The Vixen Torn (15 page)

Her fingers wrapped around his shaft and pulled back the foreskin,
her wrist awkwardly positioned between the two of them, but it didn’t
matter. She couldn’t relinquish her hold on him.

The dark killer that had stalked her shadows was revealed from his
coverings to be a morsel of perfect human masculinity. A male beauty
that any elven man would be jealous of, but with a stature and bulk
few of them could have ever dared challenge.

Whatever twisted sorcery was responsible for his vampiric nature,
it had enshrined an exquisite male form with immortality. As that
thick shaft pulsed within her grip, she could only be thankful.

And for his part, Jaral lusted for her hardly any less. He kissed
with passion and intensity. He moved from her lips down her neck, and
with a yank on her skimpy top, he exposed a breast to make his way
towards it.

She didn’t tell him to be careful. She wanted to, of course,
but she couldn’t. Part of her wanted him to be careless, but
mostly she simply knew she was in no position to tell him what to do
with her.

And that was part of the appeal. Her body writhed against his,
needing him so badly. She wanted to feel him everywhere, to touch his
chest, to worship his cock. She wanted to devour and explore him in a
way she hadn’t felt in years.

The way her tanned flesh looked against his darker skin was
exquisite, and how her large breasts dimpled around his hand... She
whimpered his named, tinged with such lust.

For a man so cold to the touch, there was a fire of passion in him
that was astounding. More so because it was all for her. It was no
simple male desire for a warm, tight place to unload. It was all for
her narrow slit, her large yet supple breasts. He wanted it all. He
squeezed that massive mound of hers, pinched the peak of her areola
as she felt the pointed fangs scrape and threaten her neck.

She’d never thought on such things, for vampires were a
thing of legend, not one of the dark denizens of the world she had
experience with. Yet to have him kissing, suckling and teasing her
neck as his large dick throbbed needfully in her grasp, it was a high
she could not explain.

This male beauty wanted her. Wanted her body. Wanted her beauty.
Her charm. Her seduction. He so very obviously wanted her cunt, and
he wanted to plunge into her neck and drink of her blood. She was
everything this dark image of a man could want. It dawned on her just
as his mouth reluctantly moved from her vulnerable neck to her
breast, to kiss and suck at her teat.

Her mind was a fog and she didn’t know if she could take it
much longer. Her nipples felt so tight that it was painful, and she
swore that she heard a dollop of her honey hit the floor. It didn’t
even matter that they were still in a room of death; Anjasa was used
to that over the years. All that existed was them, alone in this
house.

Alone in the arms of a man that could rip her to pieces. It sent
the predictable shiver down her spine and she arched her large
breasts towards his dangerous mouth. She couldn’t remember the
last time she was so worked up.

His hunger could not be sated upon her breasts alone though. And
at last he relinquished the fleshy mounds and stabbed for her
womanhood with the same precision he’d ended Zarach; his thick
cock plunging into her over wet cunny and jarringly striking the
entrance to her womb as he let loose such a low groan of
satisfaction.

Anjasa’s voice encircled them, that high scream of
excitement piercing the air. It was so sudden, but it was perfect.
She was so wet that it was no issue for him to sheath himself deep
inside her body. Her head tilted back, breasts rising and falling
with each rapid breath. Her body felt like it was on fire.

Jaral grasped her beneath her thighs, his strong grip digging into
her fleshy legs as he tugged back then thrust again. The lust in him
was a ceaseless buzzing, and he wasted no time with softness. He had
to have her, and that sensation of having his cool, pulsing shaft
inside her molten hot cunt was bizarrely satisfying.

The wet slaps of his hard body striking hers, sending her ample
honey into his neatly trimmed dark pubic hair filled the shattered
room. And the dark monster inside her moaned with each new
jackhammering thrust.

She didn’t care what she’d gotten herself into. All
she knew at that moment was pure, mindless bliss, and her moans and
screams kept echoing off the walls around them. She barely knew him,
but that didn’t matter. This was all she needed to know about
him.

That he could calm her worries and fears, that she could trust him
to fuck her right, and she squeezed his cock in thanks. He was
exquisite, and she could already feel her body scream for release.

