A/N: **This is just a short “intermission”…hope you enjoy!**
Three weak, thoroughly exhausted whores, one hour and twenty-five minutes later, Andre re-entered his quarters. Two strides and one whiff into his den, and he knew all his efforts had been for naught.
He quickly entered his secure chambers and, ripping his clothes off en route, headed straight for the shower. The stench of the donor whores wasn’t that rancid… until he caught another whiff of Emma.
After nearly draining two of the donors, and fucking all three into exhaustion, he should have been much calmer, much more focused. But no. Of course not. He still felt like he hadn’t had a decent fuck in a century.
After scrubbing himself nearly raw under the hottest water he could stand, Andre still felt unclean. He didn’t understand this novel feeling. He’d only made one of the sluts bleed, and hell, he knew for a fact she liked pain. He should know; he was the one who had trained her.
It took him a while, but he finally found his silk pajamas. He never wore the damn things because he always, without fail, slept alone. Besides a few irrelevant servants performing their cleaning duties, Emma was the first human to ever step foot in his apartments.
Wait – she was employed by his Maker, wasn’t she, so…ok, she was a servant, too, so she didn’t count.
Somewhat satisfied with his reasoning, Andre donned the azure silk pajama set given to him by his Maker as a joke. He wasn’t surprised at how well they fit, but he was pleased by their silken softness. It reminded him of Emma’s cheek.
Although he’d drank so much blood that his skin appeared faintly healthy, he still heated up a bottle and guzzled it down. He could have sworn the swill almost tasted better than the donors, and they were chosen as much for their taste as their erotic skills.
He glared at the door to his secure room. She was out there, in the bed where he normally slept, in between his sheets, her dark hair probably fanned across his pillows. He couldn’t remember the last human he had observed during their sleep.
His hand was on the doorknob before he even realized he had moved. Perhaps he should check on her; she was in his care after all. Didn’t humans move in their sleep? What if her covers had slipped?
That was all it took to propel him out of his room, through the den, and into his regular bedroom.
On silent feet he slowly approached the bed. Sure enough, she had kicked free of her coverings, and, sure enough, her dark hair was fanned out behind her. Curled up on her side, her breath smooth and even, she was out cold.
Although he could detect that she had showered, her scent still hit him like a punch to his gut.
Impossibly she looked even younger all curled up in her sleep. Her face was flushed and relaxed, and one of her hands rested near the second pillow…right where his heart would be if he were resting with…
She was wearing the shirt he’d selected for her, and it was over-large for her smaller frame. Given the way she was positioned, and the fact she had obviously moved around enough for the shirt to ride up, he could tell she wasn’t wearing any underwear. His already-unsatisfied cock sprang back to life with a mocking throb. Her sweet, curvy ass was even more faultless when freed from unnecessary cloth.
She didn’t seem the kind to go without proper under-clothing, though, so what had happened to her undergarments? A quick perusal through the bathroom showed that the panties and bra in question were hung up and slowly drying. He snickered. He ought to have known she would be the type to attend to such things.
He picked up one of her towels hung to dry near the shower and inhaled deeply. Her light, feminine scent permeated the cloth. He hung the towel back up and, completely without thought, brought her drying panties to his nose. His fangs dropped so fast and hard he wondered if they’d overextended themselves. He thrummed lightly to himself as he reveled in the achingly seductive scent.
Three minutes later, when he realized what he was doing, he hurriedly hung them back up and fled the bathroom.
He didn’t have time for this stupid shit. He stalked over to the bed and crouched down to better view her face. Snoring…that’s what it was called when humans made disgusting noises in their sleep. She didn’t even have the courtesy to fucking snore.
He rolled his eyes as he caught himself gently pulling the covers up over her. It was a shame to cover that fine, curvy ass. He tried to remember if there was anyone in the dungeons needing his particular expertise, then remembered that the day was already breaking, so it was irrelevant at best.
So…here he was, stuck in his apartments, forced to inhale the delectable scent of the “pet” he had suddenly saddled himself with, through every fault of his own, even if he did blame her damn dimples. And humor. And that weird sweetness in her smile. And the shining clarity in her eyes.
Damn. At least she’d shown enough sense to fear him earlier before he left to feed.
He couldn’t believe how very unsatisfying the fucks had been. No matter how many times he’d cum, it was all just…boring. Mundane.
He wondered briefly why his feet took him back to her bathroom. Her bathroom? What the fuck! That was his bathroom – and his bed, too, damn it…until he’d given them to her. Shit.
He quickly placed a set of clean towels and wash cloths on the counter and gathered up her slightly-damp towels, and stalked off to his hidden quarters.
Once inside, he quickly stripped off the offending pajamas, slung the silk covers to the side, and settled back against the headboard of his bed. He lifted the towel that held the strongest scent of her to his nose, and inhaled. He was surprised at how her light scent clung so deliciously to the soft material…and at just how quickly his barely-softened cock grew rock-hard again.
He placed the towel into his left hand, and drew his right hand slowly down his chest. After thumbing his nipple roughly for a moment, he gave in and finally grasped his hard length in his firm hand. A slightly painful dry rub might be just the thing, he thought as he bent his knees and stroked himself harder.
He inhaled deeply from the towel again and spread his long legs farther apart. He slid his hand a bit lower, grabbed his balls and pulled and squeezed hard as he imagined her smoothing her small, delicate hands over his body.
His hand flew back to his cock at the thought of how those plump, pink lips of her would fit perfectly over the head of his shaft. He grunted as he pumped harder and faster, and the thought of her sweet tongue stroking the underside of his cock as she sucked him off made him cum harder and stronger than he had even with what’s-her-name downstairs earlier.
That he thought about Emma while jerking himself off didn’t bother him. That the mere thought of her had brought him a much more satisfying release than the living, breathing, well-trained whore did half an hour ago really pissed him off.
He quickly cleaned himself with the slightly-less-scented towel, balled it up, and slung it toward the bathroom. With a disgruntled growl he turned over, covered himself up, and prepared for the day to suck him under.
He slipped into his day rest hoping she no longer feared him. He refused to think about the towel resting so very innocently under his cheek.
**Ok, I read somewhere that Sophie-Anne is supposed to be apx. 1,100 years old, but I’ve never seen an actual age for Andre. I don’t think Sophie-Anne was terribly old when she changed Andre, but I don’t know if I want him to be “that” old. I kind of want him “younger” than that. This is where “creative license” can come play, right? 😀 Review, please!**