“I don’t mourn the loss of your panties at all,” Johnny murmured into her ear.
“At the moment, I don’t either,” she said, her voice sounding breathless to her. His forearm pressed against her, trapped between them, and Lizette found herself moving her hips, matching his strokes with a rhythmic rocking, so she increased the impact. It wasn’t something she normally would have done, but it felt so obvious, so natural, that she just went with it.
“That’s it,” he said, his tongue trailing down her neck and finding the slight swell of her breast above her bra.
Then he bit her, without warning, sinking his fangs right into the plump flesh, causing her to cry out in ecstasy.
“Oh, mon cher!” she said, without thought, the endearment slipping out purely meant as appreciation for the way he made her feel. “That feels wonderful.”
No man had bit her before during sex. It wasn’t entirely proper, as vampires didn’t feed off of each other, but she had heard it was a highly erotic experience that many indulged in. But Jean-Baptiste had thought it crass, common, and since his death, there had been no man she had trusted enough or let go enough with to allow such a thing.
She hadn’t allowed Johnny so much as he had just taken, but she couldn’t believe what the sensation of his fangs puncturing her skin had done to her. It was like having an orgasm, only better. It made perfect sense to her why vampires indulged in biting each other, because it was like he was drawing pleasure up out of her on a pulley, each suck dragging from every inch of her body a tense, wiry ecstasy. She felt it everywhere.
Because he was drawing on her blood, sucking with enough intensity for her to feel the tug and pull, but not enough to cause pain, he didn’t reply. Instead, his thumb moved over her clitoris and stroked the swollen nub. The stimulation both above and below the waist had her clinging to him, her body tight and hot and ready to explode. An orgasm was imminent if she didn’t stop him, and she did not want to come. Not yet.
“Please.” She grabbed his wrist and tried to move her hips away.
For a second he didn’t respond, but then he stepped back, breathing hard, his hand still on her thigh, his mouth red with her blood, a trickle running down his lower lip onto his chin.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. Even as he spoke, his eyes drifted closed. “Did I hurt you?” His tongue came out to stroke from one corner of his lower lip to the other, lapping up her blood.
He looked so aroused, so intense, so clearly enjoying her taste, that Lizette forgot what she was going to say. She just watched him, goose bumps racing along her skin as she realized that it didn’t matter that he had removed his finger from inside her. Her inner muscles were quivering, her hips rocking forward, her breast aching from his point of entry as she watched him taste the very essence of her. It was overwhelming, and she reached for him, wanting her own taste.
Lizette gave him a long, deep kiss, capturing his mouth roughly, plunging her tongue inside to taste her own blood mingled with the rum. His hands gripped her hard about the waist and he was making a deep, barely audible sound of approval in the back of his throat. When she broke the kiss, she tilted her head and smiled at him, her eyelids heavy, handcuff jangling.
Then she bit his neck, letting her fangs drop in like steel into butter, the skin giving way with ease. When the first drops of his blood flooded over her, she almost fell backwards from the pure intensity of pleasure. It was intoxicating, and she sucked harder, feeling him tense against her, his grip tightening, his moans rising in volume and frequency.
“Fuck, that feels good,” he told her.
Afraid to stay too long, take too much, lose control, she pulled back. Her intention to lick the remaining sweet drops off her lips was thwarted by Johnny descending on her mouth with an urgency that sent her falling backwards into the kitchen counter. She grappled to hold on to his waist, then realized she was in the perfect position to undo his jeans. Yanking harder than was strictly necessary, she had them unbuttoned and the zipper down while they kissed, his hand popping her bra clasp on her back. Then he bit her other breast.
Oh dear. Lizette tried to hold on, tried to keep herself cognizant, but she was losing herself to some strange, desperate, urgent desire to have Johnny everywhere on her body, inside her and sucking her dry. When he pulled back, she shoved his jeans down and bent over, dropping her fangs into his hip, along that mysteriously sexy muscle that men had which seemed to act as a directional to where their erection was. His jeans were caught, but she could feel his bulge pressing against her shoulder and breast as she let the tangy sweetness of his blood rush past her.