Out go the lights and bump goes the night
And with your fear comes my delight
The temptress within her relishes in that noise that she plucks from him, that growling groan of desire from her lover's lips made her very body clench. There was something innately selfish about it. How she could have feasted upon his desire like it were a delicacy and yet she chooses to push him further down that slippery downward spiral. His own hips rising to meet her own, that fabric of his pants must have been so painfully restricting and yet how she enjoys his erotic torment. He meticulously removes those straps upon her thighs while she diligently removes the buttons on his shirt, a slight tug of that fabric before that talon clad finger sliced through that thread with a seamless, soundless pop. That talon dipping too far and scraping against his chest on one of the buttons when that sudden spasm of his body in an involuntary reaction to that pain of silver and blade. Yet that inner predator seems to delight in it all the same, how she enjoys the way he squirms. She hums that rich sound like molten honey, a sound of distinct satisfaction. Yet she does not miss a beat in that methodical task of removing those buttons. When she gets to that final button of his shirt. She presses her hand into his defined bare chest, stealing back control even as she wants those kisses on her skin. RisquÃ© is nothing more than a honed predator of practiced self-control, in all aspects. In this very moment, she uses it to leave him wanting.
Risque continued her torturous movements of her hips, watching as he so gave into that sweet wave of raging lust, bringing it to a cusp of damn near viciousness. She knew his body as well as he knew her own. She knew its limitations and still she cruelly toys with him, simply because he is so different than the rest. How she enjoyed to play on those very strings, keeping her ruthless vampire wound up tight. How she knew she could bring him to the verge and then steal it back just to draw it out, just because she could. Risque was nothing short of committed when she placed her mind on a task. That very question she asks was filled with so much unspoken possibility and yet he falls further and further into her downward spiral. In but a flash she offers him the very world, to make him a king amongst peasants. Her sinful mouth presses fervently against his pale skin, stealing more of that blood from his skin like he were a veritable feast for her taking. She drags her fangs so feather light across his skin. Like they could rip into him and potentially draw forth blinding pleasure at the same time. But she does not, no, she simply waits for his familiar voice to reach out. His accent some how thicker when lust frayed at his already bursting seams.
But was it really truly that generous when she teases him? Drawing upon those dark lustful desires to the brink of impossibility of coherent thought? Yet, that sadistic part of her gives him the opportunity of his undead life only to know his answer before he says it. That undying loyalty was utterly fascinating to her with no controlling chains to bind them. Love was such a strange concept to the she-devil. Unwavering, potent, wild, frenzy inducing love. If one could call it that. How she seemed to struggle with that very concept. Her necrotic black heart was a distorted thing, it had died so long ago and yet the way he looks at her utterly bewilders her on some twisted level. How she wished to possess it, dissect it so she could understand how it worked.. Perhaps she was always doomed to never know this hardly tangible thing, that was nothing more than a fistful of smoke. Regardless, she couldn't help but wonder if it was lust or deranged love that drove him to answer how he did. Perhaps it was a question she would never know and yet how she anticipates it so, testing it time and time again to make sure it was still there, cradled and stowed in its place. How she wished she could take it from him, if only to examine it, to keep it close.
However, his response caused a hungry sound that rips through her suddenly, that sheer need to possess what was hers. Her tasting kisses that lapped up that blood halted so she could utter the very lyrics that left her. "I suppose that can be arranged." She replies in that dripping in that feigned nonchalance, licking that crimson that smearing across her sinful lips, enjoying every last morsel.
It was then that he presses forward in his free fall decent into her madness, braver than any man before him. How she could have smite him down like the vengeful, hateful thing that she was and yet even she could not deny how he appeals to every last ounce of her fickle appetites. His lips brazenly meet her own, while large masculine hands lift to cup her face like a passionate lover, deepening that lust lined kiss. But she is quick to have him unfastened and his body rioting against her in own need. How she purposely drags her tongue abruptly across his teeth, purposely puncturing her own tongue on those ominous sharpened spines within his mouth. The pain the bloomed within her instantly, suddenly made her body still, that distinct metallic and unique brand of her blood welling luxuriously from her tongue and oozing into his. It was like dripping blood into shark infested waterers. Oh what a frenzy it could be. For isn't that what she craves? That sweet, sweet painful chaos? Risque could hardly help that wicked curl of her lush lips against his own, a woman in her element. Only this time she isn't playing, but rarely succumbing to those roaring desires he so carefully stoked.
