Thread: Of Desire

The touches, the stirring, the clutching, the murmurs...it all made him smile so. It was reassuring, all of it, and amazingly exciting to know that he would no longer be alone, in either his nights or his days. What comforted him the most were the soft kisses pressed to the opening of his shirt, to his chest. They brought from them the most comforting smile of all. He held her closer, then, but said nothing, not right away. Upon reaching the top of that stone staircase they were on another floor, and traveling through another cold, dusty hallway. Her body felt cool, too, to the touch - her kisses didn't bear the same warmth as when he made love to her in the tent - but that was to be expected. Her skin would pale a little more, were that possible, and her body would remain ever-cold, the same as his. Still, it was amazingly comforting to feel those kisses. Perhaps even more comforting than if they were warm, each reminding him of what she now was, each reminding him that she had been sired...there was no turning back. Would she come to detest him? Who knew. But, for now, the affection was utterly soothing. He carried her perhaps more snugly to his chest because of it. They passed by several rooms to either side in the walk, and between them, vases, busts, various paintings and even a long, lavish red and gold rug down the center of the hallway. All of it was dusty, and the candles down its length were perhaps the dustiest of all. They sat there in their candelabras, but with the heightened night vision he bore, they were simply a thing of convenience, not of need. The same would come to her in due time, likely once she's properly fed. The master bedroom was large, expansive, as such was intended to be. At its center sat a four-post bed upon a lavish purple and red circular carpet, with the rest of the floor stone other than it. The bed consisted of layers of elegant silken sheets and no less than a dozen pillows, with the size of the mattress itself seemingly meant for three, four, or perhaps even five or more people, rather than two or even one. Each post was of a gorgeous gilded wood with red and purple scarves encircling all the way to their top, at which point they then crossed over from one post to the next, sheer, draping down, separating the bed from the rest of the room, yet not truly separating it at all. To one side and to far across it were beautifully carved dark wooden dressers. Between the dressers, in the corner so that the sunlight would not shine directly in, was a door that led out to a balcony. There was more, but for now he cared nothing of it. Konstantin carried his Ana, his darling, his prize over to the bed, and, standing at the foot of it, gingerly set her upon the top silk sheet, easing her down until she released him from her grip. I know that you hunger, he finally began, and what you hunger for, we will tend to later...tomorrow. We will talk, but before that we will eat. Before that, we will rest. And, he paused to breathe, considering, considering only momentarily, before we rest, I will have you again, darling Anastaysia. Was she even completely conscious yet? It mattered little. Konstantin grabbed both hands to her hips, skin that was cold yet sticky from sweat, and, stepping back, he pulled her lower half to the edge of the bed, so that her lower back hung over the edge of the wood, so that her pale backside stuck out without anything beneath it, and so that her legs reached down and touched the carpeted floor surrounding the bed awkwardly. With a grunt, more of possession than of difficulty, he flipped her body over with a powerful touch, laying her so that her belly, chest and face lay now upon the sheet. Then he stepped forward, his crotch against her backside, pushing her a step or two closer with him. He flattened her sweat-slicked thighs against the wooden edge of the bed. His hands went back to her hips. His crotch, awakened again, aroused, it now a number of hours later, craved her body once more, though now in a different way than earlier. His manhood strained against the leather. He stood snug between her cheeks, pinning her firm, the tips of her toes barely able to brush against the carpet beneath her. He needed to get it out of his system, before bed, before food, before explaining. Before anything else. He'd made love to her, and it had been beautiful, even if she had not been entirely there. ...What he'd equally desired, though, for six long days, for six long nights, was to fuck her. Quite simply, to fuck her pretty little brains out.