Those very wants his mistress had coaxed to life within himself were near akin to a fire she only continued to fuel. As if she sought to drive it to burn only hotter, higher and harder with each and every action. How she tormented him with the trace off her fingers along her blood-slicked body. That subtle action as much invitation as it was simply designed to hold all off his attention, to tease with what he might have if she so chose to allow it. To wind him only tighter and tighter was a game she seemed to enjoy. One he so allowed himself to fall for over and over if only for his near inability to do otherwise. There was every chance she might deny him still, even now, she had done so before if only to watch that desire and lust and sexual tension and rage claw at him like a near feral beast let loose with the promise of freedom only to find itself caged once more. Those very reactions to her denial seeming to please her in some near sadistic way. As if she relished in so pressing him to the edge of madness again and again only to dangle him upon it, to see how long he could last upon that veritable precipice. Yet, for how long had their very relationship been just that? A dance of reward and denial. The vampiric woman so decidedly skilled in giving him just enough of whatever he desired to always desire more and yet- never fully enough to feel sated. A taste without a meal. Her attention, her affections and her desires held before him like a prize to be won. His veritable efforts to reach for them sometimes resulting in just that exact reward- or that painful punishment for even attempting. How readily that unknown so seemed to drive him for even that hint of a reward and yet how vile a double edged sword it was. A singular wrong move so prone to seeing her slash that very blade. That continuous, unrelenting dance that was her moods his pain and his passion all at once. A poison he was addicted to drinking. A game he relished and loathed and one that so seemed to press his very mind itself to the edge of something near animalistic. A place she seemed to desire to keep him. That near feral edge the vampiric man, no matter how well it hid, so surely a weapon crafted by Risque's hands alone.
Darcy wastes no time in obeying that command to rid himself of the remains off his clothing. He is not fool enough to offer her that chance to reconsider her own desires when that utter want coursed thickly within his own veins. Those boots were easily removed first, tossed to the side to join that pile of clothing and scattered paperwork neither vampire had cared enough to rescue. His belt following suit even despite that near look of consideration he so affords it in those precarious moments. That leather strap tossed across the room and out of both their reaches lest she chose to attempt to deny him the use off his hands. His thumbs hooked easily within the hem off his jeans then, catching his boxer shorts in the same motion to shuck them both from his wanting figure in a single, practised motion that saw him left bare before her. His desire for her alone so blatantly obvious now without that barrier of clothing. His figure as toned and sculpted as the day he had been turned- a man in his prime. That near military level fitness upon him eternal. It takes barely a stride or two to see him cross that room toward her again, his body near colliding with her own in that combination of blood lust and desire. His hands readily seize her hips then, sliding her feminine figure backward and onto that desk once more until her feet lift from the floor and her thighs fall open to allow him stand stand in between them. His lips find her own with that renewed, ardent vigor, crushing agianst those soft pillows with a hungry demand for that satisfaction she alone could afford him. His right hand so easily glides from her hip then, brushing across her slickened frame to wet his fingers within that crimson liquid that adorns their bodies like a canvas to the macabre. How readily his hand finds her breasts then, first one and then the other, cupping those sweet swells and tormenting those perfect peaks only to further sharpened points of attention beneath his expert touch and the roll of his thumb. Oh how well he knew her body! How well he knew just how to play it in turn to prompt each and every one of those pleasures. To coax those moans from her figure just for him like some tender music.
Tonight however that tease of his hands is little more than a distraction, a chance to lavish his affections upon every deserving part off her figure before the truth off his desire so readily sees his free hand seize those black panties at her waist and tear them from her figure entirely in a single, dominant act. Darcy was willing to wait no longer, to contain himself no longer or afford her that chance to deny him now as his hands drop suddenly to her hips once more, sliding that she-devil forward in the same commanding motion as his own hips roll to sheath himself within her in that single, hard thrust. He can hardly help that moan of pleasure that rolls thickly from within his throat then. That sound intermingling with her own growl. The feeling of being within her was by far the greatest sensation he knew. Those very waves of satisfaction and near demonic possession tearing through his figure like a violent storm. That animalistic part of the man very near at its zenith in that moment. Darcy standing upon the very peak of those heightened emotions and physical satisfactions. That territorialism and possession clamping firmly around the woman within his arms then in that height of aggressive need. Even those cats had fallen silent and still beneath that desk. Darcy so barely aware of them all the same. The vampiric man, in that precarious moment, by far the most dangerous creature in that room.
