Elijah
Three years.
Three years of torture.
Before Cassandra, three years without the touch of longing wouldn't have altered my way of life. Before Cassandra, I spent seventy-three years relatively alone, without need of lustful companionship.
No vampire or human could entice my weary soul to venture out for favors. A vampire would have performed well enough, bleeding me to nearly the last drop, bringing me to a precipice of deliriousness. A human would have followed me eagerly into any room if I wished it so. It wouldn't have been difficult to find a willing creature to placate those needs. I just didn't need them anymore.
I'd tasted the diverse flavors of humanity. Throughout the duration of seven centuries, I'd taken to bed enough people to confidently assume I'd taken them all.
I wasn't searching for companionship when Cassandra divinely strode up to my cabin, knee-deep in snow, braving Siberian tundra in search of a protector. Although my blood mother, Lamia, had told me of a prophesy, after a few centuries with no appearance, I naturally became convinced her predictions were only mad ravings. Perhaps that's why I didn't realize what stood before me in the snow.
In the beginning, I anticipated her to be an infuriating living, breathing questionnaire, albeit a tantalizing mutation of her species. Humans are not enchanting—and she was. Even with her insufferable temper, her incessant questions, in a speed of need unbeknownst to me, I quickly fell under her spell. Destinies spell.
I didn't stand a chance. Lamia's whispering's into my ear as I lay dying were not fable, but truth.
I needed to consume Cassandra, to protect her from all ailments. I needed her body, like I could once recall needing breath. A suffocating desire would overcome me when I bedded her, providing an emotional attachment I'd long since abandoned hope for.
In the short time we had together, Cassandra and I were no strangers to carnality.
We took refuge in each other more often than we probably should have. Even now, recalling the last time I was within her, we were hidden in an alley, near two feet away from a fresh corpse, both succumbing to a darkness we couldn't refuse.
I had no idea then that there was another force present that day, eating away at the woman I love. A man, desperate to own her... to seduce her to eternal depravity. So many times in her absence have I loathed leaving her with that memory of me.
I became a creature I once enjoyed being. A creature without scruples.
She left one monster to fall into the hands of another.
She's felt no ounce of love since then.
Even now, as she ignites matches, lighting candles one by one, moving about the room slowly, I'm forced to hear how quick her heart has become, how our small, private space has intensified with tension.
Has she truly forgotten what it's like to make love?
Her gaze shifts to me, no doubt wondering why I'm keeping my distance. The wall is against my back. The party still rages outside our doors, a faint energy echoing through the halls. The energy out there compared to the electricity surging in here could make faint even the most tenacious creature. My arms are crossed to study her, to give her time, although my skin feels as if it could peel if I'm not touching her soon.
"Why are you all the way over there?" she asks. Her voice quivers—giving her fear away.
"To give you time."
"I... don't need time."
I know her better than that. The way her mouth tilts before she averts her eyes shows me she is already aware of it. She clamps down on her lower lip, heaving out a nervous sigh.
"What was I like... in the past?" I ask, curiously. "How did I pleasure you?"
She scoffs, suddenly the shade of a beet. "I'm not telling you that."
"I'd like to know."
Regarding her in all seriousness, she caves, obliging me with an answer. "You were eager... um, excited." She begins to grin, and I sense one of her deflecting jokes on the horizon. "You've always been a great lay, on all accounts."
While I've grown almost fondly used to her vulgarity, my eyes narrow. It would be ridiculous to envy myself in a past life, surely, and yet here I am.
"Well, I have news for you."
She gulps as I straighten off of the wall. "Oh?"
"I'm in no rush to get this over with. I intend to be in you for quite some time, if you're willing."
"I'm very willing."
My features show none of the relief I feel at her admission. "I'm glad to hear it."
I've crossed the room. I'm standing over her. Her eyes are round, far reserved than I'm used to seeing.
"I think you're going to have to take over for today," she whispers as my finger nuzzles the space beneath her dainty chin. She's trembling. It's a gutting realization. I fully intend to eradicate her of her senses as soon as possible, rid her of this instinctive tension.
The fact that this particular woman feels the need to encourage me to lead her to bed, I have no doubt in my mind what needs to be done. I must do as she asks. I lay a ghostly kiss to the corner of her brow, pulling back with a calculating slowness.
"There's no need to be afraid, my love."
She nods against me as I linger close to her, her breath hot on my cheek. "I know."
Once she's looking me squarely, my eyes flicker to the mattress in command. "Sit on the edge of the bed. Strip. Slowly."
The dark insides of her eyes widen at my direction, but she is eager to listen. She takes a few steps backwards, sliding her fingers under her loosened sleeves, guiding them down while rounding the edge of the mattress. My hand stretches behind my back to seal the door to invaders, twisting the lock without having to touch it.
