Page 6 of Her Vampire

“Well, I guess I’m just a regular person.”

“I’ve lived a long time, Tammy, and in my experience, there is no such thing as a regular person. And you certainly don’t seem like one.”

I feel her blush, the tempting blood filling her cheeks. I scent her nervousness in the heat of the car. I scent something else, too, deeper. Her womb is begging for me. Her womb is flooding her panties with wetness and I can smell it, every fucking drop, the juicy tanginess of it calling to me.

The road.

Focus on the road.

“What’s a long time? How old are you?”

At least a thousand years old.

“Forty,” I say, giving her the age I was when I was changed.

“That’s not old,” she laughs. “You’re only, well, double my age. Not that that means anything. Age is just a number and all that. Sorry. I’m rambling.”

I can’t help but laugh, an instinct that has been rarer and rarer in me as the years have proceeded endlessly.

“It’s fine,” I tell her. “Maybe I like it when you ramble.”

“Yeah, right.”

“You were telling me about yourself,” I say, guiding us off the bridge and deeper into the rougher part of the city, the sort of neighborhood a queen like Tammy has no business living in.

“Well, you need to be more specific,” she says with a toss of her head.

I reach over and nudge her with my hand, without thinking, the sort of flirtatious act I haven’t done since I was a mortal boy.

“Why are you so sassy, eh?”

“What, you’re saying you don’t like it?” she banters, a thrill moving through her. “Listen, Torsten, I’m just your average orphan girl. Nothing special about me. I was raised in an orphanage and I got the heck out of there as soon as I could. I got an apartment and a job and I found Chipper, and he’s the best thing that ever happened to me. There. You have Tammy Holden in her entirety. What about you? What’s your life story?”

“Oh, about the same,” I say, smirking. “Just a regular man living a regular life.”

“With a multi-billion-dollar company and a sports car who wanders the streets the week of Halloween acting all freaky-deaky?”

“Yeah,” I say, laughing deeply, hardly able to believe that the sound filling the car is coming from me. “That’s about right.”

“You’re just being mysterious for the sake of it,” she says, jabbing me in the arm.

The brief contact sends a searing arrow deep inside of me. I imagine grabbing her by the wrist and pulling her onto my lap. Pulling the car up at the side of the road and grinding against her panties, her panties which are getting really wet now.

So wet that the scent almost overpowers the general smell of her the smell that led me to her, to begin with.

I imagine licking greedily droplets of her wetness from her sex, feeling the shiver that would move through her with each lapping tongue stroke.

But would I be able to control myself?

What if the blood-lust took hold of me and I snapped?

It’s been two-hundred years since I fed, but I’ve never met anyone like Tammy before. I’ve never had to be so close to a woman wreathed in tempting scents and painted in mind-numbing curves. I need to bend her over and press my body against hers, lean over her and squeeze and palm her breasts as I slip wetly inside of her from behind.

And then I’ll hammer her, take her pussy, fucking own it.

Because she is mine.

Her body, her mind, her womb, her blood, it all belongs to me.

The vampire darkness in me roars that she’s a mortal and if I want her, I should just take her, take her right now.

But I am not that sort of vampire and I never have been.

I pull up outside her apartment building, the security light flickering in the lobby. As the light flickers on, I see graffiti on the walls and an out of order sign on the elevator.

The place reeks of filth, and a jagged pain stabs into me at the thought of Tammy staying here.

“Yep,” she says, seeing my looking. “Home sweet home, right?”

“This looks like a horrible place to live,” I mutter.

“Jeez,” she says sarcastically. “Thanks so much for that pearl of wisdom, Torsten. You know, I’ve never actually considered it from that angle before.”

I glance at her, my smirk never leaving my face, not for one damn second.

“I know you don’t want to hear that,” I murmur. “Not when you have to stay here. But I have a proposition for you. A job.”

“What kind of a job?” she asks.

“Are you interested?”

“It depends,” she says quietly. “I’m not exactly qualified for much. I graduated high school, but I’ve never been to college. I’ve worked as a waitress, cleaner, and a courier in the past, but that’s about it. Oh, and in high school, I used to work in an ice cream parlor. I was a whizz at that. So?”

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