Runaway Ch. 04bywhite_dove©
Anabelle floated into consciousness on her cloud-pillow. When she opened her eyes this time, she was alone. She breathed a sigh of relief and sat up, giving the chamber a quick sweep with her eyes to confirm so.
She was still naked from her romp with Nathaniel, and silently cursed herself for allowing him to so easily reawaken her wanton desires.
The distinct aroma of their lovemaking assailed her nose, and she resolved that she needed to wash before she set about anything else. She looked down at the torn remains of the negligee on the floor, before sighing and padding her way to the washroom unclothed.
She noticed on her way that sitting on a little wooden stool was a simple blue lace dress, black hose and black slippers. The dress was the exact same shade as her eyes, and she knew it was Byron who had so meticulously folded these garments for her. Nathaniel never gave much thought to anyone's attire unless he would soon be ripping it off them.
She closed the washroom door and locked it lest one of them make an unexpected appearance, padding across the stone floor to the huge bathing pool and beginning to fill it with water. It was carved into the stone ground, and large enough for ten large men. There had been many a time it had been used for other purposes than just bathing.
Anabelle sighed as the hot steam rose up from the pool, letting it assail her bare skin and soothe her. She stopped the taps and sank into the hot pool, letting her body relax in the liquid heat for a few moments. She let her legs and hips float to the surface, her toes and breasts poking out from the water.
She drew in a deep breath, and then ducked under the water. She opened her eyes once she was below, staring at the peaceful blur of colour above her, light filtering down until it touched her skin. She considered staying down there until her lungs burned and she swam in darkness. But she knew they were far too close for her to attempt such a thing, for they would surely revive her.
Instead, she slowly let herself float to the surface, before settling on the little step in the pool as the water ran in rivulets down her body. She then set about the lengthy chore of washing her hair. Once it was clean, she soaped herself with the jasmine-scented body-wash sitting by the side of the pool.
She sank again into the heat of the water – now soapy and sweet-smelling – and let herself relax in its silky warmth. Her mind wandered to another time..
Anabelle looked about her fervently as she walked home. She was risking a lot by being out after dark, but it couldn't be helped. She had had to stay back after class, all for not having a simple piece of homework completed. Winter had begun, and the days were much shorter. Dusk was settling in and she knew she would soon be swamped in darkness.
She wrapped her long dark coat about herself tighter, hoping she wouldn't run into either of her dark-haired assailants. The sensations they wrought in her inexperienced body were alien and confusing to her. The way he had touched her in her bed...
Anabelle shivered and walked faster, almost jogging in her bid to escape the darkness.
Byron watched his charge with growing arousal as she hurried along the dark streets, her dark curls tossing in the wind about her pale, heart-shaped face. The thick overcoat she wore belted tightly at her tiny waist, and made him even more curious as to what lay beneath it. Of course, he knew in part, having cupped her delicious mounds once before, and watched her pale cheeks flush with pleasure as he stroked her core..
Byron growled. He has been waiting far too long to fully explore that facet of Anabelle's young, lithe little body. He knew from the moment he saw her that he had to have her. He could tell that she was most certainly a virgin, and he felt a deep, male need to claim her maidenhead, and have her writhing beneath him in pleasure.
It was such a rare thing in the current century to find a woman of such exceptional beauty who was yet untouched. He had told Nathaniel of his find immediately, of course. The young man had gone the next night to see if she was as desirable as Byron claimed. He smirked for a moment; he had sired Nathaniel centuries ago and yet still thought of him as a 'young man'. But he supposed Nathaniel was young, when compared to his own millennia of experience.
Nathaniel had returned to him with a fire in his eyes, saying that he had to have her, else he would surely go insane. This had irked Byron for a moment or two, before he forced himself to relax. When it came to Nathaniel, he wasn't as guarded with his possessions. His fellow vampire was like a son, brother, and best friend to him all rolled into one. The very reason he had sired him was the rebellious, masculine gleam he had seen in his eye which had reminded him so much of himself in his youth.