The motions of their rutting had caused his leather suit to strip
back away from his chest, leaving it increasingly bare and vulnerable
to her searching fingers. Her nails able to dig into that hard
muscle, run through the beautifully light forest of black chest hair.

His tempo only increased, yet as she squeezed his manhood in her
thanks, she could feel it: she elicited from that soulless monster
his first satisfying orgasm in untold years. His motions never ceased
though. She could feel the primal lust in him with each hammering
stab. The spurts of his creamy white seed from his swollen glands not
enough to end his ravaging, nor even slow it as he growled out her
name as if reciting the title of a goddess.

Oh gods
, she whimpered as her vision went hazy and her fingers
dug into his shoulders. She loved the feel of a man cumming in her,
and Zarach had denied her that pleasure. The way his hips bucked, how
hard he stabbed into her. How reckless he became and how little he
cared for her comfort. It was pure selfishness on his part, and she
wanted every last drop.

Her teeth found his ear and she tugged it, letting out a moan
around that cool, brown flesh.

The incessant wet slap of their bodies as his dick crashed deep
into her quim again and again resonated throughout the room. His
brown flesh impacting her elven body with barely restrained desire.

He had emptied his loins into her, added his tainted essence to
her flood of sexual fluids, yet he had no shortage of desire. He
grabbed her breast in one hand, squeezed and mauled that beautiful
mound as he then took her whole body and flung it—and him—onto
a sofa, where he mounted atop her and continued his wild thrusts.

This was what she needed.

Definitely.

Her voice was strained with her screams and cries, and even though
they sounded pain he had to know it was pure delight. She almost felt
like crying with joy, for she’d finally found what she’d
been looking for for so many years.

Someone worthy of her.

She hadn’t met someone that could handle her, control her,
in a long and lonely decade, and her legs clamped around him, not
wanting to let him go.

Jaral was locked into her, his brown, needful dick pounding into
her cum sodden, honey slick pussy with no sign of slowing or
stopping, as the virility of that gorgeous man refused to wane.

It was impossible to say how long their first tryst had gone on.
Anjasa couldn’t measure time, only count the aches, bruises,
scratches and bite marks. Though one thing she knew was that dawn was
not too far off as amidst the chaos of the shattered room, Jaral lay
atop a broken divan that they’d busted, not during the fight,
but during their fucking.

For a cold, immortal man, his sandy brown flesh glistened with
perspiration somehow, heightening the appeal of his muscles as he
stroked a hand along her thigh. Even then, as she leaked his seed
from their countless climaxes and was too worn from the vigorous
activity to move, he still had it in him to grope and fondle her.

She hadn’t felt so satisfied in so long, and she curled into
him, letting his cool touch soothe her battered flesh.

“Is Berro still... around?” she managed to whisper,
her voice as cracked and as worn as her body.

Splayed upon the sofa with her, the whole of his dark body was on
display. Ripe with muscle, a delightful smattering of his dark hair
across his form, that dark vision of beauty and male power put his
arm around her, held her to him as he spoke in his deep voice “He
is locked in the basement,” he said simply. “I took care
of him before I came for you,” and his lips found hers again.

“He’s a jackass,” she yawned, stroking down his
abs and revelling in their feel. “He put something in my
porridge.” Their bodies looked beautiful together, hers so
tanned and smooth, his so much darker and richer.

“I could put something in him to return the favour,”
he remarked in that exotic accent of his, those curiously shaped
eyes—outlined in black—moving to her as he admired her
beauty even then. Though she couldn’t help but be reminded of
how Jaral had plucked those daggers into Zarach.

She laughed. It wasn’t a rational response, but neither was
killing someone over a stupid prank. Still, her fingertips traced
along Jaral’s jaw, slowly making their way up towards his
mouth. “How long have you been like this?” she mused,
mostly to herself.

Those eyes of his, so entrancing and unique, were partially lidded
as he watched her, letting her move towards his lips and those sharp
fangs that marked him for what he was. “One might measure it in
centuries,” he said to her, his strong fingers caressing the
side of her breast as he lounged there with her.

