Page 23 of A Love So Deadly
She looks around my office.
I don’t have appointments today, and I know Emily left everything in order. Organizing my so-called life and appointments, answering mail and emails are busy work. Mainly because my real interests and business shit are taken care of by me and Vittoria.
Each of the vampires and humans have their jobs in VMR, but the humans are the breathing face of it all.
That’s all Elliot is, a breathing face, someone who outsiders see. Someone who deflects all but the invited.
She’s a front.
So apart from light reorganizing, she doesn’t have much to do. Not today. But I think I need to make work for her. She has an air of curiosity about her that could lead to trouble. And there are always things to do. VMR is in the real world and we get hit by real world things. I’ll keep her busy. I’ll?—
“What’s in here?”
She’s touching the crystal bottle of blood. The blood isn’t freshly decanted but it satisfies in the way a drink does.
“Nothing for you to drink,” I say. Her gaze lights up and lingers a moment.
I let her go because I need to, not because I should, and she goes to the hand mirror, my new treasure. She touches it’s gilded, tarnished edge carefully. “This is beautiful.”
“I’m going to restore it.”
That makes her turn, and she half frowns. “You do that?”
“I don’t exist in a vacuum.” Every piece of furniture in here is mine, the pieces I’ve kept through the years. They hold memories, and then there are ones like the mirror which are filled with someone else’s memories, but to me it’s fresh and clean. I like to work on them, keep them in order, bring out glory in things like the mirror. “I have hobbies.”
“Like painting civil war figures?”
“Something like that.” I don’t do anything of the kind. “And you?”
“Star Wars figures.”
My face must be blank.
“Luke? Darth Vader? Padme? Leia? Han?”
I approach her again and ease the bottle away, setting it down, but I don’t touch her again. Yet. “I haven’t had the privilege.”
“It’s a famous movie franchise.” She lets out a shaky breath. “I don’t really collect them. I did as a kid.” Her gaze shifts back to the mirror. “I think I like the mirror how it is.”
“It’s been uncared for. It’s lost its original luster.”
“Maybe, but it’s got a story like this, and the decay and wear are beautiful. I think it’s okay to fix things to make them shine again, but not like they’re brand new. You have to know when to stop, when to find the beauty in something that isn’t perfect.”
Her words swirl through me, and I can see a deeper meaning that what she perhaps means. But I’m living proof of something that isn’t perfect, something that is as far from new and pristine as anything can be. Except my exterior looks.
“I’ll take it under advisement.”
Then I take her hand again, gently this time, and lift that finger to my mouth. I’m losing control, I know it, but her pupil’s grow big, a bloom of night, and I can’t help myself. I give into temptation; I lick her finger. The moment I touch her flesh withmy tongue everything stops except the throbbing beat of her heart that seems to fill the room.
I lower my fangs as I suck her finger into my mouth and run the edge of one over her flesh, cutting her, and that sweetness bursts and fills my mouth. I swallow her blood down and she quivers.
An orgasm rushes up in her. With her blood flowing I can feel it, the pressure, the intensity the urge in her to reach that peak and fly over it.
So I give it to her. I suck hard, and she shudders, almost collapsing against me. It’s like I’ve got my hand in her pants, under her panties, with my fingers buried in her cunt. Those contractions wrap around me, and her glorious orgasm makes her blood headier.
It takes everything I have not to drink deeply from her. I force my fangs to retract and lick over the spot so that the wound can begins to heal.
Then I step back.