Of course, he could have refused him on the grounds that he had found, and therefore claimed her. But he knew the lustful fire in Nathaniel's eyes must mirror his own. He imagined anyone refusing him access to his Anabelle, and nearly let out a roar of pure rage. He knew he could not put his companion through such agony; it would tear them apart. So he had conceded to share his prize with Nathaniel on one condition; that he would claim her maidenhead.
Now, tonight, he would finally have her. He had waited long enough for an opportunity to snatch her away. Of course, he could have easily broken down the walls of her flimsy home, thrown her over his shoulder and disappeared into the night. But Byron was a man of subtlety; he had never enjoyed making a scene.
His body tensed in lustful anticipation as she drew nearer to where he was concealed in the trees.
Anabelle shrieked in fright when a tall, familiar silhouette stepped from the trees in front of her. She immediately turned on her heel and ran in the other direction. Her surprise screamed from her lips when he appeared in front of her again, holding her firmly by the shoulders.
"What do you want from me?" she asked, too frightened to move.
"Everything," Byron whispered in a low, husky voice, bringing his lips down to hers.
She struggled in his arms, even as his soft lips forced hers apart and his slippery tongue invaded her mouth again, setting her body on fire so much that she had to force down a moan.
"Ah, don't fight me, sweetling," he said against her lips, "I've come to take you from this place you so despise."
"Take me?" Anabelle asked, in shock.
"Mm," he growled, "In more ways than one."
Even Anabelle, naïve to the ways between a man and a woman, knew what that meant. She struggled in earnest, and managed to slip free of his crushing grip.
She ran senselessly down the road, not thinking to hammer on a door for help. A part of her knew that he had let her slip free, that he was enjoying hunting her. But in her terror, she did not question it, and simply ran.
It was some minutes before she felt him behind her. And then she felt strong hands at her waist, and she was being lifted into the air.
She screamed as she rose higher and higher into the sky in Byron's arms, the wind rushing past them. Soon the houses below were merely tiny dots of light. She gasped for breath, exhausted from her frenzied running, and realising quickly that the air up here was thinner.
Byron growled at her ear as he held her terrified body against his. She could feel his erection pressed into the small of her back, and she would have shivered – half in fear, half in anticipation – had she not been hundreds of feet above the ground.
"How are you doing this?" she managed to gasp out.
"Doing what?" he asked softly, "This?" he said, and moved her body away from his so that the only thing stopping her from plummeting to the ground were his hands at her waist.
Anabelle screamed in earnest.
"Please, Byron! Please!"
"Please don't let me fall!"
"Ah, so now you wish for me to hold you, to protect you?"
"Yes!" she sobbed in defeat.
He said nothing, but changed his grip on her waist so that he could spin her around to face him. His strength amazed her; no ordinary man could possibly have held her so firmly and with such little effort.
Byron pulled her into his arms in a tight grip and crushed his lips to hers. Anabelle didn't fight him, but clung to the lapel of his jacket, remaining passive to his desires lest he let her fall.
Suddenly his lips left hers and she whimpered in fear. Did he find her displeasing? Would he now let her fall to her doom out of boredom?
She felt relief when his lips graced her neck, planting little kisses along the pale flesh, slowly drawing her neck into a long arch so he could better access it.
Anabelle felt confused when she felt something sharp at her neck. Why would he bite her? She screeched in a moment's pain when she felt sharp teeth tearing into her neck, drawing a gush of blood to his lips. But soon it was eclipsed with overwhelming pleasure, tenfold the pleasure he had wrought in her unwilling body with his kisses and intimate caresses.
Byron continued to drink from her as she drowned in pleasure, soon blackness surrounded her vision and she slipped into unconsciousness.
When she next awoke that night it was to a pleasant warmth upon her skin. Her brow furrowed slightly as her still-fuzzy mind tried to place the source of the warmth and familiar crackling noise without opening her eyes. She took a deep breath in and inhaled the familiar, smoky scent of burning wood. It was only then that she opened her blurry eyes to see a fireplace burning pleasantly a few feet away.
She lay on her side, on what appeared to be a very large, very soft and comfortable bed. She was not quite ready to sit up and wonder where she was or how she came to be here. Her mind was still foggy and the fire was a pleasant distraction. She breathed in deeply again and sighed out the smoky air.
