Part I, The Hunter
He paused and sniffed the air, and caught the scent of the prey. She was near and yet far; she was scared and yet excited. She knew death was following her, and in a strange way, she welcomed it, longed for it. That is the paradox of mortals. They fear death more than anything else, and yet, they long for its embrace. They try and push life to the limit to defy death, but they only play at courage. They never truly know the face of death through their half-closed eyes.
He had first seen the prey six days ago…or was it more? Days had no real meaning; time was fleeting, and there were times when weeks and months vanished to him. That was the paradox of the night. If you live forever, time passes in spurts and leaps. Sometimes it seemed like years for one night to pass; sometimes it was a night, and a year passed. Time was fluid and changing to those who gave it no mind.
He had seen her where she performed. Her lithe, nude form twisting and turning on the stage in time with heavy, rhythmic beats and discordant melodies. She had looked so alive, so tender. Her efforts made her blood race and her veins pulse, and he caught the scent of her need then. Her burning desire for him, for the night. She was, in a very real sense, waiting for him to come and kiss her, even then.
He had the impulse to leap upon the stage and take her before the eyes of the audience, but that was base and crass. Things like that marked those that would never be truly of the night. The night was seductive and subtle. It was not a harsh lover that took you by force. It slid into you as the day slid from the sky. While you were admiring the twilight, it snuck up behind you and embraced you gently and rocked you into the shadows. At least, that is how he remembered it, those many years ago.
Her skin was pale and clean of marks. He still found himself looking for pox marks after all these years, half-expecting to see her beauty marred by purple scars of sickness. How terrible the death had been then, how merciless when it ravaged over everyone. While he had not felt the bite of sickness, he had felt the pain of hunger. The sick were taboo. The dying were best left to themselves; they were not for him or his kind. Those were days of famine to him, and he turned his thoughts from them. No good to dwell upon them now when the prey was so close, except to remind himself to be thankful. Like a grace to the night, he gave thanks for the bounty he followed from his hidden shadows.
He was hungry, but not hungry enough. His skin was still warm to the touch; enough blood coursed through his veins to satisfy his needs and then some. He paused to think about those within him. The mortal lovers of the past. Not lovers in the sense that mortals give to the word, making it trite and without real meaning. Not just someone he had sex with. No, these were real lovers, those who were part of him now. Their life was his, and he enjoyed them in ways no mortal could understand. They beat in his heart and made him warm. They sustained him through his sleep. They were more than just sexual partners; they were part of him, and he could still taste the dying breath of each one.
He always finished the prey off, always took the last taste of life. It angered him when some left their prey alive after embracing them. Left them to live a half-life, devoid of passion for anything but death and the dying. He was attracted to the life within his lovers; how could he then leave them shells without any passion when he was done? He could not bring himself to leave them shells wishing only for his kiss. He cared for them too much for that. So that was why he waited. He needed his hunger to be so great it was consuming, that was his tribute to the prey, the lover, he would take tonight.
He always had sex with his prey; he liked to feel himself in them as they slowly ran down his throat in return. While some consider this to be akin to bestiality, having sex with mortals, he was not so lofty in his ideals. He never considered mortals a different breed and felt to do so was hubris. He looked at it like when he was still mortal, the hierarchy of the mortal world. There were nobles, there were peasants; they were the same breed and just different stations. Traditions like Carpe Noctum were the act of the nobles blessing the peasants’ weddings by sleeping with the bride. It was a blessing to them and not a base act of debauchery. He blessed his victims with such passion; they finally knew true satisfaction as they closed their eyes.
This belief was not from an over-inflated ego. It was from 500 years of practicing this art and being willing to learn even more from those who had been practicing it for thousands of years. He was night’s lover, or at least one of them. He was the passion and mystery and pleasure within the night, the sensuality of shadows, the burning desire of dreams that can only come when the midnight hour has long ago sounded. He was the flesh of the night’s touch, and the night was the most consummate lover of them all. It seduced the entire world every day, and the world never resisted. It seduced it and then cradled it in its arms until daylight could no longer be denied. It was a quiet and thoughtful lover; it was discreet and never told its secrets. So he was as well. He was the last secret his lovers ever knew, the eternal secret that they never revealed.
