Nectar: DD Prince (7 page)

She shook her head, choking back emotion, knowing full well that this was very different from last night. He had no right to do this, this way, to her. It felt like he was trying not only to do something to her but to get her to give him something, something she didn’t want to give. She couldn’t put the feelings into words but something was happening in her head, something she had to fight. He was playing some sort of mind game or something. She had to be fighting him trying to put her under some sort of control; that’s what this
had
to be.

He caressed her cheek and then started to pick up his rhythm, moving faster and deeper. He slid his thumb between their pelvises and started to stroke her clit, “Yessss...” He was so sexy, so seductive. Her nipples tingled.

“Nnooo.” It was rising in her again, bubbling up and ready to overflow at any second. She pushed it back. She tried to push him off but he caught both of her wrists and transferred them to one hand and held them over her head.

“We’ve got all day,” he whispered this huskily and then moaned. He sounded so sexy, so domineering.

She tried to go somewhere else in her mind. She envisioned him in his vampire form, hoping she’d push away the orgasm. But it wasn’t working. It wasn’t turning her off. She could feel her body responding to his thumb probing her at that knot of nerves while he slowly slid in and out of her and gently nipped at her shoulders, her earlobes. She caught sight of his shoulders, part of his back, muscles rippling. He really was quite the specimen of a man.

A man? No. Not a man. A vampire. A monster.

A dangerous deadly monster with fangs who had forced her, who had held her captive, who had flawless smooth skin, gorgeous eyes, soft lips, warm hands, and so many muscles. No! A monster. She had to keep a clear head. But she couldn’t. Something was wrong in her head, it was like something changed.

Not lovemaking…fucking…fucking dangerous fucking! Rape. Kidnapper. Fuck, argh!

She couldn’t hold it off any longer. She needed a release, needed this torture over with. Her clit was on fire, begging her to

Just.

Let.

Go!

Ah, fuck it.

She began to rock against his thumb, then he let go of her arms so she grabbed his biceps and squeezed, her mouth open but no sound coming out as her body was wracked with spasms. It felt like there wasn’t any air in her lungs. Her legs began trembling, then her whole body joined in and was trembling, hard.

“That’s it, give in. Say it, baby; say my name. Say it now,” he urged her, pumping away and twirling his thumb around and around and around.

No. No way.

She swallowed hard and shuddered, hitting that peak but doing it soundlessly and then finding a way to halt it before falling totally over the edge. She shook her head, no, defiant, she wouldn’t say it. Her orgasm was cut short and she desperately wanted him to let go so she could close her legs. She was limp but it was like her crotch was still on fire, reaching for it, sensations rolling, almost vibrating. Her body wanted the rest of that finale but she’d cut it short and now she chewed her lip and whimpered, pushing the sensations back with all her might, determined to win.

He glowered at her, “Really?” Fury radiated from him. He grabbed her wrists and pinned them above her head again and started pounding harder into her, giving her what could only be classified as a punishment fuck. It started to hurt, really hurt, as he slammed against her pelvic bone. He bared his fangs and glared with rage in his eyes. Fear spiked hard in her, sending the sensation of a thousand pine needles through her heart. He lowered his head and sank his fangs into her throat.

She squealed in pain, “Ow. Stop. No.”

She could feel his anger, like it was rushing into her, entering her own veins, replacing the blood that left her. Rage pulsed through her with the tempo of a heartbeat; it felt like hot air bubbles pushed through the veins in her throat and then radiated through her body.

Th-thump, th-thump, th-thump --- so..much..rage.

The rage felt like it was pushing, bubbles popping, and then something sour was snaking through her torso, her limbs, her digits. She wanted to vomit but the bile stayed in the middle of her throat. She was limp like a dead fish and her veins got heavy and cold, felt full, full of something thick and nasty. Sludge.

