Replenished

She was about to cry. I knew the confusion and frustration must have been overwhelming, but I had to impress upon her the gravity of her demands, and this seemed the best way to do it. Her face scrunched up and turned a shade of pink that was not especially attractive against her red hair. Partly so I wouldn’t see the corners of her mouth force their way downward and mangle her face any further, I moved toward her and pulled her into an embrace. I held her close while she sobbed, her head on my shoulder and mine on hers. She hugged me back, and I took happy note that instead of dropping the stake, she was clutching it in one hand while she squeezed me. We stood like that for a while, until it was no longer about emotional comfort and was for reaffirming our affection. “I need to go soon,” I said reluctantly.

“Why?”

“I can only tell you if….”

“I know, I know, if I stab you.” She didn’t start crying again, but her muscles tightened, including her staking hand. She turned her head and kissed the side of my neck, where the upper layers of skin were newly developed and sensitive to the touch. She continued kissing, feeling with her lips my throat, my jawline, my earlobe. She pulled my head forward a tiny bit to bring my ear closer to her as she whispered into it, “What did you mean I can’t kill you that way?”

“That much you can figure out. At least some of it,” I whispered back.

“This blood is yours. And it’s from a vampire.”

“Yeah.”

“But… no wounds. No marks at all.” I might not have minded the fact that her kisses were turning into nibbles—I might have thought she was doing it absent-mindedly, or deliberately for macabre emphasis—except that one of her legs had slipped between mine, and she’d begun rubbing her upper thigh against my pelvis and thus mine against hers. I kept taking small, subtle steps backward, but she followed with steps of her own until she was leaning against me with my back to the wall.

“No. No marks. This happened last night, and I think I’ve replenished the blood I lost by now.” Her rubbing was becoming a frotteuristic grinding, which I half-hoped would be defused by boring, technical words like “replenished.” But at least she was picking up on the important parts.

“If you want me to hurt you, you need to attack me first. I—I think I can do it, but… I need… motivation.” I wasn’t sure if I liked how seductively she said it.

“You promise?” My concern was that I’d hurt her if she couldn’t bring herself to retaliate, but I ended up sounding as sultry as she did.