Yet he is so hardly done. That coaxing off his hands was hardly needed. Risque moving with a temptresses grace to instinctively wrap her legs about his own waist and keep him firmly within her. The silver points of those heels that still adorned her limbs momentarily cutting at his back and prompting that hiss from within the depths off his throat and yet that pleasure so far outweighs his pain in that moment. Those combined sensations a blur within his mind as he lifts her from that desk. How eagerly his body responds to that shower of heated kisses she lavishes upon his neck, those waves of pleasures ricocheting within his figure as each of those nerves seems to come to life beneath her lips. His very body so trained to respond to her every affection. That sensation off her hands within his dark locks only drives him further to sate that incredible need. That burst of vampiric speed so seeing Risque pressed suddenly agianst the side wall. The sheer force of that action prompting that groan and crumble of the wall itself. Those balustrades incapable of withstanding the sheer force off his body agianst her own. Darcy more then willing to fulfil that final command she had issued. No part of him so desiring to be gentle in that moment. Her vampiric figure an equal match for his own raw strength and capable of taking but all he had to give her. Her body so pressed beneath that wall and himself affording her a brace of sorts and yet too- so ensuring she was near incapable of escaping the very depth that position afforded him within her.
How incapable any mortal being would have been of surviving that very onslaught off deranged passion between them! Each ardent thrust off his hips offered with force enough prompt that very wall to groan- yet how eagerly she met each strike, her body grinding into and agianst him, taking but every stroke as he afforded it to her. That glorious moan was so echoed into the flesh off his neck as he found that place within that her body responded to best. Darcy so shifting his hips ever so slightly to continue to strike at it in that veritable mounting of pleasure that had so ensnared them both in that desperate need for satisfaction. How slick her body was within his hands, his own bloodied skin sliding agianst hers ina fashion near serpentine. The scent of that blood only driving him further in that cocktail of hunger and lust that appealed to every part of him. Her body was nothing but glorious agianst him. That feeling of skin on skin made hot from that blood only furthering those very sensations. His fingers gripping her firmly enough to blossom those bruises like perverse patterns upon her skin. His lips find her own once more. Stealing that taste of bloodied glory again and again. Risque meeting each kiss with a hunger all her own. Another groan of pleasure rolls from within him as his hips only quicken their pace. That pleasure continuing to mount within him. Each sound he can coax from within her nothing short of reward to his ears.
His lips pull suddenly from her own and yet this time he affords no warning. No hesitation. That action nothing short of shockingly bold to dare to mark her again, to steal another bite, and yet for that singular moment he is the dominant being within that room. Darcy so daring to dance but ever so briefly over that line to fulfil those needs he knew existed for them both. His lips are no more than a whisper upon that unmarked side of her neck, so barely gracing the surface of the paper thin skin before they abruptly bite down like a predator sizing its prey. How quickly her flesh yields to him. Those wicked fangs tearing through skin and muscle and sinew to bury themselves within the depths off her flesh. Darcy, in that moment, sheathed within her in every possible way and yet how he is rewarded for it. That taste of her blood is like molten heat to his tongue as it all but runs down his throat and he greedily tastes it, swallowing every drop he can without releasing his fangs. Her very body tightens around his own in that glorious response. Darcy, in that moment, biting down harder in sheer response to those sensations that eclipse his figure and her own passion filled cry. One hand dares to lift from her waist only to slam agianst the wall with shocking force. A desperate bid for his own control. That wall crumbling to pieces at that place he had struck before his hand returns to hold her again. His hips never breaking that near assaulting rhythm.
Her own teeth seize him then with near the same suddenness. That pain like a lance that strikes his body with horrific force. That feral growl ripped from within his throat to hiss between his teeth and lips and run hotly agianst her skin. His entire form near jerking with that action as his own vulnerable neck is all but massacred all over again. As if they might tear each other apart in that utter display of violent embrace. Her hand so readily finds his back once more, her nails racking over those hard muscles, his flesh parting beneath those silver talons. That groan of pain forced from within him then and agianst her own neck. A sound he knew she craved to hear and he was incapable of denying her all at once. How freely that blood flowed between them now. Their rhythmic figures utterly drenched within it. His own neck a veritable fountain from her ravaging abuse and yet he hardly stopped. Darcy nothing if not capable of forcing his own figure to those very limits in pursuit of what he desired. Her fangs unsheath from his own neck, those heated words uttered into that gaping wound. That very growl from within his throat the only response he can muster to those near delicious words he so takes pleasure within.