Part II, The Prey
Sasha went by the name Angel on stage. She didn’t look anything like a typical angel. Her long, dark hair, alabaster skin, dark eyes, and full red lips that looked like they were stained with blood gave her the opposite look, and she liked that. She was a dark angel of sin on the stage, and men drooled and begged for her attention. She was their goddess, and they laid down $1 tithes for her benevolent smile to be cast in their direction.
Then he came in. His eyes did more than look at her. She could feel him touching her with his gaze, caressing her skin, and running his thoughts over her flesh as she danced. In a dark room of men, he was a shadow she could feel.
There was no way for her to know who he was. She did not know any of the many names he had gone by through the many years of his life. She did not know that his gaze was more than a gaze; it was a taste, a fondle, a promise he gave to her. But she could feel all of that. She could feel him holding her with that look. Those eyes piercing through the smoke-filled room and enveloping her mind and swallowing her whole.
There was pride in that look he gave her. Most men had hunger or want in their looks, but not him. He had pride in it; he was proud of her. It was as though in that look, he made her his and possessed her. She was his as soon as he gazed upon her, and she knew he looked on and watched other men wanting her. He watched and grew more hungry for her as they wanted her more. Her dance became inspired by that gaze, and she found herself defining the bounds of her performance by her look. She danced for the other men to watch, but only for him to see.
She had been attracted to other men who watched her before, but that was just a physical thing. This man did not beg for her attention, did not struggle to catch her eye, and did not give her a posed “cool look” when her eyes fell upon him. He watched her as though she was an old friend or an old lover, that he had not seen in years. There was a joy in the gaze that told her that he was here to see her and no one else.
There was a fluttering in her stomach, which she hadn’t felt in many years, like her first lover’s touch on her when she was still a virgin, and the excitement of Christmas morning when she was a child, all rolled into one. It was the strangest feeling, a feeling of innocent decadence. It was like the tooth fairy who would slide into her bed and not just take the tooth. It was the sandman who would give her erotic dreams. That look made her feel fresh, new, innocent, and at the same time, dirty and decadent. She had the strange feeling that this man was dangerous to her. He would be like black tar heroin in her veins. If the first hit didn’t kill her, she would be hooked for life.
She had no way of knowing how dangerous he was to her. She had no way of knowing who he was and that his presence there indicated the end of her, at least as she knew it. She had dark fantasies. She had longings. She had dreams that she could be part of the night. But the man knew better. The man knew it was like when he was a child, those many years ago, when the peasant children would play noble. They would pretend for moments, hours, in their fantasy world, that they could be the ruling class. But they never could. He, as a child, and this woman on the stage, had no way of knowing the truth…that nobility chose you. You did not choose nobility.
Nobility was not the acquisition of power, but rather, the expression of power. Mortals could not see beyond the ticking of the clock, the second hand defining their lives, the hour hand defining their dreams, the calendar defining their futures. Power was the ability to go beyond this. In the night, the ticking of a clock and the beating of a heart, the passing of a day and the passing of a life, are all the same in the shadows. Nobility is the ability to see this, but more than that, it is the ability to understand this. This is why her dreams, longings, fantasies, and aspirations were the same as a child wearing a paper crown.
Sasha/Angel danced for him. She danced with every bit of passion in her soul. Suddenly, the lithe and supple movements of her body were begging him for his attention. She wished she could do more, but she would be fired. She wanted to run her hands over her body to show him what his gaze was doing to her, wanted to pull on her nipples, rub her fingers deep into herself to let him know that it was all for him, let him know how aroused she was. How wet. How wanting. But what she didn’t know was that he knew already. His gaze tasted it all.
