"What is that mark at your navel?" he asked, voice low and thick.
Her body jolted at the sudden touch of his gentle fingers as they began gliding over her belly with maddening languor, her muscles tautening with anticipation of his going lower. Much lower.
"How should I know?" she whispered softly. "You won't light a candle for me to see by."
"But I see you best in the dark." His voice was thick with shadows, and hunger, the intonation of a sensual epicurean.
"That is ... perhaps one of the strangest things you've said to me yet." Though, if she was being honest with herself, he had said and done far stranger.
"I should have thought the strangest thing would have been my confessing to being, such as I am, a vampyre?" Lower still went his thrilling hand, roving at the vale of her hip before he paused and lowered his canines to press gently, insistently, at her inner thigh. "Answer me, Emma."
"Yes!" A soft moan slipped from her lips. "Far and away the strangest."
"And does it not follow that here, in the darkness, the shameless in you cannot hide from the devil in me."
"I shouldn't imagine I could keep that from you," she admitted breathily. "A wasted endeavor if I thought to try." She had ever been an open book to him, namely her fatalistic hunger, despite every best efforts to the contrary. "Light a candle, won't you? I dislike knowing that I am being watched in my blindness."
"As you wish," said he, leaning away to do as she asked. "You are to understand, however, that most ladies prefer to make love in the darkness."
"I am not most ladies, as you well know." She licked almost nervously at her lips, parched now with desire. "And is that what we're doing? Making love?"
"As much as can be hoped for between vampyre and mortal..."
The room flared suddenly with blessed light. She felt the waves of torrid awareness skim across her flesh, like the brush of shadows and warmth cast by the shifting flame, as he brought a candle towards her, placing it quietly atop the nightstand. His wide pupils were flashing with their otherworldly glow as he traced his eyes keenly, ravenously, over her contours. The thirst for blood; the hunger for flesh. It unsettled her, his needs, but she was feeling too much the hedonist at present to let it disturb her overlong.
Suddenly, he was leaning over her again, his shirt and trousers long since removed, her heart rate spiking violently at his nearness.
"I craved your flesh that night. I crave it still. And your blood most of all." The memory of those words, spoken in the midnight woodland, resurged suddenly in her mind's ear.
"And do you still—" she swallowed audibly "—want to eat me, Markus?"
"Always," he growled, before he swiftly lowered his head to avail himself of her parted lips.
🌟Come, read a little further. Who doesn't like a little seduction in the dark.🌟