"Awake at last, my love?"
Anabelle jerked up into a sitting position when she heard his deep, baritone voice somewhere close. It was only then that she realised she was in an enormous bedchamber, in a bed big enough for ten. She saw Byron standing only a few feet away from the foot of the bed, and all the memories came rushing back. She sucked in another deep breath, this time in fear.
He was wearing nothing but a black, silk robe, and was staring at her with a hunger in his eyes that chilled her to the bone. This was the first time she had had opportunity to look at him, to really look at him.
He was of an enormous stature, easily standing at six and a half feet tall. His shoulders were broad and powerful-looking, his skin even more pale than her own porcelain complexion. Everything about him exuded power, and a grace that seemed almost uncharacteristic in such a large man.
Anabelle looked down and realised that her clothes were gone, and in their place was a tiny, white slip of a nightgown. She brought her hand to her neck, and with a little gasp felt the tiny bumps that were evidence of what she thought she had dreamed.
"What have you done to me?"
She swallowed hard, and looked up to see him begin to take slow, torturous steps towards the bed.
"I fed from you," he said softly, "And I intend to do so again, many more times to come. Your blood is the sweetest I have ever sampled. I can only imagine what the rest of you tastes like."
"My blood? You fed from me?"
Byron gave a little chuckle as he neared the bed and settled his weight on the edge of it, eyes still boring intensely into her's.
"Surely I do not need to explain this to you, sweet Anabelle? Surely, you have figured out what I am?" He reached out one hand and lifted a lock of her auburn hair, leaning forward and inhaling deeply of it. He sighed.
"So sweet. However have I found such a siren?"
She shivered, flicking her eyes to the double doors about ten yards from the foot of the bed. If she could only disadvantage him for a few moments..
She gasped as she felt strong hands at her waist, drawing her little body from under the sheets and almost directly under his imposing torso as he leant onto the bed. As he brought his lips to hers, she turned her face away, thinking desperately of a way to stall him.
"Wh-why am I here?" she trembled as he nipped along her jaw line. She inhaled the heady scent of his cologne, and something underneath it that was distinctly male. His size and strength made her wonder if it would even be possible to elude him.
"I've claimed you," he said, planting lazy kisses down her neck towards her collarbone, "You now belong to me, to do with exactly as I please."
Her body immediately tensed, which did not go unnoticed by him.
"Don't bother trying to fight me," he warned, "I assure you; you will enjoy this whether you want to or not."
The slip she was dressed in was riding dangerously high up her thighs. Byron stroked the exposed, white flesh, giving a little growl of appreciation. His hand rode higher, disappearing beneath the white silk to knead her bottom.
Anabelle lifted her legs a little, and in response felt him smile against her skin.
"Good girl," he said, lifting his lips from her neck to look down into her wide blue eyes.
It was the moment she had been waiting for. With the little room this afforded her, Anabelle kicked both of her feet out to kick him hard in the stomach. Without stopping to see the effect of her blow, she scampered out from beneath him in the bed and ran as fast as she could towards the door.
She heard a roar of pain, and then of rage. Just as she was about to reach the door she felt him behind her, and she was lifted, anchored against his chest and being carried back towards the bed.
She screamed as he carried her, tearing at the arms that held her, legs kicking in the air.
He dumped her unceremoniously onto the covers, and immediately followed her. Before she had a chance to move, he was on top of her, straddling her hips, and holding one wrist in each hand. She was effectively helpless; his grip like iron, yet still she struggled and squirmed in his arms.
"I warned you not to fight me," he growled dangerously, eyes boring into her's. He lifted her wrists above her head, and her eyes widened and dread filled her when she felt cold metal enclose them.
When he released her wrists, she looked up at the headboard to see them safely secured in metal restraints, rendering her now completely helpless to his desires.
"No!" she screamed in horror.
Byron's smile was terrifying as he gazed down at her, his own robe in a disarray from their struggle.
He silenced her protests with a kiss, his lips branding hers, tongue plunging forcefully into the wet heat of her mouth. His hands wandered to her breasts, still encased in the delightful silk of the white nightdress. He pinched one nipple through the silk, feeling it pucker and harden beneath his ministrations. Impatient with the clothing, he ripped it down the front, baring her full breasts to his heated gaze.