Darcy hardly disappointed when he moves with a burst of vampiric speed that has him behind her, removing her very control from within her grasp. Whatever was upon her desk was either blood soaked, useless, and torn, or haphazardly thrust to the ground. Her folded up laptop hanging precariously off that ledge and yet she could hardly care of its fate, but one misplaced limb or another shudder of her desk would surely have it falling. How it took every ounce of strength to allow him that control in that very moment, that inner beast within her that clawed for control slashing at her with vehemence. Especially when she hardly felt through with him yet. His hands move quickly to undo that zipper of her strappy black dress, and how eager it seemed to simply slip down the curves of her body like a wisp of a caress, bunching uselessly at her waist. That garter belt straps falling away. He could have left them on, perhaps he seeks out to remove every last piece of clothing that clung to her then. As if the need to feel all of her skin held supremacy. She leans back into him smoothly, fueled by her own passionate deprivation. Even despite that urge for control, it a practiced deadly dance she relishes in, lost in sensation of slick bloodied skin upon slick skin.
That friction of their two bodies near tantalizing in itself, the feel of his roving hands drawing stark trails of red across her pristine canvas of ethereal snowy flesh. It was like he were a painter and she was his canvas he worships with sublime detail, and for that reason and how delicious it felt she allowed him this reign for now. She slides and moves her body in a slow purposeful sensual serpentine sway, to make sure her body molded into his to feel as much of him as possible. How she enjoys that mere sensation of bare bloodied slick flesh sliding against one another. He presses his hand to that toned expanse of her stomach and that very embrace makes a wanting sound slip from her parted crimson lips. How carefully he stokes those fickle desires, planting well placed kisses upon the sensitive skin of her neck like he knew that exact trail to make her control wane! That teasing sensation of teeth prickling that skin that teased her, but and promises something more. So careful, too careful she nearly growls her frustration before those teeth suddenly buried themselves into her neck. She could hardly hold back that moan, as that sharp pain ripped it away from her. She presses into him near forcefully as if to deepen that bite. As if she could hardly stand being still. That pleasure filled growl that escapes him that she felt deep within her skin and it nearly turns her into liquid. That blissful pain only serving to bring her pleasure and she relishes in it. Her eyes quiver shut, her neck was so ravaged by merely one bite alone, that blood eagerly flowing from her severed veins. This is what it meant to feel alive, she was sure of it.
That soft whine of her voice near pleading with need as he drew in her blood, she was so trapped within that intoxicating pain that she barely felt his hand undo the clasp of her bra, freeing her aching breasts so she is nearly naked, painted in blood. That steady flow from her ravaged neck drips long steady, unbroken lines along the front of her. Between the valley of her breasts and pooling into that belly button yet downward still. His teeth relinquish their hold and that too caused that sweet sound of pleasure escape her as his tongue so diligently explored that gaping wound as he were kissing her lips. How it throbs in distinct pain and yet she welcomes it. Her body feels like a ball of demanding need, as though she needed him touching her everywhere. Frustration rips through her, the falling lines of that spill across her needy flesh only serve to drive her to madness.
They were covered in so much blood it was impossible to know which belonged Risque, Darcy, or the deceased warlock. What a gruesomely delicious cocktail of death, magic and life. It was truly an erotic combination that only serves to draw out that animalistic primacy inside, her urges are undeniable now. But his remaining clothing is nothing but a bother that prevents her from feeling all of him. How quick that irritation was set to swell.
She pulls away from him then with all the confidence in world, sliding her long slender legs off that desk. All for her coiled hound to watch he next move. Her heels then touch the ground as she walks around that desk so that she comes up behind him, that dress falling near artfully to her feet, stepping smoothly out from its hinderance. All that remains is the sheer fabric of her obsidian underwear. She felt just as confident in her own skin as she did clad in leather and lace and so aware of her body and its movements. Behind him, her hands almost seem gentle as they run along his blood slick chest before wrapping underneath his leather jacket and button up top. Her movements are like liquid and precise while she drags her talon along his flesh, sliding that clothing off in one fell swoop so he is entirely topless, letting that expensive leather find a place on the floor.
Draws her face back to her mark, she steals a taste of his raw, gaping wound like she owned it. Because to her, she did. Simply taking what she wants. The time for games was done, they only serve to irritate her. "Remove your pants." She growled into that wound considering just ripping them clean from his body.
"Be sure to keep it rough, won't you?" She whispers teasingly into his ear, allowing her teeth to gently scrape against his lobe. The temptress then steps away, leaning against her desk almost as casually as ever, save for a single manicured finger tracing up her own leg. Pale lusting eyes lingering to see his reaction, with the ever so slight curl on her lips. It was the only invitation he was going to get.
just face the moon and put your death mask on