Sweet Juices (Phanfiction)

Chapter 4 - Thnks fr th mmrs

Is he gone? Did he leave me?

I scramble into a sitting position after the few shocked moments I spent lying there. His strength, it surprised me. The small, somewhat lanky body packed full with the power of a thousand vipers coiled to strike. And his face. The instantaneous flash of regret and concern quickly replaced with the composure of a brick wall.

It brings back memories. Memories I tried so hard to repress over the last six months. A string of failed relationships. Some for money, a casual fling here and there. It all comes rushing back, flooding my carefully built walls. The abuse. The ropes digging into my flesh as abusive rough hands grabbed what they could of my body. The burning from within as my lungs screeched for air. The vile taste and smell of dirty hands, and the sounds of desperate men gasping both for air and in pleasure. The regular rhythm of a whore house.

I did what I had to do to live. I could not bother my parents. They had disowned me after all when I came out about my sexuality. I was truly on my own. Many nights had I slept out on the streets wrapped in my thin jacket. Only nineteen.

Things are better now. Kinda. I got a real job in retail and slowly began to work my way up, earning enough that after not too long I was able to get a small apartment. Well, shed thing. The memories were still burned firmly into my mind. But every now and then those fragile fences would crumple and I turn to alcohol desperate to drown my past.

That's how I'm feeling now. Trapped. Slowly but surely I feel the hysteria building up. In the distance I hear the lock click and suddenly all alone the tears brim and silently slide down to the floor where I now find myself curled in a ball.

But no. I hear his light footsteps walking back and the door yet again is flung open. Standing dominantly looking down is the sexiest man I’ve ever seen. People have always said I trusted too easily. After everything I've been through I should be fearful, careful, afraid. And I am. But not completely. A small part is all too comfortable with this...this...vampire.

The word even sounds ridiculous in my head. But watching him stand there towering over me it is the only reasoning that actually fits his criteria.

In an instant he is across the room, grabbing me by the upper arm and throwing me down on the bed. The frame squeals in resistance and the mattress so old that my body sinks into it like quicksand. He moves over me in one smooth motion, pinning my arms above my head with one of his hands, while the other slide over my hip bone, nails digging in.

He lowers his body into mine and I feel him everywhere. Like puzzle pieces, the cliché thoughts whisper. So close he is. I feel the warmth of his breath on my neck and to my shock the warm wetness of his tongue as it licks a long line, slowly up.

Suddenly he grinds down roughly and I gasp and the contact.

He looks up into my eyes, with lust.

“Time for some fun,” he groans and lowers his hips again.