The material of the white dress the women dressed her in pools at her ankles, although she does bend to pick it up, laying it neatly over one of the body mirrors. If those mirrors held stories, I wouldn't be captured in them. As far as they know, Cassandra is alone in this room. I cannot recall the last time I beheld my own reflection. I was still a human, for certain. She takes a hesitant seat on the edge of the bed in her nude undergarments, her back stiff from my unabashed watching.
Facing the mirrors, she has no idea when I'll approach, what place in the room I stand to gaze at her. She'll only be able to sense it.
"You're much more collected than I thought you'd be," she breathes, looking at herself in the mirror. I smile. Oh, if only she knew how much restraint this is taking, to wait, to seduce her rather than bury myself in her and forget everything else.
I won't just take her. She deserves more than that.
"I want to see all of you," I insist. She reaches behind her back, unhooking her brassiere. When it unclips, my fingers strenuously flex at my sides. When the material falls away and she bares her breasts, I take a single step back, one she cannot hear. Restrain yourself.
"It's been ages since I've been able to drink you in," I continue on. "To examine you... memorize you."
"Am I what you remember? What you... waited for?"
More. Goddamn more.
Overwhelmed by the color of her nipples, pert from arousal, I'm free to admire her, stiff with need. She shifts to slide off her underwear and with the brief sight of her shapely arse, I'm removing my sweater. Stripping down until I'm as bare as she is, comfortable in the skin I was born with, I press a foot down deliberately on the floorboards to alert her to my distance, taking pleasure I'm seeing her jump and then shiver in anticipation.
"Elijah?"
I hum in acknowledgment, focused on the tendrils of hair that's freed, curled by the nape of her neck. "Yes?"
She chuckles, but it's under her breath. "Nothing. Just making sure."
I cannot quell my curiosity. "Making sure of what exactly?"
"Nothing," she says amusedly. "Continue."
I fall silent, not because I'm too busy gawking at her. Not because I'm lost for words. I fall silent because I know when she uttered my name, barely breathing, she wasn't sure I was going to answer.
She wasn't sure it was me here with her anymore.
It's that knowledge that makes me give up any distance. I reach the opposite edge of the bed, eyes overlooking her in the mirror. She gazes at herself, but I don't think she's actually looking.
"Lean back and open your legs. Bare everything to me."
She shivers again, hearing how I've come up behind her without her knowing. Her arms slide behind her on either side as she leans back, bringing her feet up to the edge of the mattress. Her legs fall open with a sensual grace as she scoots back, getting comfortable.
On her neck rests the citrine, the one thing keeping her from otherworldly attachments. My gaze lifts from the orange jewel to find her face first, taking much needed time to drink in the rest of her. Her body is as bewitching as it was when I first beheld it.
"Non sai cosa ti faccio."
She presses her chin to her shoulder, now completely aware of where I am. "I couldn't even piece that together if I tried."
Digging a knee into the mattress, I move until I'm behind her, chest against her back, nose in her hair. It happened in less than a second. She has forgotten how to breathe. Only as I hold her to me this way do I realize I have forgotten how to be. "You can't imagine what I am going to do to you," I translate, laying an impulsive hand on her hip.
"Fucking hell," she gasps as that hand wanders over the top of her thigh, sliding between her legs. I refuse to relieve her aches that quickly. Instead, I let my fingers wander, massaging the insides of her thighs, so close to the place she radiates heat.
The woman whimpers when my other hand sets to gently guiding away the tendrils of escaped hair so that my lips may tease her there, trickle down the top of her spine. With no effort, I push her back until she's between my bent knees, lodged between my thighs, molded to the front of me.
My cock aches between my legs, throbbing with need.
Still, I take my time, dousing her with kisses, ascending to her earlobe. She shivers when I take it between my teeth, just long enough and hard enough to make her nails dig into the sides of my thighs. Coming up over her shoulder, I take pleasure in the mirror, conveniently in front of us.
"Look at yourself," I breathe, lightly grazing the warm lips of her sex with my fingertips. Once her eyes land on the scene in the mirror, I press in, rubbing harder, feeling her hardened clit pulsate beneath the soft flesh.
She is alone in the mirror, craned back, flushed and gaping—completely vulnerable.
It looks as though she's craned back against air, awaiting relief. Her mouth falls open when I dip a single finger into her sleekness, which gleams before my eyes, illuminated by the flickering of the candlelight.
I cannot remember a time I felt so desperate for something.
I coax her clitoris with gentle circles, a small bead of nerve-endings, already knowing I could make her orgasm within seconds. A vampire has those abilities. I refuse to make it that easy. I intend to unnerve her, truly free her of her inhibitions.
