Vampires needed permission to enter, and Dracula was doing his very best to earn an invitation. The Big Bad himself, the vampire of all vampires, was on his knees on my welcome mat proving that real fangs did not leave people tongue-tied the way fake Halloween ones did. The heavy silver ring on my finger (just in case) was biting into my lip where I had my hand clamped over my mouth to muffle any of my moans from disturbing the neighbors. I was very aware that despite how late it was, anyone on my floor could turn the corner at any moment and see me pressed up against my door with my leg hooked over Dracula's shoulder, but it wasn't enough to make me stop him. It wasn't every day you got a guy with centuries of experience between your legs--I wasn't about to waste this opportunity.
Long pale fingers slid over the front of my red dress, up my belly to rest on my chest, just slightly to the left. The other hand gripping my thigh dug in hard enough to leave a bruise as he groaned into my pussy. Oh. My heartbeat. I would've said something, would've made sure this was the only part of me he wanted to eat since I definitely wasn't a blood-donation-on-a-first-date kind of girl, but there was something slick and unfamiliar coating his tongue that stole all of my common sense. Dracula had explained it over (my) dinner, how vampires stayed a secret, how they healed the puncture wounds of their fangs with a special protein-rich venom on their tongues. How it made the feeding process not completely horrifying and uncomfortable.
A gentle, temporary high,
he'd said.
It did not feel gentle on my clit.
As he toyed with it, rolling it around with the tip of his coated tongue, lapping at the hyper-sensitive underside, I fought off a fourth orgasm in a shockingly short amount of time. I was going to die. He was trying to kill me. The only reason I was even upright was because of his pale hands and his inhumanly strong shoulders holding me up. His tongue was slippery like good lube, soft like new silicone, fizzy like soda, and I was going to die. Was this how undeath happened? Pleasure that transcended mortality? I didn't want to live forever but god, did I want to feel this way for eternity.
Dracula hummed, his spread fingers flexing over my heart, and I could tell I was in for it. I gripped the back of that hand for some kind of support and tried to breathe, tried to stay calm, tried not to lose-
The fangs that had been clamped on either side of my clit pulled back, allowing all the blood he'd been summoning with his mouth to rush in. It was so acute, so perfectly on the edge of pain and pleasure as if he'd found a way to mimic the line he straddled between life and death, that I came harder than I ever had in my life. The orgasm was like a punch to the gut, driving all the air out of me with one barely-muffled shriek. My hips writhed and shook, the orgasm drawn out by the gentle, dizzy strokes of his tongue. My legs gave out and this time he let me slide down the door and collapse into his lap.
Dracula chuckled as I shook in his arms, still coming without any stimulation. My muscles cramped and tears slid down my face, dripping onto my fingers still covering my mouth. Cool fingers plucked them away as an equally cool forehead pressed to mine. The less-than-human temp had turned me off at first when he'd taken my hand on the walk back to my apartment, but now it was relief against my fevered skin. Orgasming four times in a leather trench coat and matching thigh-high boots was like getting fucked in a boiler room. I struggled out of my coat with clumsy hands and wrapped my noodly body around him to cool me off.
His kiss was strange with the fangs but not unpleasant. When he slipped his tongue between my lips, I sucked on it in gratitude for the pleasure it'd just given me until he groaned against my mouth. The slightly unearthly sound of it shivered through my body, probably some sort of survival instinct that I was too stupid to listen to. I wanted to hear more. I wanted his pleasure. I wanted to drive such a powerful creature to the brink.
"Inside," I gasped against his mouth, unsure if I meant my apartment or my body. "I want you inside."
My ears picked up the sound of papers fluttering off surfaces and my hair fluttered as I was dropped onto my bed. As I stared up into hungry red eyes, I heard my front door on the other end of the apartment click shut behind us. I didn't even feel him pick me up.
"Holy shit!"
Pearly, inhumanly white fangs flashed at me in a dangerously charming smile. "Scared?"
I narrowed my eyes. "Is that like your kink? Because I don't remember discussing safewords."
Dracula's smile transformed into something a lot less suspicious as he said, "I just like to hear your heart racing."
"Well there's no reason to be creepy about it," I told him sternly to mask the quivery
what have I gotten myself into?!
feeling. "Sexy heart racing good, scared heart racing bad."
"Forgive me," he crooned as he leveraged over me on the bed. "It won't happen again."
"It better not," I whispered as I gripped his face and pulled his lips down to mine.
We kissed until the edge of anxiety at being tossed around by something so much stronger and faster than me faded and the languid pleasure of multiple orgasms against my front door began to bubble into new hunger. Dracula half-climbed onto the bed, wedging his hips between my thighs until my legs wrapped around them. His hands mapped my body under my dress while mine slid into hair soft as smoke between my fingers. We kissed until I couldn't breathe, and then until I didn't want to ever breathe again.
My red mini-dress began to inch up my thighs and then over my hips from the way he was grinding against where I was so sensitive and well-used already, until I got fed up and started tugging it over my head. Dracula wasn't panting when he pulled back enough to give me room to fling it aside, but his laugh sounded breathless as he watched me in wonder. Which is how I realized he hadn't been breathing the whole time we were kissing. I busied myself with unhooking the many latches of my bustier-style bra so I didn't think too hard about that. As I watched, his chest only moved before he spoke.
"I love women of this age," he told me as I tossed aside my bra and arched my back prettily to let him take in his fill of me naked beneath him.
"Young? Unwrinkled? Tits still a little perky?" My tits were getting pretty close to un-perky and I was officially monitoring my hair for my first grays, but thanks to modern skincare I probably looked better than most women my age had over the centuries he'd been alive. Dead. Whatever.
"I mean this era," he said to my nipples. "This age of technology and freedom."
A cool finger alighted on my pulse in my throat, tracing the veins I knew must be under the skin he caressed down from my neck and chest until he reached my heart.
"It used to take months, even years, to get such an invitation from a woman. And even longer for her to be so forthright and confident about it."
His hand slid up to cup my left breast, a thumb swiping across my nipple, making goosebumps break out over my skin.
"Are you calling me easy?"
