Devils Roses 05 - Death

everything."
    I scowl, "But why was he a good vampire last time, only taking what he needed and bad this time? He wasn't a good person but he was a good vampire."
    He shakes his head, "It's the cost of what Ari does. Things change. Things she can't control. Think how easily Blake adjusted to you being what you are."
    I nodded, "Yeah. He was so good with it. But the first time he tried to commit me."
    "Exactly. He has dealt with it subconsciously so many times, that when it came time to tell him this time, he was cool with it."
    I look down. The sexual tension between us is mesmerizing. I remember so many things. We're talking about depressing things and all I can think about is brushing my fingers up and down his back. I shake my head and take a deep breath.
    "Thinking about something?"
    I look up. I know my face is on fire. I shake my head.
    He grins his uneven smirk and I stare, like a psycho, at the fat part of his lip. I can taste it if I remember hard enough. The feel of me feeding off of him as he thrusts inside of me, is fresh somehow in my mind. Part of me wants to shy away from the thought. The other part of me wants to rip him limb from limb, devouring him. I realize I'm glaring and making a low growl.
    His grin widens.
    He grabs my hand and we flash. He shoves me hard into something as we stop moving. It hits me behind the knees and nocks me back. I land on a soft bed. He's on me, pressing me into the mattress before we both take a breath and realize it's a bad idea.
It's hungry and desperate. We have never made love like it. His teeth scrape at my neck. My hands drag up and down him. I rip his shirt from him. My t-shirt is torn open. His lips against my breasts are soft. They're too thick and plump to be anything but gentle against the swell of my breasts. His teeth nip lightly. I cry out. He's massaging and caressing. The trail of his touch is like rubbing a burnt match head against me. My skin sizzles. We pull apart and struggle from our clothes. I lift a foot. He grabs my boot, cussing in Norwegian as he tugs it off. It makes me hotter. He tosses them aside and pushes me back down.
    I don’t even know where we are. I don’t care. His tongue is in my mouth. He owns me. He knows all the right buttons to press. He flicks one nipple with his tongue and lightly tweaks the other one with his fingers. I'm moaning loudly. He muffles my ecstasy with his mouth. My hands reach around the back of him. I'm scared to suck him, but I need it. He climbs between my thighs and thrusts inside of me hard and fast. I cry out from the pressure. My hands are sliding up and down his back. I'm mid orgasm when it starts. I don’t know if he will die or not from the suck but I can't stop it. He's pounding me still when I finish screaming into the huge round shoulder I'm biting. My orgasm prolongs as he finishes. He collapses onto me, panting.
    "That stings a bit Aimes." He says breathlessly.
    I laugh. The sex felt dirty. Desperate. Amazing. There was no appreciation for one another. It was hard and fast and I loved it.
    I feel like I can't get my breath. I push him off. He grins beside me, "I think I used you a wee bit there."
    "Use me anytime you feel the least bit needy." My mouth clamps shut. I can't believe I've said it. He bursts into a fit of laughter and rubs my belly. His huge hands against my skin make me weak. I want more.
    "Hungry for something beyond my empty soul well?"
    I shake my head, "I need to find her."
    He smiles, "I think I may have the answer to that. Downstairs." He lifts me up off the bed. I look back at my torn clothing and press my lips together. I wink to my bedroom and jump in the shower. I rinse and jump out clean. I wink back to his bedroom with my clothes in my hand.
    "I hate it when you do that." He says leaving the room fully dressed. I grin and pull my clothes on fast. I wink down the stairs after him. We are in his old house in England. I love the place. I have since the moment I saw it.
    "I can imagine us living there. My parents visiting. We have two Irish Wolfhounds and maybe bunnies and of course a cat. I'm wearing a sweater and my dad and you talk by the fire, wearing those sweaters that Dorian always calls a jumper and mocks." My chest tightens when he turns back to look at me. I realize what I've said.
    "Dorian doesn't talk anymore." He regrets his words as much as I regret mine. We both wince and look away.
    "If I could have died instead I would have." I say but it, doesn’t improve