Blood & Metal

He doesn't have to look to know she's there. It's 10 o'clock on a Thursday night. She never misses and she's never late. He feels her slide into the empty seat beside him and her scent immediately surrounds him, blocking out all others, immersing him in a heavy, fragrant cloud. She smells of cool earth, of freshly blooming green things and something much sweeter and more enticing. He spends those lonely rides home inhaling that scent, for it clings to his clothes and skin afterwards, sending echoes of the memories of their nights together flashing past his minds eye.

She doesn't speak to him at first. From the corner of his eye, he watches her signal for the bartender. She orders her usual, a double of Crown Royale on the rocks and he smiles a little to himself, glad to have finally found a woman that likes, and can handle, the good stuff.

She takes a sip and folds her arms gracefully on the edge of the bar.

"Rough night, Detective," she finally says in that beautiful voice of hers. It is low in timbre, much lower than what is considered feminine, and melodic, reminding him of soft haunting music, a tune that you can't exactly remember nor get out of your head. It moves like cool, dark silk over the warm flesh of his face and hands and in the back of his mind he can hear all those dirty little things she's whispered to him in that melodious voice.

"Eh, same old, same old," he says, matter-of-factly.

She turns slightly in her seat and he can feel her eyes on him. He doesn't have to look to know the expression on her face. She's watching him intently, her pitch-black eyes with their shimmering traces of swirling midnight blue moving lazily over his face and form.

She knows his moods, can guess in the space of a breath whether it's been a good or bad day and exactly how he's seeking to rectify it. More importantly, she can smell it on him. The smell of blood and metal means he's looking for a submissive, as if using her will help him to gain back some of the control he's felt he'd lost at some point during the day. If there is nothing more under the fresh, crisp scent of his aftershave, then things will be simple. Tonight, she can smell blood on him and she doesn't mind it one bit.

After a few moments of her silent scrutiny, he finally turns his head to look at her. She is lovely tonight, as she is every night they are together. The lilac sundress she is wearing makes her copper and cocoa skin seem to glow. The dress hugs and accentuates every line and curve of her 5'5" frame. The matching high heels add length and shape to her already toned legs. In the dim light, she appears somewhat softer than usual, though he is fully aware of the fact that she has the strength to rip out his throat in a heartbeat. But, he doesn't fear her, as most might. He knows a different side of her, a quieter, more yielding side. Her wavy ebony hair is brushed back behind her softly pointed ears and curls loosely about her shoulders.

"You look beautiful, Eve," he offers, and wonders, for the hundredth time, if 'Eve' is, in fact, her real name. He could find out, but he chooses to let this, and so many other things, remain a secret between them.

The corners of her mouth turn up into a gentle smile. Her lips are wonderfully full and luscious, tinted a light bronze. "Thank you, Clay," she says. She wants to return the compliment, but she knows he is not a man who revels in such trivial things. It, however, does not negate the fact that he is extremely handsome.

With his dark blond hair cut close on the sides and in the back, left a little longer on top, and his haunting gas flame blue eyes, his attractiveness could rival any of the beauties in her coven. He is tall and lean-muscled, quiet, severely independent, and extremely intelligent. He is somewhere in his early thirties, but appears much younger tonight in dark blue jeans and a plain white t-shirt. A battered and worn brown leather bomber jacket hangs carelessly on the back of his barstool. Eve watches the supple play of muscle in his bare forearm as he lifts his beer to take a long drink.

Only when someone hollers out his name does Eve end her inspection of him. She turns back to her drink, using the action as a mask to watch a tall brunette sauntering up behind him. She is beautiful, in a plastic-perfect way, her hair piled high atop her head in large looping curls and her skin tight red sheath dress showing off all her many assets, including the expensive jewels resting against her throat. Her skin is pale, in that ethereal way that some people find attractive. Eve smiles inwardly as the woman drapes herself over Clay. At some point this woman might have been his type. Not anymore. Now, the young detective's tastes run more toward mysterious dark-skinned lady vampires.

She's only half listening to the conversation between Clay and Ms. Plastic-perfect, inane chatter laced with sexual innuendo, more on her part than Clay's. Clay merely continues to drink his beer and only Eve notices the bored expression on his face.

