when he's only inches from that deep warm place where she welcomes him. He leans in for another kiss and she puts her fingers (smelling of her and him) against his mouth and he kisses them.
"Your turn," she says softly. Her hand drifts down to squeeze him again and he can't help the gasp that comes out of him, or the way his whole body stiffens. "Beth..."
"Your turn," she repeats. And strokes him slowly, deliberately, looking into his eyes. And even through the blood pounding in his ears, as his entire body and soul are focused on what her hand is doing to him, and his vamp sense is sensing that she's close to orgasm again--in the midst of all this some part of him is amazed to register the change in his vision, the retracting of his fangs. What the hell? This never happens to him when he has sex with another vampire.
"Let go, Mick," she whispers against his neck, and wriggles against him insistently, pushing and poking until she's under him and he's propping himself on both hands again, her hand on his cock and a dreamy smile on her face. "Mick..." His name is a long, drawn out sigh on her lips.
Even as his vamp sense inexplicably fades, he still has his supernatural strength. With one arm he scoops her up, kneels back onto his legs, splays his knees. He's erect, rampant, ready. She makes a cooing sound and her eyes get wide as he holds her, both hands now on her waist, and solemnly kisses her between her breasts.
"Vamp style," he whispers, and locks gazes with her. Slowly, teasingly, because he wants to make this last, he lowers her onto him. She spreads her knees, and her head falls backward, and her breasts are right there in his face so he kisses them, biting firmly on one nipple then another as she moans, and then he's deep inside her, as deep as he can go. She leans back, relaxed, surrendering, her legs coming forward to bend around his hips. With one arm he holds her, effortlessly, and she's parallel to the floor, the light painting her in every shade of gold. He thrusts into her, slow and hard, feels her shudder. Again, and something in him begins to loosen. Again, and her moans become gasps and he feels her body tremble. She weighs nothing in his arms, his Beth, his love, his treasure, and as he thrusts once more, hard, almost bone to bone, he feels her convulsing around his cock and her hands grip his forearms, hard enough almost to draw blood. He can't feel it because now that raw, animal rhythm has him in its grip, and he's lost. Lost in her, her skin her hair her heart her sweet smile.
At the last moment, he lets go with his left hand and reaches out for something, anything, to hold onto as the wave crests in him. He finds the edge of her couch and curls his fist around it, feels the wood under the upholstery snap in his fingers, but it's solid enough to hold onto and he does.
She lunges upward, catching her hands on his shoulders. He gasps, there is not enough air, as the wave takes him down and outward and into her, pounding through him, pulverizing him and leaving him gasping, sweaty, trembling. There is nothing but her eyes on him, big and solemn, and her red mouth open, panting, and the feel of her as he comes in her--hard, intense, all-consuming. His deep growl, animal and raw, echoes around the room. But then her mouth is on his, and there is no trace of the vamp in him anymore--no fangs, no sixth sense, no silver eyes or decaying flesh. She has made him, for this moment, all human.
One final thrust, and it feels like his very life leaving him, and he's fine with that. But then suddenly she weighs a ton and it's all he can do to keep from dropping her. He eases her to the floor, her mouth curving into a self-satisfied smile he can only answer with a grin. He puts his head between her breasts and sighs, eyes closed, just breathing and feeling. In a moment, he will get up and get her a blanket, and pour wine for them, and maybe they will sit quietly and just be together, or she'll want to talk. It doesn't matter. What matters right now is that her heart beats under his cheek, her scent surrounds him, and he belongs utterly, utterly to her. Forever.
His Beth.
THE END