Chapter Text
Yeah okay, so you know how like a week ago I said I would starve if it meant she smelled like that forever? It was just a thought, an exaggerated metaphorical thought. I suppose I should say something like great minds think alike but this was decidedly not what I was thinking.
After that night in the elevator, after taking me to her home and making reality her thoughts, she demanded that she become my sole source of blood. I tried to explain that, no Miranda, that’s not how this works, but then she fucked me, while thinking about fucking me, so fuck me I guess.
Miranda has what one might call a sadistic streak and she’s not afraid of hurting herself if it means pushing my boundaries that much further.
She starved me, which was hot the first time. But then she had the nerve to put me on my knees and slide a knife across her palm. She winced and I was held rapt.
Sometimes you look at a dish and you already know that shits delicious.
Without even a drop of blood on my tongue, I tasted her pain, tasted how she would have endured it a thousand times if I continued to look at her like that.
And I tasted her desire to torture me.
I knelt there in wait while so much blood pooled into her hands, it dripped onto the carpet. Part of me feared she planned to make me lick it up. Nope. She waited me out. Waited until I whined like a dog and then asked if I wanted drink from the puddle in her hands.
Immediately yes.
I could have cum on command if she wanted it. But then that sent another image in my mind, her cum and blood mixed together. I was beyond the point of words. I began panting.
Honestly I’m not proud of how many dog analogies are making its way into this moment but then…
“Good girl.” She said and allowed me my treat.
I’m her bitch and I act like it.
After a month of this, my main complaint was that she did not have enough blood in her body to sustain me. She decided to solve that by feeding me once a day every few days.
News flash: It wasn’t enough.
Somehow absorbing an entire life became easier. I needed more. I needed to understand her better, to hear her thoughts more clearly. I needed to know her inside and out. I wanted her spread out, arteries open -
Fuck.
I was slipping. Slipping between vampire and human. I told her as much and she ignored me. I even attempted to scare her with my bite guard.
“Really, Andrea, how Hannibal Lector of you.” She murmured when I showed it to her, though she did put it into her office drawer.
It was a lucky thing too because I slipped one final time and my mind had a one track train.
You see in that handy dandy vampire manual, it’s written that we have 4 modes or personas. There is the human, the immortal, the beast and the monster.
All those horrid stories about vampires eating people alive and leaving them as a dry husk, that was the monster.
Currently I was feeling more like the beast.
That's the one that makes you hunt down a warm body, feed, and then boom, buyer's remorse.
To put it simply, it's like a potentially fatal one night stand where I apologize for not knowing your name in the morning.
Gross.
But I was past the point of caring. A voice so unlike my own started whispering.
Blood. Find me blood.
I was compelled to obey.
I stalked into her office in the middle of the day and stared at her. She took one look at me and knew. Partially because I drooled a bit - which, ew and partially because my eyes had changed.
Very easy to describe. Think Buffy the vampire slayer minus (thankfully) the hideous face.
She was in the middle of a call and ended it. Just for me, how sweet. Her pulse rose, and I felt my throat rumble.
“Blood.”
Really not sure if that exited my mouth the way I think it did, but Miranda understood. I’ll have to ask her to record this next time…..
After I ask her never to put me in this state again.
“Control yourself.” She said sharply and while I fully agreed with the sentiment, I could only take a step closer. Miranda, that twisted woman, thrilled at the sight.
I wanted to twist her neck…
In a sex way, I think.
She swallowed thickly and grabbed the bite guard from her drawer. I watched, every muscle in my body taught, as she put it around my mouth. I have to say the only reason I didn’t bleed her then and there was because well I refused to, no matter what that voice was screaming, and because she was feeding me images of her in a car, our shared breaths fogging up the windows. I saw images of her running away from me in the dark, only to end up trapped against me as I took my fill.
I hardly noticed the face mask she put on me to hide the bite guard. Barely registered anything until we were in the elevator again, the camera still broken. I immediately cornered her and placed my restrained mouth against her neck, growling all the while.
“Andréa.” She whispered dangerously, though it was pointless. Her voice broke halfway through and I could feel how she wanted me. Her knees were on the verge of buckling and her fingers twitched with the desire to release me. Her thighs were tickling with the drip drop of her arousal. They were sliding together, her blood was pushing towards the surface. Her clit was growing, shifting, pushing past its hood. She wanted me, I wanted it, wanted her blood, wanted to feel more intimately her desire. I wanted her screams, her cries, her tears her blood, sweat, lust, memories.
If only this damn thing wasn’t covering my fucking mouth.
The elevator ground to a halt and she shoved me away just before the doors opened. She lifted the collar of her jacket to hide the flush in her cheeks and I followed behind her like a predator just waiting for its prey to sit still long enough to be devoured.
