Dead and Gone

hands seemed to remember the map of Eric’s topography even as my lips remembered the way he kissed. We went on this way very slowly for a few minutes as he reacquainted himself with me.
    “Do you really remember?” I asked him. “Do you really remember staying with me before? Do you remember what it felt like?”
    “Oh, yes,” he said, “I remember.” He had my bra unhooked before I’d even realized his hand was back there. “How could I forget these?” he said, his hair falling around his face as his mouth fastened on my breast. I felt the tiny sting of his fangs and the sharp pleasure of his mouth. I touched the fly of his jeans, brushed my hand against the bulge inside, and suddenly the moment for being tentative was over.
    His jeans were off, and his shirt, too, and my panties vanished. His long cool body pressed full-length against my warm one. He kissed me over and over in a kind of frenzy. He made a hungry noise, and I echoed it. His fingers probed me, fluttering against the hard nub in a way that made me squirm.
    “Eric,” I said, trying to position myself underneath him. “Now.”
    He said, “Oh, yes.” He slid inside as if he’d never been gone, as if we’d made love every night for the past year. “This is best,” he whispered, and his voice had that accent I caught occasionally, that hint of a time and place that were so far distant I could not imagine them. “This is best ,” he said again. “This is right .” He pulled out a little, and I made a choked noise.
    “Not hurting?” he asked.
    “Not hardly,” I said.
    “I am too big for some.”
    “Bring it on,” I said.
    He shoved forward.
    “Omigod,” I said through clenched teeth. My fingers were digging hard into the muscles of his arms. “Yes, again!” He was as deep inside me as he could get without an operation, and he glowed above me, his white skin shining in the darkness of the room. He said something in a language I didn’t recognize; after a long moment, he repeated it. And then he began to move quicker and quicker until I thought I would be pounded into pieces, but I kept up. I kept up, until I saw his fangs glisten as he bent over me. When he bit my shoulder, I left my body for a minute. I’d never felt anything so good. I didn’t have enough breath to scream or even speak. My arms were around Eric’s back, and I felt him shudder all over as he had his own good minute.
    I was so shaken I couldn’t have talked if my life had depended on it. We lay in silence, exhausted. I didn’t mind his weight on me. I felt safe.
    He licked the bite mark in a lazy way, and I smiled into the darkness. I stroked his back as if I were soothing an animal. I felt better than I’d felt in months. It had been a while since I’d had sex, and this was like . . . gourmet sex. Even now I felt little jolts of pleasure ripple out from the epicenter of the orgasm.
    “Will this change the blood bond?” I asked. I was careful not to sound like I was accusing him of something. But of course, I was.
    “Felipe wanted you. The stronger our bond, the less chance there is he can maneuver you away.”
    I flinched. “I can’t do that.”
    “You won’t need to,” Eric said, his voice flowing over me like a feather quilt. “We are pledged with the knife. We are bonded. He can’t take you from me.”
    I could only be grateful I didn’t have to go to Las Vegas. I didn’t want to leave home. I couldn’t imagine how it would feel to be surrounded by so much greed; well, yes, I could. It would be awful. Eric’s big, cool hand cupped my breast, and he stroked with his long thumb.
    “Bite me,” Eric said, and he meant it literally.
    “Why? You said you already gave me some.”
    “Because it makes me feel good,” he said, and moved on top of me again. “Just . . . for that.”
    “You can’t be . . .” But he was ready again.
    “Would you like to be on top?” Eric asked.
    “We could do that for a while,” I said, trying not to sound too femme fatale. In fact, it was hard not to growl. Before I could even gather myself, we’d reversed positions. His eyes were intent on mine. His hands went up to my breasts, caressing and pinching gently, and his mouth followed after his hands.
    I was afraid I was losing control of my leg muscles, I was so relaxed. I moved slowly, not very regularly. I felt the tension gradually beginning to build again. I began to focus, to move steadily.
    “Slow,” he said, and I reduced the pace. His