Followed Home (Erotic Tale of a Vampire) by Audrey Grace Page B
Authors: Audrey Grace
Tags: Erotic Tale of a Vampire
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purple bra.
Her heart is beating furiously, as if both their lives depended on it.
He withdraws a little, and their eyes meet again. She feels a comfort wash over her. Her muscles relax a little. Her breathing slows a little. She’s not losing any of the pressure of arousal, but the interference of fear and anxiety are fading. Their fingers no longer poke into her consciousness.
She knows, somehow, that he will not hurt her. She tilts her head to one side, showing her neck to him, encouraging him. He reads her eyes carefully, more words spoken through a look than a mouth could ever hope to churn out. His eyes twinkle and he lowers his mouth once again to her neck. He bites slowly, his fangs sliding into her skin with ease, as if they were lubricated, as if there were already holes there. He groans as her blood gushes into his mouth. He heaves and pants as if he is drinking the very elixir of life itself.
He slowly draws back, and two trickles of blood stream down her neck. They stop shortly, the coagulates in his saliva performing their function. He takes off his cape and lays it down on the grassy ground, and gestures at her to lie down, to get comfortable. She obliges. She lies on it, and touches it with her fingers, marveling at the soft and velvety feel against her skin. But it is not enough. She wants his fingers on her skin again. She wants to feel close to him again. She wants to feel that sting on her neck again.
Her world is colored by him. Every sense seems to gravitate toward him. She cannot feel the temperature but that of his body. She cannot smell a scent but that of his body. She cannot see but for when he is in her sight.
He kneels down beside her, and she launches forward to run her hands down his silk shirt, feeling the hard bumps of muscle underneath. She pants, wanting, and brings her face up to nuzzle beneath his chin, kissing his neck lightly, tenderly. He seems surprised by it, but embraces her anyway. His body seems to be filled with a relief, as if she is his first accepting victim, his first real conquer.
She feels his hands at her back, fiddling with the clasp to her bra. Even the immortal vampire still had trouble, and she grinned at the thought. She took her hands from his chest and unhooked her bra herself, and as it fell off her, her breasts bounced free, glorious and generous, round and clinging tightly to her chest. Her nipples are hard, and in her cleavage is beaded sweat. It glistens wonderfully, like speckled stone.
He runs his hands over her breasts softly, not yet squeezing, not yet kneading. She gasps at the coldness of his hands, and wonders briefly if this creature is dead or alive. But it is quickly obvious that he is alive when she sees his trousers tented, and bites her lip, thinking of what his freed, uncurled phallus would look like.
His hands once again fiddle with her dress, and she helps him remove it slowly off her smooth legs. She slips them over her heels, and all she is wearing are her panties. He seems to devour her with his eyes, take in the sight as if it is something to die for. Something to turn for. His eyes once again meet hers, and in them is awe. She gestures downward at her panties, and he nods hungrily. She smiles again, removing them slowly, baring herself to him, her complete nudity, her most private self.
He gazes at her as if she is the most beautiful thing in the world. She thinks she feels the touch of vanity again, but she does not care. She wants him, and when she opens her legs to him, the scent of her arousal drifts slowly upward between them. The sheen of her arousal shines vertically in the darkness.
The vampire runs his hands up and down her body, feeling her soft skin, feeling the hard muscle beneath. He seems mildly amused by her fitness, and looks at her quizzically for a moment, as if she is something new.
She marvels at his fluid movement, as if he has had eons of practice. She watches as his hands work their way beneath the curve of
Her heart is beating furiously, as if both their lives depended on it.
He withdraws a little, and their eyes meet again. She feels a comfort wash over her. Her muscles relax a little. Her breathing slows a little. She’s not losing any of the pressure of arousal, but the interference of fear and anxiety are fading. Their fingers no longer poke into her consciousness.
She knows, somehow, that he will not hurt her. She tilts her head to one side, showing her neck to him, encouraging him. He reads her eyes carefully, more words spoken through a look than a mouth could ever hope to churn out. His eyes twinkle and he lowers his mouth once again to her neck. He bites slowly, his fangs sliding into her skin with ease, as if they were lubricated, as if there were already holes there. He groans as her blood gushes into his mouth. He heaves and pants as if he is drinking the very elixir of life itself.
He slowly draws back, and two trickles of blood stream down her neck. They stop shortly, the coagulates in his saliva performing their function. He takes off his cape and lays it down on the grassy ground, and gestures at her to lie down, to get comfortable. She obliges. She lies on it, and touches it with her fingers, marveling at the soft and velvety feel against her skin. But it is not enough. She wants his fingers on her skin again. She wants to feel close to him again. She wants to feel that sting on her neck again.
Her world is colored by him. Every sense seems to gravitate toward him. She cannot feel the temperature but that of his body. She cannot smell a scent but that of his body. She cannot see but for when he is in her sight.
He kneels down beside her, and she launches forward to run her hands down his silk shirt, feeling the hard bumps of muscle underneath. She pants, wanting, and brings her face up to nuzzle beneath his chin, kissing his neck lightly, tenderly. He seems surprised by it, but embraces her anyway. His body seems to be filled with a relief, as if she is his first accepting victim, his first real conquer.
She feels his hands at her back, fiddling with the clasp to her bra. Even the immortal vampire still had trouble, and she grinned at the thought. She took her hands from his chest and unhooked her bra herself, and as it fell off her, her breasts bounced free, glorious and generous, round and clinging tightly to her chest. Her nipples are hard, and in her cleavage is beaded sweat. It glistens wonderfully, like speckled stone.
He runs his hands over her breasts softly, not yet squeezing, not yet kneading. She gasps at the coldness of his hands, and wonders briefly if this creature is dead or alive. But it is quickly obvious that he is alive when she sees his trousers tented, and bites her lip, thinking of what his freed, uncurled phallus would look like.
His hands once again fiddle with her dress, and she helps him remove it slowly off her smooth legs. She slips them over her heels, and all she is wearing are her panties. He seems to devour her with his eyes, take in the sight as if it is something to die for. Something to turn for. His eyes once again meet hers, and in them is awe. She gestures downward at her panties, and he nods hungrily. She smiles again, removing them slowly, baring herself to him, her complete nudity, her most private self.
He gazes at her as if she is the most beautiful thing in the world. She thinks she feels the touch of vanity again, but she does not care. She wants him, and when she opens her legs to him, the scent of her arousal drifts slowly upward between them. The sheen of her arousal shines vertically in the darkness.
The vampire runs his hands up and down her body, feeling her soft skin, feeling the hard muscle beneath. He seems mildly amused by her fitness, and looks at her quizzically for a moment, as if she is something new.
She marvels at his fluid movement, as if he has had eons of practice. She watches as his hands work their way beneath the curve of
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