The Sexy Vampire Next Door Pt. 02

He didn't sleep. Not because he didn't want to--but because he couldn't. Every time his eyes drifted shut, her voice stirred at the edge of his mind like smoke curling under a locked door. Not words, not quite, but vibrations of want so loud they echoed between his ribs. He lay in bed, slick with sweat, the sheets soaked through, his cock half-hard and twitching like it still remembered the shape of her cunt. His body wasn't his anymore--it was wired for her, synched to her hunger like a moth to flame.

The clock read 3:04 AM.

And he was still wide awake, staring at the ceiling like it held answers.

He could still taste her.

Not just her pussy--though that flavor, God, that flavor--metallic, sweet, earthy, like licking the inside of a blood-slick peach--lingered on his tongue like sacrament. But her kiss. The press of her mouth to his, her tongue darting past his lips like it belonged there, like she'd mapped every ridge of his teeth in some previous life.

She wasn't human. She wasn't real.

But his cock didn't care. It ached like it missed her.

And then the front door opened.

He stiffened. Not with arousal--this was fear. Panic. Marissa. She was supposed to be gone till Monday.

He heard her call his name. Light. Normal. Oblivious. The sound of a woman who'd just picked up a bottle of rosé and a tub of her sister's drama and thought she was coming home to kiss her husband and curl up in her robe.

He felt like a crime scene.

He didn't answer. Couldn't.

Because his cock was still half-hard and leaking. His neck still oozed a faint trickle of blood. His thighs were glazed in the remnants of a fuck that didn't belong to the man she married.

He heard her pause outside the bedroom door. Her voice came again--closer now. "Jules? You okay?"

The door creaked open.

She stepped in wearing a loose-knit sweater and soft leggings, hair braided over one shoulder, clutching a reusable bag full of leftovers and wine. The room reeked of sex. Of sweat and heat and something darker--copper, maybe. She blinked.

"You... okay?" she asked again, slower this time. "You look like shit."

"I didn't sleep," he croaked, his voice dry as ash.

She stepped closer. "You're pale. You're sweating." She reached out--her hand on his forehead. "You're burning up."

He didn't flinch. He just stared at her, wide-eyed. She leaned down and kissed his forehead.

Her lips were soft. Familiar.

Wrong.

She pulled back, her smile faltering. "Julian... what the hell is this?" Her hand brushed his neck. He winced. She pulled her fingers away and stared at them.

Blood.

Her eyes narrowed. "Is that a bite?"

"It's nothing," he lied too quickly. "Probably a spider or--"

"Spider my ass." She moved the sheet down further. "Scratches. All over you." Then her gaze froze. Locked. Her jaw clenched.

"Julian."

She'd seen the lipstick. Deep burgundy. Stamped above his cock like a wax seal on a forbidden letter. Her voice was colder now.

"Who was here?"

He sat up too fast. Pain speared his hips and back. He hissed, hand to his thigh. "I didn't--listen, it's not what you think--"

"Oh, fuck you, Julian," she spat, backing away from the bed. "You're raw, you're marked, you smell like someone fucked you in your sleep and you're trying to lie to me?"

"I didn't invite her. She--she came to me. I didn't ask for this!"

"You think that makes it better?" Her voice cracked--then sharpened again, bitter as bleach. "I left for two days. You couldn't even keep your dick in your pants for two days."

He tried to move. Failed. His legs were jelly. His heart pounded like it was trying to punch through his ribs. He barely registered the sound of her keys hitting the hallway floor, the fridge door yanked open and slammed, something fragile shattering.

Then the front door again. Slam.

And silence.

⸻

That silence didn't end. Not the next hour. Or the next. Or the one after that.

He didn't call her. Didn't text. What the fuck could he say? That a creature from a dream crawled through his window and rode him until she tasted his soul? That his cum was inside something that might not be alive in the way anything should be?

He tried to shower. The water hit his skin and he moaned--not from pain, not from relief, but from sensation. Every nerve was tuned to her. Like she was inside him still. Feeding.

The mirror showed him the same bite, red and small but unmistakable. Just above his heart. The lipstick--faint now--still smeared like a sigil below his navel.

The clock read 4:12.

His phone buzzed on the nightstand.

He picked it up, hoping--maybe even praying--it was Marissa. Some curse-laced rant. Some flicker of hope.

But the number was unknown.

And the message read:

"She tasted sweet. Almost too sweet. Do you miss her already?"

He dropped the phone.

Then--

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Not on the door.

The window.

He turned slowly. Curtains drawn. But he felt her behind them. A presence like static electricity, humming. Watching.

He moved to the window like a puppet, his cock half-hard again. Every inch of him responding like a dog hearing the whistle only meant for its ears.

He opened the curtain.

And there she was.

Alina. Soaked in rain, dress clinging to her like sin. Her eyes glowed like foxfire. Her mouth curved in that slow, decadent smile.

She mouthed it.

Let me in.

His fingers found the lock.

The phone buzzed again.

"You've already said yes. You said it with your cock. You said it with your cum. Now open the fucking window."

The window slid open.

Rain swept in. Cold. Sharp.

She crawled through like water. Like smoke. Like shadow made flesh.

Dripping onto the carpet, her knees spread wide as she straightened, rising before him like a queen returning to her throne.

No words.

She pushed him back onto the bed, his body folding like paper. He didn't resist.

Her legs swung over him, her hands on his chest, fingers grazing the bite. She moaned softly. Her cunt glistened beneath her dress.

"Say goodbye to her," she whispered. Her voice coiled around his spine.

He shook his head. "No... please... I don't want--"

But she leaned down and hissed something old into his ear.

A whisper in a language that made his skin crawl, bones shiver.

And miles away--he didn't know how far--

Marissa screamed.

He felt it. A string snapping, a tether cut. His chest ached like something sacred had been stolen.

Alina kissed him.

And then she fucked him again.

But this time, it wasn't sex. It was something else.

Possession.

Her cunt clenched him tighter than before. He was deeper. Deeper than he thought possible. It was inside her, not just physically, but... inside.

She bit his lip. Drew blood. Licked it.

"You're halfway mine," she whispered. "Now I'm pulling the rest of you out."

She grabbed his wrist. Forced his hand to her lower belly. Pressed it hard.

Inside her... something pulsed.

Alive. Beating.

"Do you feel it?" she purred. "Our little secret."

His heart slammed against his ribs.

"It's growing," she said.

And Julian, sweat pooling in the hollow of his spine, eyes wide, cock throbbing--

Came again.

Unwilling. Unstoppable.

She laughed.

And held him tighter.