Answer his question honestly

Marco's House (First House), Breedmore Lane, at 8:17 PM on Friday October 31, 2024.

"Y-yes," I say, my voice coming out breathy and small. "First time. I just turned eighteen." I lift the mug to my lips and take another long sip. The hot chocolate is impossibly good — thick and velvety on my tongue, with a warmth that spreads through my chest and then lower, settling between my hips like a slow-burning ember. My thighs press together involuntarily.

Marco's hand tightens slightly on my knee. His thumb traces a slow circle on the inside of my thigh, just above where my fishnet stockings end and bare skin begins. The touch sends little sparks racing up my leg.

"Eighteen," he repeats, and there's something in his voice — a low vibration, almost a growl — that makes my pussy clench. "And you came to Breedmore Lane all by yourself? Brave girl."

His hand slides an inch higher. I should move it. I should say something. But the warmth from the chocolate is pooling in my belly now, making everything feel soft and heavy and good. My nipples are so hard they ache against the thin red fabric, and I can feel the dampness beginning to gather in my thong.

"I can smell you, you know," Marco murmurs, leaning closer. His breath is hot against my ear, and I catch a scent off him — woodsmoke and something wild, animal. "Sweet little virgin. You're already getting wet, aren't you?"

I gasp, my cheeks burning crimson. "I — that's —"

"Shh." His other hand comes up to brush a strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering against my neck. "Nothing to be embarrassed about. It's Halloween. This is what happens on this street." His thumb presses into the soft flesh of my inner thigh and I feel my legs part slightly — just a fraction — without me telling them to. "Let me take care of you, Bambi. Let me give you your treat."

He sets my mug aside on the coffee table and then his hand is cupping my jaw, tilting my face up toward his. His eyes have changed — the warm brown is darker now, almost amber, with pupils that have stretched slightly oval. His canines look longer than they did a moment ago. He's so close I can feel the heat pouring off him like a furnace.

"I'm going to kiss you now," he says, and it's not a question. "And then I'm going to put my mouth on every inch of this gorgeous little body until you're shaking and begging. Would you like that?"

His thumb strokes my lower lip, pressing gently, and I feel my mouth fall open. The aphrodisiac in the chocolate is humming through my veins, making my skin feel electric, making my clit throb with every heartbeat. I'm trembling — not from cold anymore, but from a desperate, aching need I've never felt before in my life.

Marco waits. His amber eyes bore into mine, patient and hungry, his thumb still resting on my swollen lower lip. The question hangs between us, heavy with promise and danger.