In the car, I could barely restrain the urge to rip off the bite guard and let the girl have what she so desperately craved. Her eyes were blank, and she was growling at such a frequency, I thought it was designed for my clit. She was a wonder to behold. Sweet Andréa normally so calm was chomping at the bit to get to me.
I would let her have me. I imagined her chasing me through the house cornering me and…
Another growl.
Was it truly I who wanted to see my life’s blood splattered along the walls?
We groaned together at the idea that burned itself into my mind. I would wear a white dress one day, have my monster bleed me and wear the splatter as though it were design. I squeezed my thighs together and prayed to whatever higher power put us in this position:
Please, let me bleed.
Once in the safety of my home, I unhooked the girl’s guard, still feeding her images of what I wanted her to do to me. She growled low in her throat and gods above did it sent spikes of fear down my spine.
She stepped forward and instinct forced me backward. I knew that if I turned my back and ran, she would match me step for step. I maintained eye contact and slowly removed my coat dropping it to the side.
She was such a wild thing. An inhuman creature beholden to me and the blood in my veins. She was a monster. My monster. She was mine and she was going to serve me.
She’s fed from me so many different ways but nothing has even touched the wild way she took what she needed that day in the elevator. It was her passion, her hunger that I craved, and here in this kitchen she was finally ready to give it to me.
She watched me like a hawk. I was the center of her world as I should be. There was nothing outside of these walls that could rip her attention from me. I smiled despite myself.
Oh, I worried indeed that she would one day take her fill and leave me empty, my children bereft. But the same instinct that warned me to stay far away from those teeth, also reassured me that Andréa would do everything in her power to keep me alive. Even if indefinitely.
My back hit the kitchen island and Andrea rushed forward to trap me. Her hands gripped surprisingly strong at my waist and she lifted me up and onto the island. Gods, did she have superhuman strength too?
I tipped my head to the side and moaned loud and long as she tore my clothes from me and had her dinner.
“Yes! Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Take it all.”
Of course I stopped. My mouth fucking dropped open.
I mean was that not like the hottest thing ever? Don’t get me wrong here. I don’t really expect anyone to go running crying screaming the moment they met an actual vampire. More like:
‘hey cool can I see your fangs?’
But Miranda was bleeding out in front of me, writhing on her own kitchen counter, and begging me to just go for it.
Not seeing it? Lemme break this down.
1. This was Miranda fucking Priestley, known to be the ice bitch from hell, the editor in chief of the worlds lost prominent fashion magazine (still not sure why that’s a thing). She could frown and have a gaggle of photographers, models, and designers in tears out of some a pavlovian response.
2. This woman of sheer power and force of will, allowed me to just rip open her clothes, shred her armor and literally go straight for her jugular. Her extremely delicious and still pulsating jugular.
3. Holy shit. It’s unfortunate for you that you’re only reading this. The indescribable sound of her moans…chills.
Her willingness was like a drug. And, having seen images of exactly what she wanted, I pulled back and lifted her hand to my mouth. Certain she was watching, I bit the flesh between her fingers and reveled in the small spray of blood that landed on my face. Her moan was decadent and long. Her head fell back and forwards as she alternated between moaning and looking at me.
I placed my fingers where she needed them most.
“I need blood, Miranda. More than yours.”
She bit her lip and nodded.
“Yes, whatever you like. I’ll buy a blood bank.” She moaned and jogged her hips hoping to force me in. I allowed it and began slowly shifting my fingers inside her. Not quite the motion she was hoping for.
“Andréa.” She growled.
“That was very dangerous, what you did.” I said feeling as though I held centuries over her. “I could have killed you.”
Miranda moaned and her hips jerked. Sooo not the response I intended to invoke. Yet, when the words let my mouth, I knew the effect they would have on her. I could not deny her anymore I could abstain from her blood.
“I could have forgotten myself and left you bleeding on the kitchen floor.”
“Andréa!” she sobbed again and -
Does this count as necrophilia?
“I still might.” I growled and her hips and abs contracted in a way she didn’t know was possible. Her orgasm swept through her like a tidal wave and as a result my own legs became unreliable. My mouth opened of its own will and she stared at my teeth so intently I didn’t need the connection to tell me she wanted to impale herself on them again.
I growled and gripped her still bleeding throat in my hand. I didn’t dare squeeze. I fucked her through whatever emotion that was and when it was done she fell to the table limp. Her blood was on my hands and instead of licking it up the way I so desperately wanted, I smeared it over her. She shuddered and I couldn’t help but chuckle.
“Have you always been this way?”
She blushed surprisingly.
“Have I always wanted a vampire to fuck me to death? No. Never. Have I always desired a passionate lover? Absolutely.”
“So about that blood bank…” I asked and shifted. There was still a hole that needed feeling and it was not between her legs.
She gestured lazily to a card. That little shit. She already bought a bloodbank.