“I promise I will not bite,” he whispered to
her, as she looked around for good reason to turn him down, “not
unless you ask me to.”
The humour in his voice reached her again.
She looked at the crowding room, the maitre’d, the queue. She was
hardly at risk. Smiling what she hoped was gracious acceptance, she
allowed them to be seated together. Where was the harm?
She soon came to see that harm might have
been preferable to the uncomfortable feeling of embarrassment that
settled between them as they sat opposite each other. The sensible
solution that appeared so practical in front of the maitre’d soon
gave way to confused silence. They each studied their menus in mock
concentration. Joanne was aware that the man was probably more
embarrassed than she, wishing he had not been so gallant. She
racked her brains, trying to think of something witty and
interesting to say.
“You live in London?”
God, what a trite thing to say! She
swallowed hard, sweat breaking out on her palms.
“Yes, yes I do. And you?”
He had smiled in relief at her, obviously
pleased she had opened up the communication. She felt a little
better.
“Yes, oh yes.” she nodded too
enthusiastically. “For a few years now.”
She trailed off, out of even trite things to
say in response. He smiled at her again, reassuringly. He had nice
eyes she mused, a light brown, not dissimilar to her own.
“Uhm, pardon?”
She realised he had spoken to her and she
had missed it.
“Drink. Would you like a drink?”
With a start she realised that the waiter
was standing next to her, order book in hand. He was looking at her
with the disdainful sufferance of one dealing with the doltish. Had
he spoken?
“The lady would like a glass of white wine.
No, bring a bottle, let me see...” He rifled through the wine
list.
She was relieved he had spoken up, taken
charge; it was nice to be taken care of for a change. The waiter
wrote the order down with a sigh and hurried off.
“I hope you do not mind my presumption?”
He was looking at her again with those eyes,
those beautiful dark brown eyes. She smiled back, shaking her
head.
“No, no, not at all. I must... I must be
more tired than I thought.”
She fumbled to unfurl her napkin to cover
her confusion. Had they ordered yet?
Oh, it was going to be a fine night. He
studied her with pleased indulgence. His original assessment of
exhaustion had been wonderfully proven by how easy she had been to
enthrall. After he had ordered the food, enjoying the opportunity
of filling her up with all the enticing scents and aromas of
alcohol, she had prattled away, filling up the table with her
chatter and youth. She was a delight. Half little fox, working away
cannily at her job, sorry, her career, half a total innocent, lost
in the big wide world. Her loneliness intrigued him, made a joy of
her catching. She was so utterly childlike, unable to guess that
she could have had many of those around her if she had only played
a better game at being chased, and caught. He even liked her voice,
which was soft and rhythmical, a legacy no doubt of the voice
lessons she had taken to rid her of her working class tones. It was
going to be a fine night, a slow and even one. As she finished her
dessert he asked for the bill.
“Oh no, of course not, I’d be delighted.”
she stared into his eyes as he paid. “Just don’t expect me to be
able to dance much.”
She laughed, entranced by the darkness in
those eyes. It was so flattering, after all, for him to keep
looking at her in that way. As they rose, collecting their things,
she wondered if she’d ever seen eyes that dark, almost completely
black. Yet they glimmered so, were so very seductive. She smiled as
he opened the door to her, sweeping her out into the street,
oblivious to the blast of heat that enveloped them.
CHAPTER TWO
She was aware of a vague feeling of disquiet
as they walked across the Square. She wasn’t quite sure where she
was going, what time it was. Fumbling, she looked at her watch, to
be met in turn with his smile and those eyes. She forgot why she
had wanted to know the time, returning his smile and wondering if
she was boring him with her chit chat. He seemed so relaxed in her
company and she responded to his confidence. He hailed a taxi and
she found herself staring at the West End as it passed. She felt
warm, rested, secure. He smiled and nodded at her, patting her
hand, caressing her shoulder. It was all so very wonderful, so very
exciting. To find such a companion by sheer accident, to have such
a relaxing evening in the face of the earlier disappointment. She
studied the lights as they passed, wondering if perhaps she’d had a
bit too much to drink. There was something niggling at the back of
her mind, something uncomfortable. She tried to put it away from
her as the cab stopped, she didn’t want to lose him for lack of
giving him her attention.
