Page 105 of Phobia

“Then take me,” I purr again. “Take me, Silas.”

His eyes roll back as I say his name for the first time. As though just hearing it sends bolts of arousal through him. I see a hunger in his gaze, like a feral animal shining through. That’s what he is, I realize. He’s a monster, an untamed thing, but I’m not afraid. He wants to devour me, and I want to let him.

I pull him back to me again, kissing him as though he’s the air I need to survive. My naked chest rubs against the fabric of his shirt, and in frustration, I begin to tear at its buttons, tugging so they skitter across the darkened alleyway. I’ve never been this strong before, but I don’t have the wherewithal to wonder at it. I’m too lost in the throes of passion, too desperate to feel Silas, my Silas, against every inch of my skin.

He’s bared to me then, his dusty-pink nipples peaked in stark contrast to the almost pure white of his skin. He gasps as I press my chest to his, relishing the feel of him against me, the sensations new and exquisite and intense in the best way possible.

“I want to …” he whines, and I bare my throat.

“Do it.” Whatever he wants, I’ll give it. I’ll give anything at all.

He leans in and drags his teeth lightly over my neck. I feel his tongue dart out to graze the veins there. Will my blood sustain him now that we’re the same? Will it have the same effect on him, drive him mad with lust?

“I’m going to bite you again,” he whispers, unable to tear himself away from me. I’m not afraid. Not anymore. As though what he did has taken away that potent mortal fear.

“Yes. Please, yes,” I groan.

He does. Blood gushes out from inside of me as his sharp teeth pierce my skin.

I melt into him as the most gorgeous, most erotic sensation washes over me. It’s pain mixed with pleasure, potent and molten gold. My eyes roll back in my head as I writhe against him, my hard cock bumping against his tented pants. The blood. The blood. Once something so horrific and terrifying, it’s now the cause of all this wonder, all this absolute pleasure. I can feel it gushing and trickling down my chest as he pulls away. When our eyes meet, when his handsome face comes into my line of sight, I see red on his lips and his chin. My blood. He’s painted with my blood.

I whimper at the loss, but he takes my mouth in a harsh kiss. I taste myself on his lips. I taste … so good. So delectable. Sinful. I taste like the most extravagant meal. I want more. Of myself. Of him. I want to bathe in our mingled blood.

“You’re not afraid anymore,” he whispers between our crashing kisses.

“You healed me,” I pant against him.

“Blood can be good. It can give us life.”

“I want it,” I moan. “I want to taste you.”

I’m yanking at the belt at his waist now, tearing it from his hips, and if he knows what I mean, he doesn’t show any fear. Instead, his crimson eyes flash with lust. He swallows hard, his mouth falling open, and I can’t help but grin. I’ll drink from his cock, suck him dry of both blood and semen, taste Silas in his purest form.

Ravenous, I tug at his pants, baring his gorgeous pink shaft, its angry red tip begging for release. My mouth waters. I can’t wait anymore, ducking my head to envelop his entire length, suckling from it like a desperate kitten from its mother’s teat. I allow my teeth to graze the spongy head, and he bucks beneath me, gasping. I bite down.

He cries out but doesn't pull away. It’s a lovely sound, a groan of pain mixed with desperation and pleasure. His hands fly to my hair, digging in, pressing me closer to his groin. He likes this. So do I. I pull blood from his tip, drinking and sucking, feeling absolutely debauched. Monstrous.

I move down his shaft, biting and sucking and biting and sucking. Before I know it, his cock is a gorgeous canvas of bite marks, blood trickling from puncture wounds created by my teeth. I sit back to admire it, then slide my hand over its length, spreading his blood from stem to tip, watching his eyes roll back in his head.

I bring my bloodied hand to my opening and press inside of myself, using the blood to ease myself open. His eyes flutter as he watches me, mesmerized, panting. Eagerly, he lifts his wrist to his mouth and slits himself open with a fang. Blood pools, and desperately, I lunge for him, taking his fresh wound in my mouth, drinking from him like a gushing fountain before he pulls away.

He wraps his arms around me, dips two fingers into his own bleeding wrist, and then presses them inside me. I gasp. Those fingers, so slim and delicate, pry me open with dexterity and purpose, a gentle urgency I can see in his face as we look into each other’s eyes.

I feel another finger breach me, then another. Two from each hand widening my ring, stretching me in preparation. My mouth goes dry, and my cock twinges in pleasure with each new and heightened sensation.

I’m ready. I know it. He must see it in my expression because he withdraws, uses the blood at his wrist to coat his shaft. It glistens crimson, and I can’t wait any longer. I settle my hips over him once again and line his cock up with my gaping hole. I lower myself down on him, feeling that initial burn all the way to my soul. My mouth falls open as I take more and more of him, all the way to his hilt until my hips are fully seated against his, and I can feel every inch of him filling me, making me whole.

It’s so erotic, a pure connection that feels almost holy in its own way. He must feel it too because he reaches out, dips his hand behind my head, fingers caressing the curls at my nape, and gently brushes our lips together. He kisses me so softly, so sweetly, almost reverently, moving his hips so his cock grazes that secret place deep inside me, hitting it just right so flames of ecstasy are stoked. I moan as he rocks, a rhythmic pulsing that has me sweating and panting and existing on the edge of the precipice, every nerve ending on fire.

He dips his head to kiss my neck, my chest, then back up my jaw to my temple. His hands grip my hips and guide our motion, lifting my ass as if I’m weightless. Once again, he bites me, right at the juncture between my shoulder and neck, sucking blood from the wound so it pools down my chest. With one hand, he spreads it all over me, over my nipples and sternum, down and over my cock, where he uses it to stroke my shaft in time with his thrusts.

Again and again and again. I feel the waves of orgasm rushing over me, building to an intense crescendo in my guts.

“Beautiful boy,” he purrs. “Come for me.”

And I do. My cock pulses in his hand, drooling pearly liquid all over his glorious chest. I swear I almost come again when I feel him shoot inside me, painting the walls of my channel with cum. It feels so good. He thrusts back up forcing his spend deeper still, trapping it with his cock. I wish he would plug me up somehow, leave the evidence of his pleasure there forever.

Now satiated, safe in his arms, I allow my head to fall forward against his broad chest. I allow my body to relax and go boneless, nuzzling into his broad pectorals, taking in the scent that’s purely his. Purely Silas. Mine.