Alone in the study he sat, exhuming the home he made for himself. The room was lined with bookshelves that were lined with books—all of them a work of art according to his fine tastes. Fine original paintings hung on the wall, strategically placed to compliment the books that sat on the shelves below the paintings—all of the art was from the same century. He brought the small glass of Lafitte wine to his parted lips, finishing the last of the fine crimson liquid.

After he finished contemplating his extensive life, he stood, ultimately deciding that he was satisfied with his achievements, yet not satisfied with living. He approached the escritoire, placing his balloon glass beside the bottle of wine. He ran his ashen fingers along his elegant frock coat, reminding himself of yet another valuable asset that he collected and adored. Sensing a change in pressure in the room and catching wind of a familiar scent he turned to face the darkened doorway.

He smiled with anticipation already sensing her next move as she entered the room. She sauntered toward him brashly, edgier and more bothered than her usual demeanor projected. He crossed his arms over his chest, tilting his head slightly as he played out his expectations of the situation’s resolve in his head. His lips curled into a roused smirk when she stepped from the shadows and into the light of the moon shining in through the ajar window, standing but a few inches before him.

She was dressed as he had predicted—barely. On top of that she was displaying her usual tells of arousal: haste, silence and the compulsive need to lick her lips while she kept eye contact.

He watched stoically, but curiously as her slender fingers danced over the buttons fastening her blouse. Within a split second the shirt was around her heels and ankles and his arms were no longer crossed over his chest. Unable to hide his fascination with her natural beauty his lips parted in response. He had not consciously taken notice of his actions but he was poised on the front of the escritoire, running his fingertips along the trim. Out of character and against his tells of arousal he focused his eyes on hers only to play a waiting game. He wanted to see how long it took for her to give in and make the next move.

She gave in, pushing him backwards onto the escritoire and climbing on top of him. Her lips parted and met his as her fingers tangled in his long, silken locks. Her eyes eased shut as she moaned happily. Her hands found his frock coat and began pushing it off his shoulders. He finally responded by shoving her off him and standing upright. He slipped his frock coat off, approaching the lone chair in the room and draping his coat over the back of the chair precisely as he liked it.

She caught her balance immediately after he shoved her, turning her curiosity and attention to him. “You sure know how to kill a mood,” she said crossly.

“Pick up your shirt and fold it,” he commanded her. “You can place it on the chair until later when you’ll probably wish to wear it again.”

She rolled her eyes, bending over to collect her shirt. She folded it in the air, growling as she placed it on the chair’s cushion. “Aren’t you going to politely ask me to get dressed and leave you to your peace?”

He continued undressing gradually, “If I wanted solitude I would have asked you to leave when you were at the door,” he reasoned as he folded his poet shirt, laying it on his frock coat before moving onto his boots and finally his trousers—each article of clothing placed as neat as the last with his boots poised neatly at the foot of the chair.

She watched anxiously as his compulsive tendencies compelled him to keep his possessions ordered and immaculate. She looked him up and down as he approached her. He forced her against the wall, bringing his lips to her neck. She moaned as she cocked her head back. He laid several gentle kisses on her coronary artery and she moaned with pleasure. After smelling how aroused she became he lost his self-control and sank his fangs into her neck. She cried out in painful pleasure, digging her nails into his back.

He began running his tongue over her wound, lapping up the blood that surfaced. She stroked his back with her nails as he licked and sucked the blood from her neck. When the licking and sucking grew pedestrian she shoved him away from her and against a bookshelf, knocking the board off balance and causing the books to flood to the ground. With little effort she shoved him through the remainder of the bookshelf clawing at his chest as she forcefully kissed him again and again. She moved on, lowering her head to kiss and playfully nip at his neck. He moaned blissfully tilting his head backward, clutching her hair in his hand, the other hand was grabbing at the edge of the bookshelf.