"Call me, honey," coos the brunette, her hand with their blood red nails lingering on Clay's muscular arm before she spots her 'next victim' and teeters off on her dangerously high heels.

"Well, that was fun," Eve says lightly, polishing off the rest of her drink. It warms her insides. The feeling is delicious, probably the closest feeling to an actual feeding than the act itself.

"Loads," Clay returns the joke, smiling for the first time since her arrival. He likes that she doesn't get upset when other women talk to him. Perhaps, she understands her place, or more importantly, her place in his arms. Since meeting almost two months ago, he hasn't slept with anyone else. She satisfies him, at least for now.

Silence claims the space between them once more. Eve declines the bartender's offer for a second drink. She has another, more intoxicating drink in mind. Even now, she can feel her fangs beginning to lengthen in anticipation of sinking into Clay's soft flesh, his blood spurting, hot and slightly metallic, over her tongue and teeth. She can feel him shuddering against her, his climax heightened by her drinking from him.

As if reading her thoughts, Clay polishes off the rest of his beer and slides it away. From the corner of her eye, she watches him dip into his wallet for some cash. He tosses the lose bills carelessly onto the bar, covering both drinks, and stands, shrugging into his jacket. Eve follows suit and within moments they are pushing through the heavy front doors and out into the cool night air.

They don't speak as they walk, heading east toward Eve's house, one of many, but the only one of which Clay is aware. The night sky is clear and her eyes move over the starry expanse. Though the times have changed, have changed her, that beautiful sky has remained the same. She'll never tire of the night, like some of the others before her, exchanging it for one final blazing sunrise. The night is where she belongs. It is her home and has been such for nearly three whole centuries. It has been the best of lovers and has never betrayed her.

Within minutes, they reach her place, a single story structure on a quiet side street. They move through the gate and up the front walk, lined with its dainty little flowers, still silent. Eve can feel Clay at her back. She can hear his heart picking up a couple extra beats as she unlocks the door and they move into her darkened house. She understands his excitement, his need, and if her heart were still capable of beating on its own, she is certain that its rhythm would match his.

She flicks on a couple lights as they move to the living room. She has very little furniture in this place, only a single overstuffed couch and matching armchairs surrounding a wood burning fireplace. There is no television or stereo. The kitchen is stocked and the single bedroom in the back is comfortable, if only for the exact reasons she is here tonight-for Clay's comfort.

"Can I get you anything," she asks, turning to stare at him as he stands in the wide archway.

His gas flame blue eyes flit momentarily about the room before settling once more on her. He has the strange feeling that she doesn't fit here, that she seems out of place. Such sparse belongings, so little creature comforts. But, then again, he doesn't suppose vampires need all that much to get by.

"No, thank you," he replies.

She takes a few steps toward him and he is caught by the soft sway of her hips in her dress. As he has been so many times before, he is startled by the fact that her heels do not make a sound against the hard wood floor. It's as if her feet do not touch the ground.

"You're coat," she offers. She lifts her hands and slides them under his jacket. Her fingers glide smoothly over his shoulders and he stands tense as she rids him of the garment. She is standing close, so close that he can feel the rise and fall of her smallish, high, rounded breasts against his chest, can feel her hardening nipples through the thin fabric.

He closes his hands around her waist after she tosses his coat over the back of the couch and pulls her tightly against him. She lifts her murky eyes to his and he catches a hint of flickering shadow in their depths. Her body feels cool against his, against his own warmth and growing erection. She hasn't fed... yet. The thought excites him even more and he loops an arm around her, thinking of their coming exchange. The feel of her drinking from him, taking his very essence into her own body, is just as sweet as burying himself fully in the dark, wet place between her thighs. Tonight will be special.

He dips his head to capture her mouth with his own. Her lips part to allow him access and their tongues dance and shift languidly around one another. Her scent completely envelops him and the soft moan that she breathes into his mouth calls to his own need. He pulls her in tighter, closer, lifting a hand to the back of her neck so he can angle her head and plunge his tongue deeper into the warm inviting wetness of her mouth.