Part 3, Satisfaction
He could feel her in his veins. He could taste her on his lips. The last traces of her dribbled down his chin. He felt her slide through his body and mingle with his other lovers. She was part of him now.
He closed his eyes so that he could feel the moonlight upon his face, and for the first time, she could feel its warmth within him. For the first time, she could hear the night in his ears, could feel the gentle touch of the stars, tiny pinpricks of heat that caressed her deep inside him. Now she understood, even as she melded into him. She understood the night and how she could never have understood that on her own.
He felt her burning heat. He felt her passion. He felt the rhythmic beat of every song she had danced to, the lustful gaze of every man who had fantasized about her. He felt the thrill of exhibitionism and the sensuality of the dance. She allowed him to remember lust, not that he had ever forgotten it. But as she flowed through his veins, he remembered the poignant want of mortal flesh. He smiled and ran his hands over himself and reveled in the sensations she brought to him. His ears heard the music of the night, a million hearts beating out the most primal of rhythms. She was at home now. She was with him.
He looked down at her body and gently crossed her arms across her breasts. He closed her legs and placed his coat upon her. Though it was only her shell, her cocoon, her chrysalis from which she had bloomed in his loving embrace, still, she would have dignity.
The moon was almost spent. The night dripped away like wine from a spilled goblet. He thought back and relived their meeting, and in so doing, in a moment of mortal time, he savored the wine of the night, and she saw through his eyes the elegance of the hunt. She saw how much he loved her. For the first time, she saw how truly beautiful she was.
Part 4, Stalking
He smacked his thoughts and reveled in the taste of her. There on the stage, nude, a fine layer of sweat glistened on her body, catching the tacky stage lights and staining her skin with motes of color.
Her dance had become more and more frenzied, more and more erotic, more and more passionate as she had become aware of his attention. The mortals couldn’t see what he could. They became excited by her stiffening nipples. But he saw the heart that beats stronger and more passionately and pushed the blood to those stiffening nipples. They saw her shaved lips, moistened with the beads of her arousal. But he could taste that arousal. He could smell the blood which flooded her lips and spread them like a rose for him to pluck. They saw so little; he tasted so much.
At that moment, he decided that he owned her. Not as a possession, but as part of him. She would sate a hunger which had grown from a thousand years of hunger. She would be part of a dance the night had designed for its own pleasure. Predator and prey. A ballet of passion, want, and need. He didn’t know when. He didn’t know where. But he would have her, in every way imaginable. She looked up from her dance, peering between her spread legs, and looked for him. He was gone. Maybe he was never there. Maybe he didn’t exist. But as she slumped upon the stage and felt the aftershocks of his presence tingling through her body, she felt more satisfied than she had ever known before. His gaze had slid into her and slowly and forcefully made love to her from across the room. She trembled and grasped her breasts in her hands and felt the tickle of her juices dripping down her skin and onto the stage. “My god,” Sasha thought, “please let him be real.”
So it was each time he went to see her. His gaze would slowly penetrate her as she danced on the stage, and he would ravage her soul as the mortals watched. They never knew what was truly going on, blind as they were. They saw only that her dancing had taken on a desperate and frenzied quality, passionate and sexual beyond just lewd bumping and grinding. There was something in her performance that touched them in ways they couldn’t comprehend and would never be able to explain. They could not see it for what it was, the slow death throes of the shell and the emancipation of the spirit.
This went on for days, perhaps weeks. He didn’t really know; didn’t really care. Time was not for him. Time was not for her anymore, either. For she, in the first moment that she had allowed him to slide into her mind, with that first welcoming, had become his. In that act, she had surrendered to him. Knowingly or not, she had invited the hunt.
