Hellfire

Chapter Fifteen

July 1994

I stared at myself in my wall-length bathroom mirror a month later, July now blazing heat and unforgiving light vigorously. I wiggled my nose and turned about, observing the fresh bite on the back of my thigh, just below the curve of my bottom. It was fading, healing like the others Lucius had left littered over me - my inner thighs, my throat, my breasts, my waist. All marks of my failure of stopping our careen into a self-destructing void. But the demon that rose in Lucius was voracious, and my keen desire to drown in him and pretend for a moment he wanted me was just as savage, not caring where he fed in the heat of kisses and lust.

Our normalcy was shifting, whether we acknowledged it or not. It didn't matter whether he took me out or to his room, his feeds ended up with him baring me and me encouraging him to bite where he pleased. We had so little control at first. Wrong, we chose to have little control until it became too dangerous. Then I'd dress and leave him, ignoring how he watched me, a predatory glimmer in his gaze and his powerful body luring me back. I had to go to stay alive.

Last night hadn't been any different. I went out to drink with him, a small bar of my choice. Neither of us broke during it, Lucius simply spoke with me as if his feed wasn't looming over us, watching me attentively. We managed to get home without breaking. Lucius spoke little as he focused on driving, his eyes hard and gold, but the moment I stepped out of the car I was scooped up and flung into his room, his mouth finding mine eagerly. Not once did I try to draw that line between us I always told myself to. Instead, I was tugging his shirt open as he ripped off my clothes, his hands gliding over my skin as if he was starved of me, before he had me on the bed, his savage teeth in my skin, his cold fingers exploring me with deft, burning strokes until he broke my will and I was moaning his name.

But Lucius never let me sate myself with him as I wanted. He never let me explore him, taste him, see him in his entirety, not the way he did to me. And, when I dared to feel his thick lust straining against his trousers, he snapped his teeth and thundered a terrible, wild growl in warning, which was then followed by the roughest feed he'd given me and only calming until he'd made me orgasm three times and drinking from me until I was dizzy. He'd made it wordlessly clear I wasn't to please him or touch him like he did to me. His control would snap if I did and then we'd be fucked. So, I never pushed and that itch just grew worse and worse with each feed. His heavy, masculine arousal was a tease to me, his lust burning in every touch and kiss, his mind breathing his thoughts of what he wanted but couldn't have, blood and skin, my mouth tasting him and my touch running along his length, our bodies twined in heat and lust. But he couldn't. He'd kill me if he did. So, all he could do was devour me with his mouth, listen to my cries, drink me in with his touch, a satisfying yet frustrating exploration I could never deny him, until even that became too dangerous and we'd be forced to stop.

And then I slept, and I'd be Susan again, not Lucius' drug. I'd do my job, sit in my corner as I listened to him work, offered my opinions regardless of whether he wanted it, and argued with him over stupid things. Not once did I slip up outside the feeds. My face was expressionless and calm, even when my lips burned when he drew too close, or I spied the heated way he'd watch me sometimes, possession roaming and leaving flames to flicker in my blood.

I tore away from the mirror and jumped into the shower, soaping myself down hurriedly and trying not to think of Lucius, which was difficult whenever I spied the bites lingering over me and recalled numbly the sensual events that had left that bruise. He haunted my mind, I swore. It was frustrating.

I kept myself sane so far though. He didn't know a thing about my feelings towards him and the feeds were working. Lucius was in complete control of himself. No gold dusted his fierce eyes until I was offering my skin. His tempers were under control, his languid, cold demeanour ruling him, edged with heavy authority or warming with male amusement rather than bestial savagery. For the first time in a year, I had my Lucius back. No more dangerous tempers, over protectiveness, an inability to let me go outside or abruptly being hounded by the sensation I was going to have my throat ripped out. I was free again. Relied on. These feeds were worth it to have the old Lucius back.