by Megan P Haskell
He approached from behind, sliding one hand along her long, exposed white neck. The skin beneath his fingers shivered as the tiny hairs on the back of her neck lifted. He loved the first seduction of the last fatal kiss.
“Mmm, that feels nice,” she whispered, her sultry tone asking to be caressed.
She had no idea what he really was. He had picked her up in an exclusive and expensive bar downtown. She had eyed him from across the room, as they all were wont to do, but it was her neck that had made his final decision. He couldn't resist the translucent skin that gently pulsed in long blue lines beneath the surface. They had talked. She was a business woman, far away from home, looking for a little adventure. He had invited her home with him. No woman had ever refused.
“Would you like some dessert? I have some wonderful imported chocolates that would taste lovely with a little red wine,” he whispered into her ear. The chill that shivered down her spine was tantalizing. He almost took her then and there, but decided to make the evening last. At least a little while longer.
“That would be lovely,” she replied turning into his arms.
He let his hands slide down her shoulders, then quickly left the room, moving to the kitchen where he stored his bait. He had no real food, just dessert, liquor and wine. It was all he ever needed.
He pulled the red box of chocolates from the cabinet, selecting a few choice pieces and arranging them artfully on a plate. He poured what was rumored to be a fantastic wine into his favorite crystal goblet. It was thick and had a deep red color that looked remarkably like blood. He enjoyed the irony with every pour. He carried the bait back into the living room.
“Here we are,” he said, offering the plate and the goblet.
“Aren't you going to have any wine?” the woman inquired. “I hate to be the only one drinking.”
“Never mind that,” he replied. “Try the wine with the chocolates. They're truly divine.”
The woman took the plate from him and they sat on the burgundy couch, knees touching lightly. She picked up one of the dark brown morsels and placed it on her tongue. Her eyes closed in pleasure. He let his eyes trail down her light blue dress shirt and black pencil skirt. So proper on the outside, yet clearly so deviant on the inside.
“Here, let me give you a piece,” she said, a chocolate held out toward him.
“No, no. They are all for you, my dear.”
She frowned. “Please, let me feed you.” She leaned forward, her blouse framing that lovely neck and opening wider across the bust. No matter how hard he tried to look away, his eyes were drawn back to that little pulse point. He was hungry. He closed his eyes, inhaling her scent but keeping his desires in check.
“Don't worry. You'll feed me a little later, my darling.”
“I don't think so.”
His eyes flew open. Her voice had changed: no longer warm and sultry, it was cold and hard. But it was the wooden stake that rested between his ribs that was the real surprise. She had much better bait than he did.