Eve allows him to kiss her. She kisses him back with the same passion and hunger. The warmth of his skin sends her mind reeling, sets her pussy pulsing and throbbing behind her soft cotton panties. She can taste his blood in this kiss and she fights to keep her fangs from lengthening. These first few moments are his. He will have her as he sees fit and afterward she will take what she wants, what she needs, from him.

She snakes her hands underneath his t-shirt and her fingers tease over the hardened, trembling muscles of his stomach. Her nails rake over the flesh there, sliding lower until they close over the lip of his jeans. She disengages the single button, tugs at the zipper and the sound it makes is harsh in the quiet stillness of the room. Her hand disappears inside the rough fabric and she uses her cupped palm to massage his growing length through the front of his boxers. He moans into her mouth and she applies more pressure, opening her mouth wider to his hungry assault, battling his tongue with her own. She loops her free arm around his neck, raising up a little higher on her heels, pressing her breasts more fully into him.

Clay's hips rock against her. The woman has quite a touch. In the space of a breath, she has brought him to full, aching attention. Her hand rubs along the length of his dick, sending heat spiraling through is body. He is anxious to be inside her, to feel her legs wrapped tightly around his waist and so much more. But, first, her mouth.

He pulls back, disengaging himself from her lovely ministrations. He stares at her as he struggles to catch his breath, enjoying the sight of her kiss-swollen lips. She watches him from beneath a fringe of long dark lashes, her eyes clouded with lust, and doesn't move to reach for him again, though he can tell she wants to. She waits for an order, a command. Standing there, she puts him in mind of a cat, some beautiful jungle cat laying in wait, the muscles along the length of her silken chocolate body coiled and ready. Half her face is cast in pale shadow, adding to the feral appearance.

"On your knees, sweetheart," he manages, his voice coming out on a breathy exhalation. He pulls his t-shirt over his head and notices the small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as she sinks gracefully to her knees in front of him.

Eve likes it like this, likes the way he leads and moves her. In these moments, nature leaves her, leaving behind only instinct. And although her instincts lean more toward sinking her teeth into Clay's heated flesh, that part of her which is woman and driven more by want and need and attraction temporarily overrides the rest and there is nothing else in her mind besides having this man inside her.

She sits high on her knees, licking her lips hungrily as she uses her curled fingers to tug his jeans and boxers over his hips and down his thighs. His cock springs forward and for a moment she merely stares at it. In the low light, she can clearly see the veins running along it's pale length, it's engorged head begging to be kissed, to be tasted. She can see the tiniest drop of pre-cum glistening at the tip and she lifts her eyes to Clay, gazing up the line of his body into his stormy eyes.

He stares down at her, his breathing becoming more erratic now that what he wants is so close. He sees the hunger in her pretty eyes, knows that it is a mix between simple lust and the much more powerful lust for the blood that pumps through his veins. There is danger in having her lips sealed around his dick, her fangs so close to this tender flesh, and even this excites him, for he knows she would never take from him without his permission, though he knows she is capable of the most unsavory of things. This thought sends another rush of power through him and his cock jumps excitedly.

"What are you waiting for," he says, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Eve leans forward. Her soft pink tongue snakes out to catch the small drop of liquid at the tip of his cock and she circles her lips with it, smearing his juices along her top lip, before closing them both around his head. To her delight, Clay lets out a rough grunt at the contact, his hips jerking back a little, but she doesn't release him. She adds a bit of suction before flicking the pad of her tongue over the sensitive underside.

Pleasure ripples through Clay, fanning out from Eve's hot, wet, silken mouth and into the dark place at the base of his skull. He whimpers when she pulls him deeper, her full lips sliding smoothly over his sensitive skin and he forces his eyes to remain open, to look down as her head bobs slowly on his dick. She splays her fingers over his hips, dragging her nails along his skin while she pushes more of him into her mouth.

Clay's skin is fragrant here, and tinged with the heady aroma of his blood, and Eve sucks and licks greedily at him, his answering groans spurring her further, causing her own juices to pool between her thighs. She is always amazed and intrigued at the texture of him in her mouth. The flesh of his cock is both solid and soft, hot, like warm velvet pulled taut over heated steel, and as she sucks him she imagines that same feeling inside her pussy, pushing so deep that it's just this side of pain, mixing sweetly with the pleasure.

