“You’re sure?”
“I am.”
“Sounds perfect. When the time comes, I’ll email your mom a list of the supplies she’ll need to help you transition. You’ll be sick for about a week while the new organs and fangs are developing. There will be nausea, headaches, body aches, fever. I wish I could make it more pleasant, but trust me, with my special cocktail, it will be a lot more comfortable than the old way, and less risky, too.”
“I trust you.”
He hesitates, meeting my eyes. We both know what those three words mean. For me, they’re more powerful than the other words couples usually say to each other.
That’s why I say them again. “I trust you, Jay Gatsby.”
His lashes lower, and his jaw works briefly.
“And I’m not going anywhere this time,” I add.
“I know.” He looks up at me, joy shining in his brown eyes. “I trust you, too.”
We collide then, his mouth slamming into mine, and I’m devouring him, drinking him whole. Impossible to know how we find our way to my room without ever removing our hands or lips from each other. But somehow we do.
As I sink onto the bed with Jay, lost in the sweet fire of his mouth, I remember what my mother said.
That in her happiest moments, we are all together. All under one roof. Safe and healthy, even if it’s just for one night.
And then I almost forget my mother exists, because Jay is shucking off his shirt, and I’m admiring the expanse of perfectly carved abs that now belong to me. I discard my own clothes in trembling haste, eager to be pressed right up against his warm skin, thrilling because we did it, we leaped the hurdle that was my family. I would have forged ahead anyway, but it’s so much more satisfying to have their support.
Jay hesitates a few steps away from me, devouring me with his gaze. White stars swirl in his eyes, a galaxy of thirst, of craving. With clawed fingers he undoes the button of his pants and draws down the zipper, easing them off his hips.
“We’ll have to be quiet.” His voice slides through the fangs, slightly distorted.
I nod, breathless. “I can be quiet. I think.” I climb on my bed and scoot backward, until my spine is pressed to the padded headboard. Then I move my thighs apart, letting my legs fall open, baring my pussy to Jay. I waxed thoroughly because there’s something I want to try. Something daring and dangerous. Something I wouldn’t trust anyone else to do, but with him—god, the risk is exhilarating.
Jay stares. Swallows. I can tell he’s trying not to drool, and it makes me laugh.
“I want you to bite me,” I say softly. “Right here.” I tap my pussy invitingly.
“Shit, Daisy,” he breathes. “Are you sure?”
“Please.”
“Oh god…” His voice thickens into a growl, and he leaps onto the bed, his eyes whited out entirely. Watching him crawl toward me, his nostrils flaring, teeth bared—it’s unbelievably hot. I’m trembling, so sensitive that the first breath he exhales over my clit makes me jump.
Jay smiles, licking his fangs. “Hold as still as you can.”
Tilting his head aside, he moves in, grasping my thighs, and licks through my folds, a long, slow, lazy caress of his slick tongue.
“Shit…” I whimper.
“Bite the pillow, sweetheart,” he advises.
I grab one of my pillows and clutch it to my bare chest, stuffing one corner into my mouth as Jay continues to bathe my sex with his tongue. He laps at my clit, then slides his tongue through every delicate crease, every little bit of me, savoring it all. I’m whining into the pillow now, trembling, half-embarrassed at the wetness gushing out of me.
“I think you’re ready,” says Jay, with a tender kiss against my clit. I try not to squirm, quaking on the edge of an orgasm.
Jay carefully takes one of my labia between his teeth, and sinks in his fangs.
I squeal into the corner of the pillow. It hurts, yes, but it’s a brilliant, sensual, clarifying pain, pure and addictive. Jay’s lips close on my flesh and he drinks, while his claw-tipped fingers sweep along my inner thigh. The side of his thumb brushes over my clit, and the startling friction almost makes me come right then.
I spit out the pillow and whisper, “Shit, shit, shit,” like a litany, like a prayer, while the vampire I love sucks on my pussy. He releases me after a few moments, licks the punctures, and bites into my inner thigh, drinking more deeply.
When his bracelet vibrates, he pulls back, fangs glistening scarlet, his eyes reverting to their usual brown. But he’s not done with me. He moves between my legs again, nibbling at my clit with an enthusiasm that makes my head fall back and my eyes close. I have to squeeze and bite the pillow even harder as Jay shakes his head between my legs, his tongue whipping across my hypersensitive bud until I snap—I break—I’m writhing, silent, un-breathing, dazzled by the whip-crack of ecstasy still lashing through me.
Jay strokes me with his tongue until I can’t bear it and I push him away, cupping my hand over my quivering sex. He covers my fingers with his, a reassuring weight, while I gasp through the rest of the orgasm and then fall apart under his hand.
I’ve slid halfway down onto the pillows, and I lie there, blissful and undone, while he kisses me between satisfied grins.
“Sure, you can give it out,” I say blurrily after a few minutes. “But can you take it?”
“Oh, I’ll take it.” He rocks his hips, running his hot length between my folds, its hard underside passing right over my clit. The wet tip of him touches my stomach.
“Not like that. Not yet.” I pull myself upright. “Lie on your belly. Now.”
With a muffled groan of reluctance he flops down, his long legs stretched out and his round ass presented to my view.
I crawl over one of his legs and settle myself between them. “You may want to bite the pillow.”
“I don’t think I need to—God!” he barks out as I lean down and bite the fleshy cheek of his ass. “Fuck, that felt…amazing.”
“Pillow,” I warn him, and he gathers it against his upper chest, both arms banded over it.