So he stalked her, not just upon the stage, but he was the shadow as she walked home at night. As she slept, her fitful slumber was witnessed by him. In broken dreams, she would remember bits and pieces: a shadow in her room, lips gently touching her neck, a hand pulling back her silk sheets to reveal her nude form, the sensation that she was being watched as she slid her clothes from her body. He was all of these things. Regarding her, he was omnipotent, for she was a part of himself, and he had hundreds of years to know himself well.
On that final night, when his gaze slid into her and she could no longer control herself, her hands became his, and upon the stage, she allowed him to touch her, to caress her, to pleasure her. He knew it was time. So before he had ever laid hands upon her, before his lips had ever tasted her, he had made love to her in ways only the night could understand. He had caressed every inch of her soul and seduced her spirit to rapture. Before they had ever spoken, they had become the most intimate of lovers. Now it was time to satisfy the flesh.
Part 5, The Knight Seduces
Sasha was not afraid walking home down the dark streets of the city. She had always felt there was a guardian angel watching over her or something. Perhaps she was charmed. So as she walked along in an unhurried pace, at first, she did not even notice the shadow that had detached itself from the night and now stood before her. The first thing she noticed was the eyes. Maybe that’s the first thing there was. But she felt them upon her, a familiar feel, the feel of a lover returning.
“I saw you dance.” The voice was dark and smooth. It reminded her of the images of chocolate being poured, rich and tempting. It was really little more than a whisper, but the night air carried it across the distance with precision.
“Excuse me?” Sasha said, stopping in her tracks. She was afraid, but at the same time, not afraid. Hadn’t she longed to meet this man?
“I saw you dance.” He repeated himself, as if the second time would explain his actions more clearly than the first.
“That’s nice,” she replied, trying to sound cold. She had run into far too many psychos in her line of work. He didn’t say anything. He just smiled, and she felt those eyes touch her again.
After a long moment, his voice shook the night with a whispered, “I enjoyed it.”
She was not certain how to respond. She wasn’t certain what to do. She wasn’t certain of anything. Her instincts told her that this was danger. Her logical mind told her that this was trouble. But something deep down in her soul told her this was her deepest, darkest fantasy come to life. She looked like she might run at any second. That was okay. She couldn’t get away. She didn’t even want to get away. She was a deer in the headlights, frozen, fascinated, at his mercy.
“My name is Christian. I just wanted to tell you that I enjoyed the dance. I didn’t mean to intrude.”
With that, he turned and began walking back into the night. He did this not because he was really sorry to intrude, not because he was going to leave her alone, but because fear taints the taste. He could be coarse and rude and run up and say, “Hi. I’m going to kill you.” But that prompts the release of adrenaline, which makes everything a bit sour. Never mind if he took too long to feed and her brain had too much time to register the pain and release endorphins…the hangover from endorphins could last for months. So instead, he did what he did.
Sasha was suddenly confronted not with a stalker, but with being left alone. She was not ready for that. Her mind set had gone on the defensive. She was prepared for lewd suggestions and physical force, not for courtesy and apathy. Before she knew what she was doing, she called out “Wait.”
Christian stopped, looked back at her, raising an eyebrow in question.
“I…ummm…I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s just…”
“…you meet a lot of perverts being a dancer,” he finished for her.
“Yes,” she said, as a grin crept across her face.
“I know,” he said and returned her smile.
There was an unspoken conversation between them, an exchange of thoughts and desires. While she didn’t realize it, he could tell her mood, tell her thoughts by the reaction of her body. Her pulse had quickened, her skin had grown damp from perspiration, her lips flush from excitement, and her breath short in anticipation. She told him volumes of information without a word.
In turn, she saw his smile echoed in his eyes. His entire being seemed so unthreatening and yet dangerous to her. He quietly looked at her, and she felt his gaze pierce into her very being, deep into her soul where she hid her most secret thoughts. He was staring at her like he had at the club, and the effect was roughly the same; she felt her body go weak from his attention.