She surprises him when she takes him into her mouth completely. He is not extremely large, but well above average, and it's at times like these, when the tip of his cock is pulsing and throbbing at the back of her throat that she is glad she has no real need to breath.

Clay is unable to keep his eyes on her, though the sight of her mouth on him, the contrast of her dark skin against his own much paler tone is thrilling, the feel of her deep-throating him is almost too much to bear. She moans around his cock filling her mouth, sending tingling vibrations through his entire body. His head rolls back and his hips push him deeper into her mouth. His jaw tenses and releases as she slurps and sucks, laps and licks, using tongue and lips to bring him higher. He can feel the first stirrings of his orgasm shuddering through his balls and up into his stomach, but he doesn't want to come just yet. He allows her to deep throat him a few more times before ordering her to stop.

Eve slides him slowly out of her mouth, staring up at him as he tries to focus on her, to get his breathing back to something near normal. She watches the rise and fall of his broad shoulders and lean-muscled chest. His blue eyes are nearly grey now and there is a hint of something dangerous floating in those beautiful orbs.

"Did you enjoy that," he asks, his voice rough.

Eve merely nods. She reaches below the hem of her dress and dips her fingers inside her soaked panties. She quivers against her own touch, biting the inside of her lower lip and flicks her clit a few times with her thumb, whimpering softly, before pulling her hand free and offering him a view of her glistening fingers. Before he can say anything more, she slides those same fingers along his cock, smearing her hot juices over his already slick flesh. She strokes him from base to tip, squeezing the head once for good measure before completely letting him go.

"I need you out of that dress, Eve," Clay says, and there is no mistaking the hunger in his words.

She moves gracefully to her feet and he watches as she simultaneously slips out of her high heels and pushes the thin straps of dress off her shoulders. She takes a few steps back, the dress falling easily away from her body, until she is leaning against the back of the couch. She is only wearing her panties now. They are cotton and match her dress perfectly.

Clay stares at her breasts as he rids himself of the remainder of his own clothing. Her tits are high and perky, the nipples like two dark drops of chocolate at their peaks and they fit into his hands perfectly when he cups them, hefts them, testing their weight before bending to take one pebbled nipple into his mouth. His tongue laves the jutting nubs and he is satisfied when the light imprint of his teeth doesn't fade immediately from the delicate surrounding flesh. His mouth suckles ravenously, circling and flicking at one and then the other. Eve moans and arches into him, her fingers curling in his short hair. He presses and kneads both breasts before slipping one hand along her stomach and then lower to cup her sex. He can feel her heat through her panties, can feel the wetness pooled there, and he grinds the heel of his hand against her swollen clit while his fingers press at her opening through the thin fabric.

"Oh, hell," she whimpers, her hips pushing against his hand.

"You like that," Clay says, pushing his fingers deeper, loving the way her pussy pulses around them, trying desperately to pull him in.

"You know I do," Eve replies. She brushes her lips over his and nips at his chin with her sharp little teeth. She wants him inside her, but doesn't want to ask. Not yet, anyway. This is his moment and she's completely willing to comply, even if her body is screaming for him to fill her up, to make her come.

"I wanna taste you, baby," Clay coos in her ear, before he pulls away and goes down on his knees before her. He tugs her panties slowly down her legs, pressing searing kisses against her hips and thighs before lifting her left leg and hooking it over his shoulder. She smells delicious, hot and earthy, and for a moment he merely stays like that, inhaling her inviting scent.

Eve is beginning to feel like a tightly coiled spring and for the first time tonight she finds herself panting. Her fingers grip the back of the couch and she stares at the top of Clay's head as he sits staring at her pussy, at the neat little thatch of tight ebony curls covering it. She lets out a heavy sigh when he slips his fingers along her dripping slit and her hips buck against him when his tongue follows suit. The hot feel of his mouth against her causes heat to stir low in her belly, a hollow aching throb that is all too familiar.