Page 86 of Fangs with Benefits

‘Did it–was it good? Did you like it?’ she asks, panting.

I laugh a sardonic sound between us. ‘Did. I. Like. It?’ I ask, each word punctuated with a thrust. She makes a helpless sound and I keep on at my relentless pace. ‘I won’t need to eat for days, and no blood will ever compare again. I mean it–you’ve ruined me.’

‘You say that to all your lovers.’

I reach between us and pinch one of her nipples hard, making her gasp. ‘Molly, baby, you sound jealous,’ I say, and have to squeeze my eyes shut and halt my movements to keep from coming. ‘My bed has been empty for a century. Is that what you want me to admit? That I vowed an eternity of celibacy before I met you? Because I did.’

‘Elijah,’ she moans, and I lean back to rub fingers over her clit in punishing circles.

‘You’re like the sun, Molly, and I’ve been in the dark for a very long time.’

She clamps down on me while I speak, her body shaking and convulsing and I take it as permission to find my release inside of her, her blood coursing through me, my cum filling her.

Afterwards, I pull her to lie on top of me so I don’t crush her under my weight. She catches her breath while pressing little kisses onto my chest.

My cum still on her thighs and her blood smeared on my chin, I can see clearly that I’m fucked, really and truly screwed. I knew I was in too deep with Molly, but there’s no pretending that I’m not completely and utterly lost for her.

It’s as horrifying as it is inevitable.

I love her. Every little thing.

It won’t be long before I have to leave, before I can’t keep pretending this is nothing.

But not now, not tonight. Not when I can still taste her as I hold her in my arms.

Pressing a kiss to her curls, I close my eyes and feel her heart rate settle down.

Molly wakes in the night for more sex, crawling onto my lap and riding me to an orgasm so fast I should be ashamed, but it delights her. We shower afterwards, and both inspect the light scar on her neck. It’s easy to miss–just four small slices from my fangs. I kiss them, lick them and make her come again, and then she eats leftovers of the chilli I made her last night.

We crawl back into her bed, Gemma settling at our feet after a good five minutes of biscuit-making, which Molly records on her phone, like she always does.

When Molly’s tucked under my arm, her head on my chest and leg across my lap, I stroke circles up and down her back. I could spend every night like this, her in my arms, listening only to the sound of her breathing. She lets me use her e-reader (which is a tablet, but it has a screen that looks remarkably similar to paper) and I could spend every night working my way through her digital library while she drools on my chest, perfectly content until her alarm wakes her in the morning.

I ache at the thought that she could let me have this, that this is within the confines of what friends with benefits do.

‘Why haven’t you been in a relationship since Matt?’ I ask her.

Molly, surprised by the inquiry, pauses a moment to formulate an answer.

‘Matt was so sure that I was wrong to ask for what I wanted. For a love that was singular, but I didn’t feel like it was so far-fetched–I mean, people fall in love all the time, right? But he believed everyone was just pretending, that no relationship is perfect and if I dumped him and found someone else, I’d just be trading follies. He said I’d never find what I want.’

‘And what is it that you want?’

Molly thinks about this for a couple of quiet minutes, only the sounds of the city and her fridge humming while she absent-mindedly rubs her hand on my chest and I play with the tips of her hair.

‘I want a lifelong love. I want weeks off in the summer at national parks, and showing a baby snow, or the beach for the first time. I want… to choose and be chosen back. I knew I wanted to get old with Matt, have kids and then maybe grandkids. I wanted a life where sometimes we’d feel like we were going crazy, so busy and exhausted. And among this, I imagined quiet moments of surprise and reminders of why we chose each other in the first place. I imagined that we’d keep loving each other, keep coming back to each other, keep trying.’

The picture she paints makes my chest tight. I can see her imaginings so clearly; the sticky little hands, eyes like hers, and pretty sunsets on a porch swing.

‘I wanted him not to cheat, because trust and loyalty are both part of it. The love and commitment are built on that,’ Molly says. ‘Or at least, that’s what I thought.’

I roll onto my side so that I can hold her hands between us and face her completely.

‘Why haven’t you looked for it?’ I ask. ‘It would be so easy for someone to love you if you let them.’

I fear I’ve given away too much with the question, made it too clear that I am far beyond the risk of loving her.

‘How can I trust it won’t go like it did last time?’ she asks, her voice a whisper as if someone might be listening to the fears and desires of her heart, ready to ridicule her. ‘Elijah?’