Silver lights shining down

Anna and I hungrily made out curled up on the couch for a few minutes before coming up for air. She pulled gently away from me, resting her palm against my chest, and stared into my eyes intently. “I want you to bite me.”

Now I never was into the whole vampire scene myself, at least not as a lifestyle choice (Remind me to tell you about Matt sometime... we dropped out of Pitt together. And this shit was decades before Twilight ruined vampires, but pretty close to when Coppola and Gary Oldman made them sexy) but when an attractive young lady asks you to nibble on her neck, you don’t turn her down. So I didn’t.

My crooked grin creased my face as I matched her gaze with equal intensity, looking down over the rims of my round glasses. I slowly licked my lips and brushed back the hair from the left side of her neck, leaning in close. I breathed in her perfume, my own breath warm from the whiskey, as my lips hovered over her carotid. Coty, Vanilla Fields (Yes I can recognize a perfume by smell and/or taste. I’m a very olfactory person. The nose knows. I can also reverse engineer food by the taste). The tip of my tongue darted out, tasting her and I was rewarded by another tremor running down her spine. Encouraged, I advanced further, brushing my lips over her neck, exhaling over the trail of saliva my sampling had left behind, and finally settling in for an open mouthed kiss, my mouth running parallel to her artery. Again I tasted, and deciding I enjoyed the flavor kissed and sucked for a moment, feeling her tense and shiver against me. Opening my mouth further, I slowly, gently, clamped my teeth down around her pulsing blood vessel, feeling and tasting her pulse.

It was as if someone had flipped a switch inside. I felt her heart pumping faster through my mouth, her hand clawed at my chest, gripped at my tie, her other arm draped around my neck, holding me close, or possibly hanging on for dear life, she moaned low in her throat, vibrating against my lips, and her whole body spasmed in the tell tale signs of what we used to call a blinkie (a miniature orgasm).

I pulled back letting my mouth relax into its habitual smirk and leaned all the way back to rest my head against the back of the couch, while she snuggled in kitten-like against my chest. “I take it you enjoyed that,” I whispered softly.

“Bozhe ty moy, yes!” She rasped our as I finally let my eyes drift open.

Only to see Carrie and Steve standing at the gate to the cage. And Carrie’s eyes were locked on us, a slight flush reddening her pale features.