My mouth finds place at the curve of her shoulder and throat. My teeth sink into the crevasse without being deep enough to draw blood. That will not happen tonight. My tongue glides across the tenderized skin, triumphant when she moans loud enough the other vampires may surely hear her.
In this moment, I have no care. We are reclaiming each other. Let them hear.
My finger draws crazed circles over her nub, over and over again until she's damn near crying out, the back of her skull digging into my shoulder, nearing a release. Her hands have fisted the blanket, disrupting the order of the bed. Her hips begin to gyrate provocatively into my hand, driven by desperation.
"Come for me," I whisper against her cheek. "This will be your first. Come."
Her mouth is hanging, trying to find oxygen. I grin triumphantly when her hips stop pumping, as she's hit by a wave of pleasure. That pleasure bleeds through her into my own veins, filling me with euphoria.
Goddamn, I forgot how good this felt. And I haven't even moved inside her yet.
I refuse to stop. Even when she makes noises of discomfort. They quickly pass. Her eyes close and reopen continuously, blinking as though she can't see her surroundings.
"Oh fuck," she gasps when my other arm slides under hers, pulling her legs wider apart. The fingers working her hooded clitoris remain. The other moves under that hand, to feel through her dripping arousal, coating my fingers with the creamy substance which makes it easier to penetrate her.
She laughs to herself breathlessly as I drive one finger in, immediately working on another. Her insides grip me tightly, proving she's nowhere near satisfied. She needs more, and I'm glad to give it. I ease my fingers in and out slowly, closing my eyes to prevent myself from unraveling when the sounds of her desire begin to fill the room each time I reenter her.
"Oh, God." I'm enthralled by what I see in the mirrors before me—a woman coming apart—quivering with approaching abandon. Every time she shifts, trembles, bows, my cock nearly explodes, right against her spine. I must reserve myself, struggle to draw out my response. "You are perfect. This is perfect."
She nods, her smile tight but dazzling in the reflection. "Yes... yes, I..."
Instead of finishing her answer, she turns her face towards her shoulder to find me. My lips are quick to find hers, sealing over her mouth with brutal helplessness. Her tongue, tasting of the wine she drank before dancing, drives through my lips with breathtaking tenderness, licking me deep and thorough.
I could devour her whole.
"I'm... close," she cries out, breaking away from my lips. Her whole face has become a grimace as she holds her chin to her chest, turning back towards the mirror. Her chest has splotched red in her straining. Her collarbone harbors misty sweat from the overworking of her body. I'm not fazed by it in the least. In fact, her scent is even more alluring when combined with sex.
"Feel me," I tell her. "Feel my hands, feel how badly I want this. We are together, Cassandra. I have my hands on you, inside of you."
"Elijah."
"This is real."
A single teardrop escapes from the side of her left eye with incredible speed. I saw it though, that emotion seeping out of her. I feel under my hands, that overwhelming surrender. We used to possess it easily, without thinking.
Times have been hard on us. It is not so easy anymore.
But she's there. She's all there, right under my hands, keening to be freed.
"I didn't think I'd ever have you, like this, again," she gasps. I hear how restrained her words are, how much she's trying to keep from overflowing. Her thighs clamp down on my hands in flexed reaction. I've pulled out of her and spread her open again in seconds, targeting her conjoined nub of nerves while holding her thigh apart from the inside.
She's practically lying on my chest. Her hands, which were holding onto my thighs, have reached back to surround my hips. She begins to writhe. Her chest heaves, crashing down. Overlooking her in the mirror as she reaches the final moments before climax, I'm transfixed by the vein protruding from her neck, the way her breasts bounce when she begins to shake—uncontrollably so. Her abdomen crunches in and out as she struggles to swallow air. Her arousal coating my fingers eases some of the sensitivity she has from my incessant coaxing, making it effortless to explore her sex, tease and nudge that tender flesh till it's primed for ecstasy.
"Aaah," she cries softly, in futile effort to remain quiet, tensing at her peak. "Holy—"
Hit again by abandon, she loses control of her movements. Her legs try to close in on my hand. I prevent that, dragging out the blissful pain, refusing to tear my eyes away from the mirror, intending to watch her writhe until she goes lax in my arms. When she does, all restraint I possessed has been used.
I grab her and turn her, harder than I told myself I would, using my arm behind her back to guide her onto the pillows at the tip of the bed. She's still shaking, violently, when I lower myself between her legs and shove myself into her.
I come instantly, the very moment I'm within her.
My hand grips her chin, my forehead resting against her cheek as I spill into her, flinching. To be within her is to come home. I am home. I'm anything but an overly emotional man, but when it comes to her—all bets are off.
I pull back to look at her, to gaze into her face, done with seducing her any further.
I need this as much as she does.