Overcome with lust he scooped her up, cradling her against him as he brought her to the escritoire. He swept everything off the desk’s surface before throwing her onto it. She purred as he eased himself onto her, running her fingertips down his chest. His hand gingerly eased up the length of her leg. He leaned down bringing his lips to hers as she continued caressing his body. His hands slowly inched to her chest, lightly caressing her warm flesh.
She smiled as she wrapped her legs around him, arching her back. She gripped the edge of the desk as he trailed several brief kisses from her lips to her cheek to her neck. He lightly bit her neck before osculating the remainder of her blood with his tongue. Shortly afterward he returned to kissing and stroking her.

She moaned softly with each kiss and every movement of his fingers, hands and his tongue. She enjoyed the usual roughness and a little bit of painful pleasure that he brought her. On the other hand he was always unhurried, meticulous and concise when it came to everything, including and especially sensuality. She preferred things a little more fast-paced and spot on—although she rarely got her way with him. She did get more lenient go-aheads with him than she did with anybody else. She could bite and claw as liberally as she wanted with the added bonus of being bitten and teased.
He pressed onward, taking her completely by surprise. She threw her head and shoulders back, running her pale, elegant fingers along the desk’s trim. He braced himself using the edge of the desk, burrowing his fingers into the wood as her moaning caressed his ears. He watched as the wood began to splinter beneath their weight and the movement rocking the escritoire. He groaned, rolling his eyes.

“What’s wrong?” she moaned.

“The escritoire is breaking,” he said beneath his breath.

“Again?” she hissed, rolling her eyes.

He nodded once. “I suppose I’ll have to buy another one,” he said in a nonchalant growl. He was nearly silent for a few moments save his soft moaning. “I’m certain that one will go for auction soon enough…” he said thoughtfully.

“If we keep going we’ll break it,” she moaned.

“Correction, if we keep going on the escritoire we’ll break it,” he countered. He stood, scooping her into his arms. “Where to?” he asked airily.

She caressed his cheek with her fingertips. “Anywhere and everywhere,” she whispered with her lips nearly pressed to his ear. He obliged her wishes bringing her to the wall beside the window. He placed her against the wall, pressing his body to hers, continuing exactly where they had just left off.

She wrapped her legs around him, draping her arms over his shoulders. He gripped the trim beside the window with one hand while his other hand was flat against the wall. Giving into his primal urges he began playfully nipping at her neck. He avoided puncturing her skin as she combed her fingers through his wispy mane.

She inhaled deeply, enjoying the whiff of his natural scent. Both of them were covered in a light layer of sweat, and they were panting, breathing slowly, with shallow, heavy breaths. His lips eagerly found hers, and his hands took their time exploring her body. Both of his hands advanced past her knees, moving artfully up her silken thighs. She tangled her fingers in his hair, pulling him into a deeper kiss as his fingertips slid up her dramatic curves. She ran her nails up his back and down his chest, stunning him and causing him to inadvertently bite her lower lip. She gasped, breaking their kiss and slowly bringing her fingertips to the wound. She brought her fingertips to her line of sight, staring at the small red droplets that stained her fingertips.

His eyes fell to her fingertips as well. He frowned, “My apologies.” He licked the droplets of blood from her fingertips. “You took me by surprise, admittedly…”

“Its fine,” she breathed. “So long as you won’t be bothered by the bloody kisses, anyhow,” she added.

He smirked, leaning in and licking the small traces of blood from her lip. Her lips quivered with her eyes partly closed. She leaned toward him, more aroused from the light darting of his tongue on her lips. He could smell how much more aroused she became, in turn arousing him more. He parted his lips, closing them around hers, initiating a long, intimate kiss.

The taste of her blood during the kiss was somehow not as strange as it sounds. It was somehow arousing—as if sex with a vampire wasn’t arousing enough. His eyes eased shut as she tightly embraced him. He trailed his soft fingers around her waist, quickening his pace anxiously as he tasted the remnants of her blood still on his tongue. She broke the kiss, throwing her head back, moaning in pleasure. He smirked proudly as he breathing became more audible. He pulled her against him and her nails found his back yet again. Her nails cut into his back and his fangs sank into her neck, and they exchanged moans of pleasure as they partially slaked their lust with one another.