My eyes fall shut so quickly, that I am unsure whether I took both socks off. Dreamland takes me away. Soothing. And then there is a delicate finger tracing my earlobe. A light scratch. The kind that traces shivers down your spine and makes the peach fuzz on your neck stand up. A sigh parts my lips and I can feel the slight rush of air even while asleep. The next vivid image is of interlaced fingers. Squeezing in unison and ecstasy. Hands writhing in their own form of love-making.
As a long, sharp nail impales delicate skin, blood sprouts. Freely into a voluptuous, full droplet. Beautiful. A pair of lips near it. Excruciatingly slow. A tongue teasing a slow circle around the small hurt. Finally dipping in and licking off the redness. Only clean skin remains. Another sigh. Entirely out of my control. The barrier between the reality of my own body and dreamland has been washed away. My wrist, fragile and feminine is brought near to that sinful mouth. A pair of elongated canines gently scraping it. Enjoying the small pale lines they leave behind. Marking my skin. A long strand of golden hair falls and brushes against me. So soft.I turn over in my sleep. Sweating and tightening my muscles, without my knowledge or any remnants of control. A thumb parts my own lips with such a confident sense of ownership. In my dream, I slightly suck on it as it departs. Wanting more. So much more. I toss again, I think. The taste of her skin. Like fresh rain. But cold. And then I see her eyes. The iciest blue. Unnerving. As they connect with my own, they turn silver. Like liquid, cold night. I wake up and sit up straight. My heart pounds. I'm drenched in sweat. Those eyes. Those haunting, terrifying eyes.
BINABASA MO ANG
Death of a Nightingale
VampireWhen a melancholic vampire calls a suicide hotline to find out how to die, she connects with an idealistic counselor who tries to convince her that the wonder of existence outweighs the certainty of death. This YA, romance story covers trigger topic...