The hibiscus flower in her hair has slightly wilted in yellow color. Some of the petals have drifted into her hair due to my rough fondling of her, leaving little sprinkles of color in the inky waves. Her hair has almost completely dislodged from the bun that held it. I use my fingers to free the flower and the curls, wanting to see her as I usually do... as I had dreamed for so long.
"What are you thinking?" she whispers, her warm feet sliding over the back of my calves.
"I couldn't articulate it."
"Try."
I'm overcome with the need to conceal my eyes, if only for a brief moment to gather myself. I'd rather her not watch me reeling at how momentous it feels to be inside her. Once I've concealed it, I wrap my hand around the back of her neck, decidedly, looking at her squarely in the eyes, inches from her face.
I push myself deeper into her, no less stiff than I was when I first entered her.
Her eyes squeeze closed, her hips flinching slightly to adjust to my size. My lips touch her cheek gently as I pump my hips into her and out of her, softer than I've ever cared to before. Gentleness for me, especially with a human, is difficult.
But it's what she needs. It's what I need.
To make love to her in a way she's never been made love to.
Her eyes peel open slowly, revealing disbelief, a little awe. She turns her face back to me, searing me with a look. Nothing held back. Her hands travel up my back, digging into the grooves of muscle, until she's able to pull me down, wanting our bodies to be laid as one.
I'm hesitant to oblige her.
"I'm heavy."
She shakes her head. "I don't care."
I give way enough that she won't notice, still restraining myself quite a bit from settling all my weight on her human bones. Our bodies are flush. My body tucked between her burning legs, which proceed to urge me closer, deeper.
My hand drifts over her abdomen up to her heavy breasts. I cup one in hand, holding her, squeezing her as our hips grind together in sync, thrillingly intimate.
Three years. Three years without this.
It's more apparent than ever that I'd rather die than exist without this again.
Her hair, her face, her mouth... everything about her is perfect. I touch her to claim her, palming her breasts, slipping my tongue into her mouth with the intent to make that known. She does the same, commanding me to hold her gaze, feeling every precipice of my body within reach.
All of our past moments like this come to my mind in a rush. How close we've always been. That was never a problem. From our first temptation which led to bounding myself to her, I found solace to be enveloped by her. Making love is where it became effortless to speak, without words.
But then, we didn't have someone else between us.
Today, I felt her let him go. I'm not sure how she did it.
The last place he could control her mind unknowingly was in the bedroom. The tentative nature she possessed when she entered the room, when she spread herself before the mirror, has vanished. She is alive under me, aching to be loved.
"Luce mia." I breathe the endearment, kissing her thoroughly. My light. She is precisely that.
She buries her head into my throat, having never stopped quivering. Her hair is damp, her skin flush and hot. Anchored between her thighs, I pump into her, tensing in our building desire. I feel it in her too, see it on her face when the back of her head hits the pillow again.
"Tell me you are here with me," I demand.
"I'm here," she says, radiating bright white light. "I'm with you. I'm here."
My hand lands beside her pillow as our pace quickens. Her fingers disappear into my hair, grasping on tightly. Our lips meet desperately in the final moments. Our mouths open to moan, to brace for the impact, hovering against each other.
"Christ, Cassandra!" I groan, shattering completely in her arms.
Her lips tremble against mine in her gasping as she cries out in whimpers, shaking with fatigue under me, melting into exposing pleasure. My stamina cannot be tamed, but her sex is swollen. I can feel that. She needs time. I slip out from her, without going far.
I deposit myself beside her, wrapping an arm around her waist, pulling her to me until she's secure against my chest. She instantly tucks her leg between mine, pressing her warm, wet mouth to my chest.
I cannot speak. The weight of the time apart, the burden of life without her, comes crashing down on me to the point of suffocation—and I don't even need breath. My arms instinctively tighten around her while I gaze over her head towards the mirrors, seeing the back of her seeking closeness—with me.
For so long, as much as I tried to deny it, in my jealousy, I couldn't help but imagine someone else caring for her like this. I even convinced myself that maybe she'd started to like it, that maybe she'd even long for it in him.
Samael is a damned fool. He had her in his grasp to abuse her.
"I'm so happy," she whispers into my throat, laughing softly. She's also crying, although maybe she doesn't think I can hear it.
I feel her bliss keenly. I can hardly bear it. It's crushing, the weight of our love.
And yet, I'd have it no other way.
Unable to speak still, I can do nothing but nod. Nod and hold her tighter, pull back to kiss her deeper. I feared what I'd see in her gaze, after hearing her tears, but she speaks true.
Her tears are of happiness, of relief... of release. All I see is adoration.
For that, I bend my head and sink into her inviting mouth, with the dream of time somehow coming to a miraculous halt, so that I may prolong this night forever.
She is here. She is safe.
Right now, that's all that matters.