They were in the sudden quiet of a back
street. She smiled as he opened the cab door, inviting her out with
a dignified flourish. He was so romantic. She thrilled inside, a
secret smile of pleasure at the thought. In the shadow of tall
buildings the air was cooler, cleaner. As he paid the taxi driver
and his face bent away from hers, she felt her mind once more
straying. There was something she was worried about, what was it?
It was lost as he smiled again, encouraging her to walk with him.
He opened a door, ushered her in. There was the faintest scent of
citrus, something tangy. Small, enclosed, yet neither intimate nor
comfortable. Where was she? It was a lift, moving silently up. She
giggled as she watched the lights on the panel flicker. Oh dear,
she had better not have any more to drink. She didn’t want to
appear sozzled, leave a bad impression. The disquiet returned as
she stood outside a heavy wooden door, her companion pressing
buttons on a glittering steel panel. Something about what he was
doing made her realise how expensive the door was. Expensive doors
were heavy, solid: immovable. That door was expensive.
She turned, to look back for the lift, see
if she could work out where she was. His hand reached down and
touched her chin, pulled it gently towards him. He kissed her then,
for the first time, and the ground swayed under her feet. Oh yes,
this was it, this was it! He was the one, the one she had been
waiting for, longing for. She smiled, leaned into him, felt his
clothing against her. Smooth, sensual. The door opened and she was
walking inwards, his hand gently covering the small of her back.
She could feel his coolness through her dress, excitement flooding
her. She took a step forward, hesitated, stopped. Something was
wrong, something was very wrong. It was dark where they were
heading. She turned, to move back, but his hand was on her
shoulder, cool and demanding, what was it she wanted to say? She
opened her mouth to speak, and he was there again, kissing her,
swallowing her up. There really wasn't anything wrong; it was all
rather exciting. She was as light as a feather, dancing, being
carried through the air by his charm. Pale colours flowed around
her, lights moving as they walked. The stars above her head were
swirling, dancing with them as they moved. Dark green splashes of
colour whizzed by. Her head lolled back, losing contact with his
body. He tipped her forward again, and she snuggled onto his
shoulder. This was so very fine, so very very fine.
The feel of the bed coming up from under her
sent the warnings ringing out again. That was what was wrong, had
been wrong since the restaurant; those damn bells. When were they
going to stop that damned clanging? She tried to sit up. A mouth
fastened over hers, drew out her breath, pulled at her, tugged
something from her. What was she doing? All she could focus on was
the cool mouth that was draining her of warmth. No, that wasn’t
right, she was enjoying this. His mouth on hers, drawing, sucking.
Imagined so many times before, she knew it was to have been warm,
comforting. Not cool. But this mouth was cool, almost cold. Her
surprise at that thought almost surfaced, but at the same time a
hand started a soft, circular caress on her right breast. Joanne
found her senses slipping into the heat and drive of the man
floating somewhere above her. There was that cool mouth again, his
salty taste, his hands, rough but welcomed, so very welcomed. His
mouth lifted away from her, leaving her empty. Disappointment shook
her body, she moved to follow after him. A tongue rested lightly on
her neck, teasing, a hand moving over her stomach, rubbing
downwards, pushing her back on the bed. Her trembling intensified.
She had never imagined it could be like this. Back car fumblings
and quick passions in parents’ beds, hurried to make sure they
weren’t caught, had never been like this. This was what she’d
waited for, dreamed for. This is what she’d known was in her path,
one day. No silly stationary cupboard humping for her: no office
tensions had yet caused her to drop her standards. Her body caught
fire, the sharp, contracting pain in her groin catching her by
surprise. The pain was intense, as she curled around the thought of
loving him, being breached by him. She groaned and arched her back,
truly slipping beyond her own awareness. There was only that tight,
cutting pain, the burning in her breasts, the need for more. Her
legs opened.
