The Awakening (on hiatus)

Blood Scent

Am I hearing her correctly? She wants me to what?

I flutter kisses on her inner thigh as my thumb glides through her tantalizing, glistening, wet folds. Evangeline is as delicious as she is beautiful. I should have said no to all of this, though. All of the kisses, all of the touches, every single plunge of my fingers inside her juicy, delectable cunt.

Something about her inspires weakness in me, and I can't figure out why.

Her fingers work into my scalp and she subtly moves my face into her flesh. If only I could do what she wants. What does she want, exactly? She has no idea what she's toying with, here in my darkened library lair.

This situation requires clarification, because I think she just begged me to bite her on the thigh. That can't be right. Most women don't want that, I've discovered over the years.

"You want me to—"

"Bite me. On the thigh. It's, ah, my kink."

Oh dear god. What am I to do now? It's already taking a herculean effort not to bite her, not to drink her blood. The tantalizing, copper-sweet smell—her blood scent— is embedded deeply in my brain just from kissing and licking her, and all of this spells certain ruin for me in so many ways.

My tongue takes on a life of its own, running up her inner thigh. Her skin tastes on par with the most delicious dishes I've tasted; sweet with a twinge of salt, smooth with a hint of butter. I almost feel like I want to claw out of my skin because I'm craving her blood and my cock is as hard as a diamond.

Her blood would taste incredible. That thought, and the scent hiding in her veins under her skin, makes me groan aloud from sheer desperation.

"Does that mean you'll bite me?" she whispers fiercely.

I dig my fingers into her hips, pulling her closer. Fuck.

I brush my lips against the soft skin of her inner thigh, wanting nothing more than to sink my fangs into her. The thigh isn't my preferred location—I'm a traditionalist and like the neck. But she's a special case, and I'm sure drinking from any part of her would be delectable.

But feeding from a half vampire-half human is prohibited by my superiors, and what am I going to do once I've consumed her blood? Allow her to be a vampire? That's a terrible fate for someone like Evangeline, and a harsh punishment for me.

And yet, I don't think I could bring myself to ram a stake into her heart to prevent her from becoming one of us, one of the undead. It's what I usually do with my victims, after I've finished feeding. This is to ensure they don't live a cursed existence for all of eternity.

No, I can't do that, either.

My tongue continues its slow journey up her thigh, and I pause, tempted to strike. My rational side, which often wins out, tells me to wait a few minutes. See if I can collect myself.

So instead of biting her, I shift my head a few inches, so that my tongue is deep in her beautiful pussy.

What an exquisite sacrifice.

I spread her apart with my thumbs and pull up her clitoral hood so I can gain better access to that bundle of nerves.

She's mewling now, opening her legs wider. It's sheer torment, because I haven't wanted to fuck or feed a woman this bad in centuries. Perhaps ever.

"Again? You're going to make me come again?" she gasps.

Oh dearest Evangeline, I'd make you orgasm for eternity if I could.

"Mmm-hmm," I hum into her flesh.

"Okay, I guess that's fine."

I raise my head and one eyebrow. "Fine? It's merely fine? I can stop if you'd like and we can resume drinking coffee."

She makes the cutest little pout and a noise of indignation. "You'd better not."

I chuckle and return to her sex, licking and stroking and sucking. It's like I've known for years what makes this woman tick, which is unusual.

Women usually are a mystery to me, but Evangeline is like an open book, one that was written only for me.