The room was dim, lit only by the stuttering glow of a single crimson candle. He lay on the black silk sheets, shirt torn open, chest rising and falling too fast. A thin sheen of sweat glistened along the sharp line of his collarbone. His wrists were bound loosely to the headboard—not tight enough to truly restrain him, just enough to make the illusion convincing.

She straddled his hips, thighs clamping around him, the weight of her pressing his cock hard against her through the thin barrier of her panties. She leaned down slowly, letting her long dark hair drag across his skin like cool silk. Her lips brushed the frantic pulse at the base of his throat.

“You’re shaking,” she murmured, voice low and amused. “Afraid I’ll bite too hard?”

His laugh was ragged. “I’m afraid you won’t.”

Her tongue traced the salt of his skin, following the thick blue line of his jugular. She felt it jump under her mouth. Her canines—sharper than any human’s—grazed him, not breaking yet, just promising.

She rocked her hips once, grinding down deliberately, dragging a broken moan out of him. Then she lifted her head, eyes black and endless.

“Ask me,” she said.

His voice cracked on the first try. He swallowed, throat working. “Please… drink me.”

That was all she needed.

Her hand slid into his hair, fisting tight at the nape, yanking his head to the side to expose the long column of his throat completely. She struck fast—sharp, clean punctures just above the collarbone. The twin points sank deep, and he arched violently beneath her with a raw, guttural sound that was half pain, half rapture.

Hot blood flooded her mouth.

She groaned against his skin, the taste rich and copper-sweet, thick with adrenaline and lust. She swallowed greedily, long pulls that made her own body clench and shudder. Each draw pulled more of him into her—his heartbeat thundered against her tongue, frantic and huge, feeding her in frantic pulses.

He was writhing now, hips bucking up into her, cock straining, leaking through the fabric. The wet heat between her legs soaked through her panties onto him. She kept drinking, slow and deep, savoring the way his life poured down her throat, the way his moans turned into whimpers, the way his bound hands flexed uselessly against the silk.

When she finally pulled back, lips and chin smeared scarlet, two neat punctures wept sluggishly on his throat. She licked them clean, slow sweeps of her tongue, sealing the tiny wounds with a soft kiss.

He was panting, dazed, pupils blown wide.

She smiled down at him, mouth still stained red, and rocked her hips again—slow, deliberate, teasing.

“My turn to make you come while I finish what’s left,” she whispered, fangs glinting. “Unless you want me to drain you dry first…”

He shuddered beneath her, already nodding, already begging with his body before the words could form.

She lowered her mouth once more.

And drank.