Page 37 of Fangs with Benefits

‘I do crave love,’ I say finally. ‘I haven’t been looking for it. It’s difficult when you’ve been hurt before.’

‘Yeah,’ Molly whispers.

‘It was the right choice for you, I think. Holding out for someone that makes you feel known. There’s a practical aspect to loving someone, to choosing them every day even when you don’t want to. In those times, there must be a hope or certainly that you’ll return to that loving feeling again someday, and a choice to stick it out.’

The quiet after I speak goes on for so long that I begin to think I’ve said something insensitive, but then Molly laughs, a slight sound.

‘What is it?’ I ask.

‘Just that I didn’t have waxing poetic with you about love on my bingo card for the weekend.’

‘I’m full of surprises,’ I say.

‘You are,’ she agrees, earnest. As she looks out at the building across the street, I study her profile, the slope of her nose and pout of her lips, a curl that hangs over her ears. I wonder if her hair is softer than I imagine, how it would feel between my fingers. I want to know what her lips might feel like against my own, but the knowledge would consume me, I know.

I don’t believe I’d ever be free of thinking of her. ‘Molly,’ I start, but I don’t know how to continue. She looks at me and doesn’t glance away even as I stare intently into her eyes. ‘I hope you find it. The love you’ve wanted.’

Her cheeks flush darker in that way that is so endearing to me, so very mortal.

‘Thanks,’ she says, voice so low a human might have missed it.

Her gaze drops to my mouth, and I wonder if she’s thinking about my lips like I am hers, or if I’ll be wholly alone in my unwieldy obsession forever.

I lean closer, I don’t mean to, but then she leans closer, too, and it surprises me. We move, inch for inch, her eyes on my mouth, mine drinking her in, until we must tilt our heads to not collide.

Slowly, like she might bolt if I move too quickly, I raise my hand to her face, brush my fingertips over those pink cheeks. Her inhale stutters, and it emboldens me to slide my hand between strands of golden curls, indeed softer than my mind conjured.

I give her a questioning look and her soft nod is the permission I need to lower my mouth to hers. It’s consuming, warming my entire body from one point of contact. It is as if, all at once, lightning flows through my bones for the first time in a century.

Molly’s own hand finds its way to my bicep, then slides to my upper shoulder, squeezing before slipping back behind my neck. Her warm skin directly touching mine makes me let out a little moan, and Molly deepens the kiss in response, parting her lips and brushing her tongue against mine.

She sits up on her knees, repositioning herself kneeling between my legs, and I know I haven’t kissed in a hundred years, but why does this feel like I’ve never kissed anyone at all? The mechanics of it are the same, my body and hands and mouth are the same as they’ve been for four centuries, but every part of me feels new.

I press my tongue into her mouth and she lets out a soft sound that has an igniting effect, lighting me on fire and turning my movements feverish. I pull her closer to me, arm wrapping around her waist to pull her tighter against my front, and she’s eager to follow. One of her arms twines around my shoulders and everywhere she touches feels electric, like maybe I’ve never been touched before.

‘Molly,’ I breathe against her lips, as if I can’t believe she’s real and in my arms. I can’t.

‘Yes, Elijah?’ she says in between kisses.

‘I thought you didn’t like me very much.’

‘I don’t,’ she says, but she’s pressing hot, open mouth kisses down the column of my throat, making me feel like I’m lying down outside in the middle of a thunderstorm.

As her hands roam over my torso and her lips move down my neck, I can feel my cock stiffening in my trousers–an insistent need making itself known between us.

I usher her mouth back to mine, our kissing growing more frantic, my lips more insistent, speaking to a long-neglected need in me. I press my mouth to her jaw, then down the side of her neck and she exhales, arching her chest against me to get closer.

I feel her heartbeat beneath her skin, thumping wildly, and I inhale deeply, her scent so sweet and fresh–citrus trees ripe in the morning–and I know with a certainty that her blood would taste as sweet as she smells.

It’s been years and years since I last fed directly from a human, and my skin is electrified at the thought of tasting Molly–having her body against mine and drinking from her. My fangs descend while I kiss her skin like a madman, and I jerk back so quickly that she gasps.

I can’t stay here, else she’ll see. Else I’ll kiss her again, I’ll try to work more delicious sounds out of her and she’ll see my inhuman teeth, long and pointed, crowding my mouth and making my lips look swollen.

It takes more restraint than I’ve had to show in decades, but I gently, urgently remove Molly from astride my lap and stand up. Lips plump, she looks up at me with confusion and perhaps betrayal in her eyes, and it guts me.

I can’t help it, though, I must leave.

I say nothing as I retreat through the window, leaving my coat behind as I flee. I don’t take stock of the rest of the party-goers’ reactions if they have them; I focus on one foot in front of the other, out of the apartment, out of the building, and down the street until I’m at the train station.