Her lip quirked, “Yea. Me too. We’re lucky to be us.”
Her fingers ran over his full lips before she let her hand drop to
his chest casually. “So what now?”

She’d asked him before. She felt adrift without direction,
without meaning, and he could give it to her. She needed him to give
her purpose again.

Reclining upon a mound of cushions on their broken divan, he let
his eyes drift shut—or very nearly so—before he answered
her in his deep, foreign voice. “I have a business to run now,”
he began. “The tedious tasks Zarach did are now mine. And
you...” the slightest of curves came to his lips. “You
shall cultivate your little sprout. Be there to wake him. To bring
him the will. And, over time, to make sure he puts that gift to good
use. My use.”

She let out a soft sigh and let her fingers play in his chest
hair. “And where is this elusive will, anyways?”

“I have it,” he said, his body a stunning statue
before her as he lay there motionless, not even the rise and fall of
his chest from heavy breathing. “Gold means little to me,
except for when it can buy power. A Lord would bring influence.
Control. Power,” he let his fingers curve about her breast and
squeezed. “A big step.”

“And Loren is quite... malleable. He was ready to give up
before... well, I suggested a few things. Fuck, I’d say he had
given up.” She just wanted to stay there on that ruin of a
couch for the rest of eternity, though. “Do you sleep?”

“No. Not quite,” he said in response to her, though
with his eyes closed and his body as still as a corpse, she could
have easily been fooled. Though the still partially turgid member
that rested against his lower abs—a testament to his desire for
her that it had any life left in it after their full night of
debauchery—stirred just so every now and then to thwart the
impression.

“You can handle Loren well,” he added. “I have
no doubt. And we shall discuss details on my uses for him later. I
trust you know how to wrap a man about your little finger enough to
not need my lecturing,” and she could see the faintest hint of
a smirk there, betraying his humour at the idea.

“Oh, no, I’m completely helpless,” she teased
back. “Fuck, if there was a hint that I was helpless it was
only because I had no clue of anything about Zarach, and after he
took me to his
upscale
club... Well, naive seems a lot better than
sexpot sometimes.”

“You did not fool me,” he remarked with a wry smile.
“I watched you work from the shadows these past few days. I saw
your shifts. Your subtleties. Your cunning,” he let that last
word roll off his tongue so appetizingly. “I will tell you more
of my plans in time as you need to know. As you become of greater use
to me,” he added, his tongue licking along his upper lip... no,
his fangs, she realized.

She breathed in his scent that still reminded her of a far off
exotic desert and smiled down at him. It was genuine, and
affectionate, and she quickly tried to disguise it as her fingertip
traced his jaw. “So do I have time for a cat nap before I save
the world?”

“The boy will not awaken until you wish it,” he said,
and with a smooth, fluid motion he slipped from their position and
stood up, hoisting her curvaceous form into his arms and hefting her
with no issue. “So take all the rest you need,” he said
in his deliciously dark voice, smiling to her as he carried her out
of the room and past the stairs in their nudity.

“This is going to take some getting used to,” she
purred. It was a lie. She was only too eager to be lifted around by
him, like some feather light toy.

He took her to Zarach’s old room, that richly appointed
little fortress that was bereft of windows, and had too many locks
for an interior door.

With an exceptional ease, he put Anjasa up over his shoulder, shut
and locked—all five bolts and locks—the door before
moving to the bed. He tossed her upon it and climbed in after to lay
beside her. “I will rest here,” he said.

“Paranoid fucker, wasn’t he?” she sighed and let
herself feel sorry for him. It was just a brief, fleeting moment, but
she mourned what they could have had, and let herself feel thankful
for what she’d received in turn.

Power. She understood what he said when money was only a tool to
get it, and the kindred thought made her smile.

Jaral had said he didn’t sleep, but he laid there at the
center of that large bed upon his back, his dark brown body on
display before her as he pulled her to him and held her close,
looking for all the world as if he were ready to fall asleep. Or die.
His cool flesh was countered by the abundance of thick, warm blankets
at her disposal though.