Welcome to WIPpet Wednesday, where we share a snippet of a work in progress that in some way relates to the day’s date, hosted by the scrumdiddlyumptious K.L. Schwengel.
In keeping with last week, when I showed you a first draft (of a first scene) on the first, I’m going to give you something else from the same story for the 8th. Not an 8th draft, but the last 8 paragraphs of a scene I had a lot of fun writing.
To set the scene: Shivva has gone to the club, yadda yadda, it’s feeding time! She’s chosen a first-timer, taken him to a dark alcove, and tried to make him comfortable; the human’s emotions at the time of feeding will affect her, and she’s nervous enough about the assignment without him adding to it.
Content warning: much groping of bodies and nomming of necks.
He pulls me closer with one arm while his other hand continues to explore, now pulling in frustration at my jeans, now slipping under my shirt. His skilled groping is a little distracting, but it sends delightful tingling sensations to places I don’t have much use for these days, and I let it continue as I press harder against him, kissing his neck down to his collarbone, nibbling a little, teasing myself. I could have had him by now, but it’s so much more fun to make it last.
His rapid breathing indicates that he’s enjoying himself already, but I trail my hand down over his chest, over the hard muscles of his stomach, lower, just to make sure. Hey, there. I laugh softy into his ear. “You like that?”
He whimpers in response, and I spin around, straddling his legs, grinding my hips into him. He groans. I can only imagine what anyone listening outside would think, but it’s no worse than what’s happening in whatever sound-proofed room Trixie has disappeared into. My lips are on his neck again, drawn to its heat and to that thing that goes beyond physical senses and calls to something deeper inside of me.
My body shudders. His hands are so warm; the chill of my skin doesn’t seem to bother him. Perhaps it excites him, as it does so many others. He pulls me closer still and moves his body beneath me, and I wonder whether perhaps feeding couldn’t wait just a little longer.
Then he moves his head to catch my lips with his own. The shock of it freezes him, but only for a moment. It’s our saliva that poisons them, that sends them out of their bodies with the overwhelming pleasure that keeps them coming back. He’s just had the tiniest taste of it, and he wants more. His tongue pushes into my mouth, any skill he’s acquired with his fragile human girlfriends forgotten in his desperation to be closer to me.
My left canine scrapes the delicate skin of his mouth. He gasps at the pain, but doesn’t pull back. The taste of blood nearly drives me mad. It is life. It is existence. It is everything.
I pull away before I can bite his tongue off. He twists his fingers into my hair to hold onto me, but his strength is nothing compared with mine. He’ll get what he wants, though. I lower my mouth to his neck again and sink my fangs into his skin, savoring the resistance of that thin barrier. He cries out. Yes, it hurts them, every time. And then my mouth is sealed over the twin wounds, drawing the blood from him, and the sounds he makes turn to soft gasps of wonder and disbelief as my poison overcomes everything else that’s in him. His pulse is strong and his blood hot, and it flows easily down my throat. The melancholy that plagued me earlier in the evening and the uncertainty I felt in Miranda’s office are gone. I am real, I am present, I am powerful, and there is nothing outside of this moment that matters.
It’s going to be hard to stop.
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