They bantered back small talk as they stood within the halo of the streetlight. He drank in every word that she spoke and tasted her mind. He savored her, allowing her thoughts to drip down his throat. This was the first time he had heard her voice, and it was sweet to his ears. He did not have to feign interest in their small talk. To him, every word, every syllable, every nuance of her voice, every vocal inflection, was treasured. He delighted in her mind for what seemed like hours. The distance between them had closed to mere inches, and neither had suggested walking on. It was as though the world was defined by the glow from the streetlight above. All else had ceased to be. Or at least ceased to be important.
Christian could feel the night waning, slipping from his grasp. He was enjoying the simple pleasure of her company, something that was dangerous for him to do. His hunger was great, but he enjoyed the aroma of the feast so much that the dawn threatened to steal his prize from him. His voice deepened, not only in tone and inflection, but in resonance. It reverberated through her, and the vibrations took control.
“I want you to come with me, Sasha,” he said, in that melodic way. She did not think to question him. He made the choice for her. “I want to show you something. Something wondrous.”
Then he smiled, and Sasha knew instantly that she was the fly and was helpless within his web.
“You want to come with me, don’t you, Sasha?” he asked.
“No,” Sasha answered him, much to her own amazement.
He looked surprised for an instant and then laughed. “But, my dear, you will anyway.” And with that, he blurred and then she was over his shoulder. They sprang up the fire escape so fast, so quietly, it was as if they had never been standing there, so far below. She watched the safety of the streetlight and the cracked surface of the sidewalk dwindle into the shadows. And the night swallowed her whole.
Part 6, The Night Claims Its Prize
Sasha was still where he had placed her on the rooftop. She had not moved at all since he had set her down. Her eyes were wild with fear; he could hear her heart beating 1,000 miles a minute, but she did not move. She was still trying to figure out what had just happened. One second, they were talking, and the next, she was halfway up the side of the building. He had moved so fast that she was not even sure he had moved; she had not even seen a blur. Then she was slung over his shoulder like a sack and carried up to the rooftop and set down. She was not sure what to make of any of it. Somehow, deep inside her, none of it surprised her. It was like she almost expected something like this. Could it be she had almost wanted it?
Christian watched her. He could smell her fear. Fear tainted the flesh, so he wanted to calm her, soothe her. It was the paradox of his existence. He wanted to tell her everything she would become when finally they embraced. But to do so would terrify her. And thus, the fear would taint the flesh. If he could just show her, explain to her, make her understand what she was part of…he cleared his throat and began to speak.
“There is nothing really for you to be afraid of. If I had wanted to brutalize you, I would not have gone to all this trouble. I want you to understand who I am. Do you understand what I am saying?”
“Yeah, you’re some sick, wacko fuck who wants me to understand his perverted little fucked-up mind. Well, fuck you.”
Christian was surprised and rendered speechless for a moment. And then the laughter started. A deep, good-natured belly laugh that came from the very pit of his being. “My god, she has spunk,” Christian thought.
“OK. Let’s say I am some twisted, wacko fuck. By the way, wonderful choice of words. But let’s say I am a demented killer and I want you to act out my little Oedipal impulses before I kill you. If you sit there and listen, at least it’s a few more minutes you can try to plan your escape in.” Then, between one beat of her heart and the next, Christian went from standing on the opposite side of the rooftop to kneeling in front of her, leaning into her face. “And let’s face it, my dear,” he whispered to her, “you really don’t have much choice.”
Christian stood and moved back from her. His footsteps across the roof were silent. Sasha was suddenly drawn into the sight of him, and little details began to register. His lips had been mere inches from her face when he spoke, and yet, she could smell no breath. His movements were so graceful; cats would be put to shame. It was as if every step, every nuance, every motion, was practiced to an artistic dance. Then he smiled at her again, and in that smile, she saw the most terrifying thing…she saw love.
“OK. So talk,” she said and narrowed her eyes.