He lifted her and suddenly he was on his knees with her straddled on his lap. He had her bottom in his grasp and was grinding her into his hardness. Her hips and pelvic bone felt badly bruised; he was being relentless. She was raw, sore, like a ragdoll,

“Stop. Please stop.”

She found the strength to pound once on his chest before her arm fell to her side. He didn’t stop. He pulled her wrists behind her back and held them with one hand. He kept drinking and his free hand went around her throat. She was lightheaded and going limp. He let her wrists go and then that hand dug into her butt cheek. He pushed a finger inside her ass as he pulled her up higher on his lap. She let out a blood-curdling scream and tried to struggle. But it couldn’t have curdled her blood as he just kept right on drinking it.

Pounding and drinking and then making a snarling sound, like a wild animal. Kyla was having trouble breathing as his fingers tightened around her throat and her vision started to blur. She could hear him gulping, swallowing fast, like when someone tips a pop bottle all the way back and just glugs it down.

“Tristan,” she pleaded feebly.

His hand loosened, fangs released her throat, and wild black eyes darted to hers. His lips were curled into a snarl and blood dripped onto her naked chest from his fangs. The blue was gone. His irises were just black --- huge and shining like big black opals. She started to cough and gasp for air. His face started to change. Fury dissipated and changed into confusion, then concern. He slid out of her, gently laid her down on her back, reared back onto his knees and ran both hands through his still wet hair. The fangs receded,

He breathed out a, “no” and shut his eyelids and then just like that, he opened them and they were blue again.

Kyla was hyperventilating, shaking. She clutched her throat, then looked at her bloodied hands and started trembling harder, face horror-stricken. She wanted to scream but no sound would come out. He pulled her to kneeling and pulled her against him and licked the wound. The bleeding wasn’t stopping.  He held his lips tight against her throat, putting pressure and rubbed her back.

“Hey, no; it’s okay,” he was hoarse. She could still feel his erection against her. Her body was limp, as if it was made of spaghetti. He helped her back down onto the bed and stared for a minute at the wound and licked it again and held his lips there for a moment. His anxiety looked like it was mostly gone. He looked satisfied with his examination of her neck wound.

Have I stopped bleeding?

She wanted to ask but the words wouldn’t come out. The room was spinning a little bit and she threw her forearm over her eyes, trying to make it stop.  He was gone. Then he was back, pulling her to sitting, “Drink this.” He tipped a glass against her lips.

She obeyed. Orange juice. She managed a few sips and then signaled for him to stop. “More,” he ordered and tipped it again so she would drink more of it.  He gently laid her back down, covered her with the dark red duvet and disappeared again. She cradled herself in the fetal position under the blankets, trying to get warm. Her teeth were chattering.

Oh God, I’m going to die…

The tinny scent of her own blood permeated her nostrils. Her eyelids fluttered. Then he was leaning over her, concern all over his face, his handsome face. He wasn’t that black-eyed monster right now. His lips landed on the neck wound again and it felt so good, so soothing. His fingers were on the back of her neck, massaging it. She felt her heart rate beating hard and steady, and loud. But could hear his, too, in perfect time with hers. Her breathing slowed. His lips left her skin and then his eyes held onto hers as he bandaged her neck.

He wiped her forehead with a warm cloth and then used it to wipe the blood off her hands. He massaged her shoulders and her arms, then her legs and feet. It was like he was trying to help get her circulation going.

“You’re gonna be okay.”

So what if he was beautiful, she thought, as she blinked slowly at him, feeling like she was starting to gain a foothold on reality. Beauty was only skin deep. And he just wanted to sink his teeth into
her
skin, to drain her. The snaking hate he’d unleashed in her veins was still trickling through her. Bile rose in her throat again. She moistened her lips and shuddered, teeth chattering again, then she started to gag, hard, dry heaving five or six times.

Don’t be sweet to me you cocky asshole. You did this.
That’s what she thought but she couldn’t form the words to say it.