Her hand suddenly seized that chain at his neck. That very symbol off her ownership over him. The violet tug she affords it seeing his fangs to slice more deeply into her and yet too- it forces his attention upon her once more. Those mismatched eyes sliding sideways, some measure of focus returned to them within that otherwise near maddened desire to simply find that satisfaction. Her grip is almost choking as she utters that final command in a voice near hoarse. Faster. How readily his body seems to summon a final burst of energy for that finishing assault. Darcy very near about to put her through the wall with the sheer force of his actions then. That ready snarl forced from him again as her teeth find his own neck a final time. That mix of pleasure and pain insurmountable now. Each roll off his hips increased to those near vampiric levels now. That wall continuing to crumble around them. Darcy daring to move his hand once more, Risque held firmly between his own body and the wall itself. His fingers dipping between them both to add that final stimulation to her figure and assure she reached that pinnacle of pleasure. It would hardly be worth his life if she did not. Darcy capable of maintaining his own control for only as long it took to feel her body tighten around and agianst him once more in her own release. Darcy wholly content to follow her over that veritable edge. Taking that release within her with that final heavy thrust, holding himself within and agianst her with that final moan. His teeth still holding her in place. His fingers brushing agianst her waist.
The world is near....blurry in that aftermath. Yet even he is hardly immune to that cocktail of chemicals that riot through his body with sheer satisfaction and a rare feeling of contentment in that physical release. He so hardly needs to breath and yet his lungs almost relish that air all the same. That faint sheen of sweat upon his figure simple proof of just how hard he had worked in those moments. His teeth so finally release their hold upon her neck. His tongue brushing over those shockingly deep wounds now, coating them with his own saliva, coaxing that bleeding to stop and that healing to start. His hands released gently from her hips now. Darcy stepping back and away just enough to assure her feet found the ground and Risque was capable of standing. His hand lifted once more, his fingers resting beneath her chin, turning her head to the left now only to lean forward and sweep his tongue across those first, original wounds in turn. Affording them that same coating of coagulating saliva to kickstart that healing without scars and cease that bleeding. Darcy hardly expecting the same from her in turn. Though he surely consumed enough off her blood to further his own healing in turn. His lips stealing a final kiss as he lent away. Those nail marks upon his back already beginning to attempt to close. For several moments still he was merely content to rest beside her then. That exhaustion upon his figure clear. That very act so combined with that sheer loss of blood and injury so having taken its toll and yet how that feral creature within him positively purred in satisfaction in that aftermath. That lazy simper of sorts dancing upon his lips. His mismatched gaze brushing over that shattered wall behind her. He'd have that repaired before tomorrow night.
"I'll get dat fixed during da day. I got somethin' ta show ya."
How smoothly he so seemed to transition back into that near business-like demeanor once more. As if they had not just nearly torn each other apart in a bloodied dance upon the floor and walls. That inner animal so thoroughly soothed even despite how very much he near craved that rest now- and a shower. He had four games tonight. He could hardly show up to those card tables looking like this and yet- how little he fucking cared in the wake of that phenomenal sex. His own mood vastly improved as any man's so tended to be in the aftermath. Darcy shifted away from her then. Crossing that room back toward his discarded clothing only to wipe his hands on his shirt before fishing his phone from within his jeans pocket and return to Risque once more. That phone held towards her then. Those pictures on the screen for her to flick through.
"Da fella I got dem Cloud Leopard Kits for you from had one of dese as well. I dunno what it is but I like da ears on it. It aint real big. Reckon I might not mind 'avin it around if it please ya?"
His own gaze shifted briefly back to that phone and the pictures of the Lynx kitten upon it. Darcy, until that moment, having displayed a tolerance for his mistresses pets and yet never a true interest. At least, not so much as to request permission for his own. This surely as good a time as any to make use off that satisfaction upon her own figure to see if she might allow him that...pet of sorts. Darcy hardly a fool by any sense of the word. The man knowing just when and how to seek those things he desired from her in those moments her moods were likely to permit him those allowances.
d a r c y
and i'll stay alive, just to follow you home