“My god, she is thinking of a way of escaping,” Christian thought to himself. Perhaps, just perhaps, Christian thought, perhaps I didn’t give her enough credit…
“By now, I am sure you figured out that I am not really like other boys,” Christian said and smiled, his eyes sparkling with a mischievous glee. “Have you ever wondered how dark your passions run? You know those dreams, just fragments of images when you first wake up that scare you and at the same time, intrigue you? Those things you don’t even admit to yourself half the time?” And then he was beside her again, whispering in her ear. “Have you ever wanted to try them?”
Sasha gasped as the whispered words tickled her in her mind. He was a loony. Probably some sort of serial killer. Definitely a bent fuck. But his words made her pulse quicken, her breath come short, and she could feel her body reacting to them. Her nipples stiffened, and she could feel a heat burning under her skirt.
“You’ve thought about them, haven’t you?” he whispered in her ear. “They scare you, but that’s okay. Sometimes it feels good to be scared, doesn’t it?” His words seemed to resonate through her body.
“Ye…ye…yes,” she stammered, her voice fluttering in excitement. She couldn’t understand why. She should be terrified. She should be thinking of escape. Instead, she found her hands slowly rubbing over her breasts through her shirt and bra. Her fingers lightly traced around her nipples as he continued to whisper in her ear.
“I know what you dream at night. I have been there at midnight and tasted those dark fantasies of yours. That is how I found you. I heard a kindred soul moaning in the night, and I came in search of you.” His words were like a hammer; they slammed into her. It was as though a door within her was unlocked. That little place in back of your mind, a storage room for your thoughts, where you hide away all the really dark, nasty stuff, so no one sees it when they come visiting. That door was opened. She remembered dreams she wasn’t sure she ever had. Dark, nasty dreams. Images flooded into her mind. Images of flesh and indulgence and teeth and blood.
“Are you remembering it all now? Can you taste it all as it slides back into your mind?” He didn’t speak for long seconds. Instead, he brushed his lips against her ear and let out a long, deep breath. She was startled. She hadn’t expected breath, and the warm air tickling into her ear sent a burning fire throughout her body. In that instant, she was his.
“Have you come to make me your bride?” she said, hopefully.
Christian brought his hand to his mouth to hide the smile. “Ummmm, my dear, I hate to tell you this. I’m not Dracula. As a matter of fact, I don’t even know the guy. So I am not going to tell you ‘look into my eyes, I’ve come to drink your blood’. It’s not really my style. I mean, I like you. I mean, I love you. I mean, I wish you all the best. But my dear, only you will decide who you will be at the end of this night.”
“Huh?” Sasha really hated the way that sounded, but she was lost.
“I mean, one of two things will happen tonight. Either you will have enough strength to fight back into being or you will become part of me. Either way, you will live forever.” His voice was no longer flirtatious. He spoke these words slowly and with much purpose so she would have full understanding. She did not know the exact how’s or when’s, but she understood.
“So are you like gonna bite my neck now?”
Christian smiled. “Well, not exactly.” His grin deepened as he stared at her, his eyes burning into her, her breath coming in ragged bursts as his gaze pierced into her soul. “That biting the neck thing, that whole Dracula scene, not really my style. I have something,” he licked his lips, “a little more intimate in mind.” Sasha felt her heart skip a beat and she nodded her consent.
Sasha tilted her head to one side, baring her throat. Christian stifled a snicker and placed a finger underneath her chin, turning her face to his. He leaned forward slowly and kissed her lightly on the lips. Sasha closed her eyes involuntarily as their lips met. When she opened her eyes, Christian was smiling. He traced the back of his fingers up her cheek gently and pushed her hair back from her face. He looked at her for a long moment and his eyes took on a dreamy quality. Sasha had the feeling that in that moment, he had experienced a lifetime of thoughts. She opened her mouth to speak, but Christian placed one finger upon her lips to silence her.
Christian gently slid one arm around her body and the other under her legs and lifted her up effortlessly. He carried her like a child to one edge of the roof. They turned back around and Christian looked at her intently and his grin broadened across his face.