Although it had been a long time since
Dreyfuss had loved physically with a woman, he had not forgotten
the art of seduction. On whimsy, he excited the young woman beneath
him, pulling out from her responses she had not known were hidden
within her. He could feel her awareness, her excitement; it was
this that served to pleasure him. He stroked and petted her, kissed
and caressed, ‘til the fire that was upon her, was upon him. Her
complete physical acceptance touched him, was pleasing to him. She
was an open book, and he could read her language with ease. There
was a vulnerability that teased at him, made him feel protective
and paternalistic. He had wanted to play, and in her trust found a
game of innocence and beguilement. An odd taste for the evening,
but the palate responded well to change. He waited until she was
almost sated, when the scent of her salt and musk flooded him: then
he moved. Centring his mouth along the vein which coiled around the
base of the neck, he kissed her hard, sucking, biting, bringing her
blood up to meet him. The sharp piercing pain as he opened her was
lost in her climax, in the sudden hot flush to his mouth. Salt and
heat as he filled himself. The first rush of pleasure over, he drew
slowly; swallowing: savouring. All ceased to exist apart from his
mouth, its convulsions, the endless stream that he drew up into
himself. Her blood was incredibly rich, loaded with the earlier
meal. The alcohol he had pushed upon her coming back up to meet
him, warming him. Soon, all that she was would be his, and it would
be a fine moment for them both. She would die in ecstasy, a rare
gift in this world, and he would live by her sacrifice, satisfied
with what she had offered. He fell into her blood and drank.
Fire exploded all through her. There was
nothing but heat and flame and the enveloping waves that pulsed
from her groin. Everything was washed ahead in the wave of
pleasure, so intense it was akin to pain, ripping through her. She
felt herself cry out, her spine convulsing, her legs jerking, her
throat tightening. There was nothing; nothing but the long, slow
flow of blood pulsing through her. She throbbed in its wake, the
heat subsiding. She longed for rest, for safety. Everything in her
wished to relax and give herself up to that binding, to the warmth
that filled her. To fall into the sleep offered her. That sated,
resting sleep. To heal herself upon its joy. She sought the sleep,
sought the rest. Reaching out with her mind, she tried desperately
to pull it down with her, bring it with her into her dreams.
She shivered. Shivered again. Somewhere,
somehow, she was cold. She could feel the cold. It fell upon her,
swallowing her. Swallowing her heat, eating her dreams. She fought
the cold, tried to move back to that feeling, that feeling of
belonging and completion. It slipped away from her. She moaned,
muttered, moved, protested. She wanted the feeling back, and she
was not going to go until it came with her.
Movement jolted him, impinging upon the
scent in his nostrils. Under him, the body had tensed, was trying
to throw him off. How amusing; that had been the least expected of
reactions. Remedy was swift and effective. He felt a surge of power
as he further opened the wound, her essence flooding him, sending
him flying into the night, soaring through the darkness. He could
hear her heart falter as pressure dropped, veins beginning to
slurry. There, teasing in the back of his mind, he could sense her
death, waiting for him to finish his pleasure. He pulled her
closer, eagerly awaiting her final gift. Then, from nowhere, as the
life’s flow was at its sweetest, he was without blood: without
source. His vision cleared and the dreaming fell from him. He
blinked, bringing the room back into focus. She was standing there,
pale, beside the bed. Blood flowed freely from the gash that the
leaving of him had torn across her neck. She was shaking, not from
fear, from fury.
Her eyes blazed at him: how dare he, how
dare he!
Dreyfuss sat up and stared at the being who
had defied him when he was in full feed. He looked at the girl, her
life flowing from her neck, oozing onto the floor. She was a pale
and empty little thing, not even fully aware of her own needs. He
smiled into her shaking eyes, lifted his hand to her, inviting
their reunion. She took a step back, so fast she almost stumbled
and fell. It was his turn to stare, to wonder. It was slow to
build, lost as he had been in the feeding, but anger at her
defiance entered the game. He shook his hand again, repeating the
invitation, a warning about refusal openly given.