used a scalpel on me and I associated the surgical instrument with his affection, with the happiness I’d once had.
Ian said to Ford, “Milagro doesn’t believe that others take pleasure in offering what she craves.”
The gawky young man stepped to me and put his hand on my shoulder, sending a warm fizzle through me. “Milagro, I’d reallylike it if you, um, vant to suck my blood. It would be totally awesome for someone who grew up on Bela Lugosi flicks.”
“Those are pictures on a screen,” I said. “Cuts hurt.”
“I know, but only for a second, and you’re a lot cuter than Lugosi,” he said.
Then Cricket lifted Ford’s hand and deftly slashed his palm with the scalpel, making him wince before he gave me an abashed smile.
She held Ford’s hand out to me and the cut filled with glossy red blood. “Be my guest,” the bitch said, daring me.
She had taken something from me and now the copper tang of fresh blood and the eagerness on her husband’s sweet face muddled my thinking even further.
“Please, please, please,” he said playfully.
I took Ford’s hand in both of mine and put my lips to his palm. I looked up at Ian, but I couldn’t read his expression, and then I licked Ford’s blood. It was mild, yet delectable, a healthy-young-man’s blood.
Ford was gazing down at me. I gently moved my tongue along the cut. My mind was clouded, but my body hummed with pleasure and Ford sucked in his breath and then said, “Oh, yeah, harder,” and I nipped gently to increase the blood flow.
When I saw the corner of Ian’s mouth twitch upward in a smile, I dropped Ford’s hand.
“Holy shit,” Ford said, and laughed. He glanced around at his wife, who looked pleased. “That was so cool!”
“I told you,” Cricket said. She handed the drink back to him. “Let’s find Mrs. K and have her clean that up.” She led him back toward the party.
Ian spotted the blond strand on his shirt and plucked it off, letting it drift to the floor. “You see how pleasing it is to have an eager friend. Come join the others. They’re dying to meet you.”
“‘Dying’ being the operative word. If you’d wanted me here in the first place, you would have invited me. Instead you were drinking from Cricket, and I can imagine what else you were doing, although the thought of you and her …”
He stood as close to me as he could without touching and said in a low voice, “I am not doing this for my pleasure alone, Milagro, although I’m not going to deny that, yes, I like drinking fresh, warm blood.”
“That’s not all Cricket was giving you.”
“She’s a novice putting on a show for her husband’s pleasure. For me, it was a garnish on a cocktail.”
“Emphasis on the first syllable.”
“If you want to know if I had sex with Cricket, then ask me.”
If I asked and he said yes, I wouldn’t be able to endure it. If he said no, I wouldn’t believe him. “I don’t want to know. I don’t care what you do, or who you do.”
Ian stared at me with his languid, hooded eyes and said, “You’re very conflicted about who you are, what we are, as you’ve always been. But what is amusing in a girl becomes tiresome in a woman. Grow up.”
“So says a man who spends every waking hour in pursuit of pleasure.”
“Remind me again, Milagro, what it is that you do to contribute to society, besides your decorative value, which is considerable.”
His criticism burned like salt in a wound. “I don’t do enough, and I don’t think I ever will if I keep seeing you. I compromise myself every time I’m with you, Ian.” I stopped speaking because he looked as if he was going to hit me and I realized that I wanted to brawl with him. I wanted an excuse to strike him and bite him and tear his flesh.
Ian and I stared at each other for long moments and then I saw him relax fractionally.
“My voluptuous beauty,” he said as he put his fingertips to my jaw and ran them along my throat, sliding underneath the
Ian said to Ford, “Milagro doesn’t believe that others take pleasure in offering what she craves.”
The gawky young man stepped to me and put his hand on my shoulder, sending a warm fizzle through me. “Milagro, I’d reallylike it if you, um, vant to suck my blood. It would be totally awesome for someone who grew up on Bela Lugosi flicks.”
“Those are pictures on a screen,” I said. “Cuts hurt.”
“I know, but only for a second, and you’re a lot cuter than Lugosi,” he said.
Then Cricket lifted Ford’s hand and deftly slashed his palm with the scalpel, making him wince before he gave me an abashed smile.
She held Ford’s hand out to me and the cut filled with glossy red blood. “Be my guest,” the bitch said, daring me.
She had taken something from me and now the copper tang of fresh blood and the eagerness on her husband’s sweet face muddled my thinking even further.
“Please, please, please,” he said playfully.
I took Ford’s hand in both of mine and put my lips to his palm. I looked up at Ian, but I couldn’t read his expression, and then I licked Ford’s blood. It was mild, yet delectable, a healthy-young-man’s blood.
Ford was gazing down at me. I gently moved my tongue along the cut. My mind was clouded, but my body hummed with pleasure and Ford sucked in his breath and then said, “Oh, yeah, harder,” and I nipped gently to increase the blood flow.
When I saw the corner of Ian’s mouth twitch upward in a smile, I dropped Ford’s hand.
“Holy shit,” Ford said, and laughed. He glanced around at his wife, who looked pleased. “That was so cool!”
“I told you,” Cricket said. She handed the drink back to him. “Let’s find Mrs. K and have her clean that up.” She led him back toward the party.
Ian spotted the blond strand on his shirt and plucked it off, letting it drift to the floor. “You see how pleasing it is to have an eager friend. Come join the others. They’re dying to meet you.”
“‘Dying’ being the operative word. If you’d wanted me here in the first place, you would have invited me. Instead you were drinking from Cricket, and I can imagine what else you were doing, although the thought of you and her …”
He stood as close to me as he could without touching and said in a low voice, “I am not doing this for my pleasure alone, Milagro, although I’m not going to deny that, yes, I like drinking fresh, warm blood.”
“That’s not all Cricket was giving you.”
“She’s a novice putting on a show for her husband’s pleasure. For me, it was a garnish on a cocktail.”
“Emphasis on the first syllable.”
“If you want to know if I had sex with Cricket, then ask me.”
If I asked and he said yes, I wouldn’t be able to endure it. If he said no, I wouldn’t believe him. “I don’t want to know. I don’t care what you do, or who you do.”
Ian stared at me with his languid, hooded eyes and said, “You’re very conflicted about who you are, what we are, as you’ve always been. But what is amusing in a girl becomes tiresome in a woman. Grow up.”
“So says a man who spends every waking hour in pursuit of pleasure.”
“Remind me again, Milagro, what it is that you do to contribute to society, besides your decorative value, which is considerable.”
His criticism burned like salt in a wound. “I don’t do enough, and I don’t think I ever will if I keep seeing you. I compromise myself every time I’m with you, Ian.” I stopped speaking because he looked as if he was going to hit me and I realized that I wanted to brawl with him. I wanted an excuse to strike him and bite him and tear his flesh.
Ian and I stared at each other for long moments and then I saw him relax fractionally.
“My voluptuous beauty,” he said as he put his fingertips to my jaw and ran them along my throat, sliding underneath the
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