He immediately attacked them, his mouth encircling one hardened nub and suckling on the flesh while one hand mauled the other.
Anabelle gasped at the pleasure he wrought in her untutored body. Every fibre in her being told her to fight off this demon before he surely ruined her. But his kisses and caresses sent fire straight to her core, and it was all she could do to stifle the moans that almost bubbled from her lips.
Byron's other hand travelled lower, at first returning to cup and squeeze her bottom. Anabelle shivered to feel him so close to the source of all of this unwanted arousal. His hand moved to her centre, using a single finger to draw her apart, finding her body slick with arousal.
"Oh!" she gasped.
Byron chuckled as he slowly, tortuously teased her with his fingers.
"Did I not say you would enjoy it?"
Anabelle said nothing, her eyes squeezed tight.
They flew open when she felt him slip one finger inside her.
Byron growled at the feel of her, tight like a vice around just one of his fingers. If he had any doubts she was a virgin, they were now gone. He considered adding another finger but decided she was not yet ready for that, it would surely hurt her.
Instead, he moved his finger slowly in and out of her slick heat, adding his thumb to pleasure her swollen nub.
Anabelle moaned, hips rocking in time with Byron's wicked fingers. Her wrists strained in their restraints as she thrashed in the sheets beneath him.
Byron watched his wanton little virgin as he gave her untried body its first real pleasure. Once he was slipping in and out of her easily, he added another finger, continuing to stroke her nub as she cried out, feeling the strain of another digit in her tight canal.
"Oh, God" she moaned, as his fingers brought her closer to some unknown peak.
"That's it," he whispered in her ear, "Ride my hand."
As her breathy moans filled his ears and her white flesh became flushed pink with a slight sheen of sweat, Byron could not resist having a taste of her.
Anabelle cried out when she felt his fingers leave her, but only a moment later felt his warm breath where they had been. He looked up at her greedily from between her legs. His hands gripped her bottom, and kept her trembling thighs spread even as she sought to close them.
She shut her eyes when she felt his tongue lap out and taste her. He licked and suckled, exploring every part of her pink flesh before plunging his tongue deep inside of her.
Anabelle cried out, hips bucking off the bed when she felt his tongue inside her, the intimacy of the gesture coupled with the pleasure almost more than she could bear. He continued to plunge his tongue in and out of her as she moaned, the sensations increasing with every stroke. Then his fingers returned to replace his tongue, and instead he suckled her swollen pleasure nub, alternately lapping at it feverishly and stroking it boldly.
Anabelle didn't know how much more she could take, but Byron seemed to be tuned to her body's every response. He increased his pace, fingers plunging in and out of her, and tongue affording her no mercy.
"Oh!" she cried as the first waves crashed through her. She screamed, hips bucking off the bed as a zenith of pleasure ripped through her very being, filling her from top to toe, but none so much as the apex between her thighs.
When she finally came down, still breathing heavily, limbs trembling and skin flushed, she realised that the heat and firm grip of Byron's body had left her. Still shackled to the headboard, she used her arms to pull herself up enough to see him standing at the foot of the bed, eyes still firmly fixed on her.
As she looked at him in silence, his hands slowly undid the tie of his robe. He shrugged out of the black material, letting it shimmer past the stark contrast of his alabaster skin, falling into a pretty heap at his feet.
She swallowed hard, not oblivious to the muscle rippling under his white flesh. Not so much that he was overly defined, but enough to show that he was a powerful man. Her gaze dropped below his waist and she gasped at the sight of the enormous, pink member standing out firmly from its nest of black hair. It was true that Anabelle knew little about the goings-on between a man and woman, but even she knew what that thing was for, and she knew instinctively that he would not be able to fit it inside of her without a large amount of pain.
Her eyes flew up to his, and she saw, to her dismay, that they stilled burned into her with a lustful fire. Her fear, which had been momentarily forgotten under his bold caresses, returned with a vengeance as he crawled back onto the bed and towards her. She closed her legs tightly in fear as he settled on top of her again, his flesh moulding itself into the generous curves of her body.