“Are you ready for this?” he asked, as his eyes sparkled. Sasha nodded in response. “Are you sure? There is no turning back from here.”
She was aware that they were moving, but was surprised at the speed. One instant, they were standing at the edge of the roof and the next, they had crossed the roof and were hurling across the city street below. Christian leapt this impossible distance with no obvious effort. The wind whistled in her ears as they landed on the opposite rooftop, making no more sound than a cat leaping from a chair. Their journey continued, rooftop to rooftop, for countless city blocks. Sasha’s head grew dizzy as the world flew by in a blur.
At last they reached an old brownstone building, the windows dark. It seemed to be asleep. Without warning, they came to a halt and Christian let her legs slide down to the ground. He held her while she regained her balance, until she was able to stand on her own.
“Where are we?” Sasha asked.
“A safe place,” Christian responded.
“A safe place?” she asked, looking around.
“There are places where people go to see things. There are places where people go to not see things. This is a safe place,” Christian said and Sasha noticed that their journey must have taken a lot out of him. Despite the apparent lack of effort, he looked drained. “The night is growing short. We don’t have long left. I need you…now.”
He slid both of his hands around her and pulled her to him. He kissed her passionately, their lips pressing together and his tongue slowly sliding into her mouth. Her own hands wound into Christian’s long hair and she kissed him back with equal fervor and began to suck on his tongue. One of his hands wound itself into her hair, pulling it free of the elastic which tied it back and allowing it to fall down over her shoulders. The other hand found its way to the small of her back, pressing her body against his. She could feel how much he wanted her.
As Christian’s tongue withdrew back into his mouth, she allowed her tongue to probe into him. At first, she tasted the sweetness of his kiss, the warmth of his tongue and then the tip of her tongue ran across a sharp edge. As she explored his mouth, she felt the two upper canine teeth slowly swelling and extending. They continued to swell as they kissed, growing longer as the passion of his kisses grew more intense.
Sasha felt his hand on her lower back begin to slide down and over her ass and the fingers pressing into her soft flesh. His hand slid further down until it slipped under her short skirt and onto her thigh. She gasped at the feel of his hands upon her after all those fantasies she had indulged in. His fingers were gentle and yet firm as they began to explore her body, slowly caressing her flesh and sliding upwards towards her soaked panties.
She pulled on his hair as his fingers caressed her lips through the silk of her panties and pushed the fabric into her slightly as they explored. His palm rested across the silk and began to slowly rub her until her arousal was unbearable and she wanted nothing more then for him to take her now. He pulled back from their kiss and began to nibble on the nape of her neck and Sasha expected at any moment the pain of a bite, but none came. Instead, his tongue ran over her flesh, his lips gently kissing their way down her neck.
Sasha moaned and gave into the sensations as he kissed his way down to the shallow of her neck and his fingers slipped under the panties and rubbed her shaved lips directly. Christian’s touch was magic to her and she couldn’t concentrate on anything but how it felt to have him finally touching her, kissing her. She was aware as her dress was pulled open and her breasts freed, her bra pushed aside and the soft white flesh revealed.
She felt his mouth sucking and nibbling on her breasts as he pushed her panties to the side and began to rub his hand over her pussy with more force, his fingers sliding into her. The feel of his hand actually touching her shaved pussy directly made her knees go weak and she almost collapsed, but Christian held her up, sliding his free hand from her hair to the small of her back. His touches were growing rougher, slowly taking on a more fevered air. He pulled her nipple with his teeth while flicking his tongue over the very tip. Two fingers slid into her and she groaned. He allowed her to lower down and laid her on the roof top as her legs totally gave out on her.
Her dress was pushed up over her hips and she began to claw at his clothing as well. She pulled off the long black coat and pulled hard on the white linen shirt until the buttons popped free and his shirt opened. Christian took hold of her panties and with