He took her by the hip and shoulder and moved her onto her side and started rubbing her back. “You’re gonna be fine. Sleep,” his voice was low and he sounded ashamed, “Don’t look at me like that, please. It’s killing me.”

Good. Die.

Her eyes drooped and he started to turn fuzzy, go out of focus. She heard a knock and then another man’s accented voice. Italian? Spanish?  It was a different voice from the others, “I have the information you asked for.” Then a crashing sound, loud smashing and a loud groan. She couldn’t open her eyes to see what was making that sound. All she could see was dark.

~~~

Light pierced the darkness just like a single lit Lite Brite bulb would if it were pushed through the black paper. Then she was dreaming about Tristan. He was chasing her; his fangs were dripping with blood. Kyla was running as fast as she could down a dim stone tunnel in her bare feet and the stones beneath her feet were sharp. So sharp.

The light at the end of the tunnel seemed to be getting farther and farther away as she half ran, half hobbled. He was laughing as he chased her and he was fast closing the gap. Blood dripped down the tunnel walls. She tripped and fell on the ground. Her hands were covered in blood. There was a black snake wrapped around her, from her ankle and coiling right up to the spot where he’d first bit inside her thigh. The snake started to squeeze. She darted awake, gasping for air.

She was thrashing in the bed and he was holding her down by the shoulders, “It’s okay,” he said gently, “It was just a dream.”

She struggled to open her eyes. Then, he was poking a needle into her arm.

“What?” Kyla wanted to struggle but she was immobile under him.

“Shh,” he hushed, pulled the needle out, and put it on a tray on the adjacent bedside table beside a selection of syringes. He stroked her hair away from her face, “You’re okay. It was just a dream.” He put pressure to the injection site and then leaned over and touched his lips to it.

“But it wasn’t,” she sobbed, “Is it?” She shrugged him away.

He let go of her, “No.  It’s not.”

“You’re real. This nightmare is real.”

He said nothing, his expression gave her no clues about what he was thinking.

“What was in that needle?”

“That needle? I took a bit of blood.”

“I had some left?”

“There’s a good sign…you must be okay, listen to that sarcasm. Happy to see you’re still a firecracker.” He fiddled with several syringes on the tray.

“No thanks to you,” she muttered.

He sighed. There was silence for a moment. She closed her eyes so she didn’t have to look at his eyes, which made her very uncomfortable, like he could see through her, like he knew her secrets; it was unnerving.

She must’ve slid back into blissful unconsciousness because she thought she blinked but suddenly it was as if time had warped and her eyes opened and he was under the blankets with her, holding her and kissing her face and whispering sweetly to her about being sorry and about how she was going to be okay. 

“It was the first time I wanted something, really wanted it, in so long. I just didn’t know how to take no for an answer and I lost it. I’m so sorry.” He was whispering into her hair.

He feathered soft kisses all over her face, her ears, her bare shoulders, her breasts, her belly. She struggled to open her eyes but felt so groggy. He ran his warm hands up and down her arms and across her back.

“It’s okay, sweet girl, your fever will break soon,” she heard him say as she slipped back under, feeling like she shouldn’t feel so comfortable against his warmth, feeling like she should run, run fast and far away from him. Or pierce his heart with a garlic-laced stake. Like right now. But she just slid back into a dreamless sleep against his warm body.

When she woke up he was sitting on the chair beside the bed, doing something on his smartphone. His hair flopped over his forehead and he looked very focused on what he was doing, a muscle twitching in his jaw.  She eyed him with contempt. What was this guy’s game? Almost killing her, snuggling her, now watching over her in bed, keeping vigil? She could feel her mouth contorting into a snarl.

“There’s food here for you,” he spoke before he briefly glanced up, as if he’d felt her eyes on him and then looked back at his phone and kept thumbing away at his screen.

“I don’t want food. I wanna go. I really need to go. I’m supposed to be at work. They’re going to wonder where I am. I---” She sat up.