How readily she drives him to the very brink of his control! Each luscious, slow trace off her tongue dragged over the wicked double points off his fangs offer him taste after taste off her own sweet blood. That very substance was near akin to a siren call. One that feeds into his obsession for her and too- that utter desire to possess her in turn. Those vampiric wants so colliding with those near animalistic needs. How willingly she drives him to that very edge only to keep him upon that metaphorical pinnacle. How she demands that chaos and yet expects control all at once. Darcy even now so continuing to feed into that delicate array of wants and desires that make up the mistress he adores. That dance between dominance and submission as critical for his own survival as it was their pleasure and yet- how good a dancer he is after so many years. Her body was an instrument he knew well how to play and one he was nothing short of addicted to in turn. How he relished in these moments when they existed alone. When her attention was held upon nothing but him. When his lips and fingers might coax that burning desire from her in turn and afford him every chance to lavish upon her that affection and adoration he is assured she deserves. Her blood is a near ultimate bait. Darcy seeking its taste in the same manner she subjects herself to the pain off his fangs upon her tongue as he only deepens that sensual kiss and yet- how quickly it had not become enough.

That rush of vampiric speed sees a ready shift to their positions. Darcy, this time, appearing behind her feminine figure only to undo that dress and use his hands to guide that blackened fabric from her figure to pool at her waist like liquid obsidian. His hands were nothing short of eager now as they find her smooth, cool flesh. Those blood painted fingers rove over her figure to mark her frame in a painted portrait of bloodied passion. Each touch and trace leaving a crimson line agianst her figure in veritable proof off his own worship. The scent of that blood, the feel off it, let alone that press off her agianst him so driving that terrifying territorialism within him now as he coaxed her to lean only further back into him to allow that glorious feeling off slick flesh on flesh. The delicate planes off her back slid tantalizingly agianst his own bare chest as his hand splayed upon her stomach. Holding her agianst him in his own display of dominance now. Darcy revelling in that feeling of embracing her within the ironclad hold off his arms. In that moment she is his possession- and how arousing that it was. Her body wirths agianst him in a manner near serpentine, allowing him to feel every part off her, tormenting him only further by stoking at those fires of utter need she had inflamed within him. Risque nothing if not sinfully artful in her own actions, in assuring his wants remained fixated upon her alone and nothing more. His mind a veritable haze of little save for lust. His lips return with vigor to her neck, those kisses alighting upon that sensitive skin to stir those nerve endings to life and yet this is the only warning he affords of his intentions. Darcy unwilling to force her to command him a second time to unleash upon her that painful pleasure he knew she craved. His lips parted smoothly, those wicked double fangs plunging suddenly and entirely into the flesh off her neck to mark her with his own bitten brand- his hold upon her tightening then. Refusing to allow her to flee that pain. Those wicked points pillaging flesh and muscle and sinew with a single violent bite. That blood all but burst to the surface of that violent wound. Coating his teeth and tongue in its heated glory, a rich reward. That very action, that very taste, prompting that growl of utter pleasure to rise within his throat.

The very moan that rips free of Risque is nothing short of musical to his own ears and near painfully arousing in turn. How he adored to be the one to coax that sound from her. A sound just for him. Her figure leaned further into him then as if to deepen that bite, to offer him only more off her as he drew mouthful after mouthful of that blood from her willing, severed veins. How drunk he was upon that taste! That heated ruby liquid ran down his throat like a river of utter pleasure, what little he could not swallow spilling down her neck and across her chest in rivulets of glorious agony that only furthered the warm feel off her slickened flesh agianst him. His free hand lifted smoothly to unclasp that ornate obsidian bra, allowing it to flutter away from her figure to leave her near entirely bare and freed of anything unnatural that might mark her perfect figure so exposed and glorious for his taking alone. His fangs withdraw from that wound only to allow his tongue to run over it again and again in some near sadistic exploration off his own work. How coated they were in that blood now. Just whose blood was whose impossible to derive any longer. That desk beneath equally as bathed in the results of that passion. Much of the evenings paperwork utterly destroyed or scattered and yet how little he cared here and now.

She pulled away from him then. Darcy, for one precarious moment, near refusing to release her before his arms finally, obediently, relinquish that hold with a near rumbling whine of discord at his reluctance to release such a prize when his body so utterly ached for that release she alone could afford him. Her slender limbs slide from that desk then. Her feminine figure nothing short of utter perfection that makes him near ache to merely watch as she allows that clothing to slide from her completely- leaving those heels and underwear alone. How torturous that sight is! And how readily he knows she knows it. Devilish creature she is. She is behind him then. The man near attuned to her every move in a state of hyper awareness and utter want. The sheer intensity of those vampiric emotions a potent cocktail within his very blood here and now. She embraces him readily then, her hands sliding across his toned figure once more to remove both jacket and shirt in a singular act of perfect precisions, Darcy so allowing his own shoulder to lift and roll to assist with that action before she is at his neck once more- tasting off that wound again. That very action prompted another growling groan within his throat. That utter desire for her near painfully clear upon his figure. Surely she would not deny him now, not when she had offered him the world tonight and he had chosen only her. An answer that never changed no matter how often she asked it of him over and over each night she allowed him to share her bed.

That near whispered command to remove his pants is one he is all too eager to comply with. That fabric nothing short of restrictive and so very in the way. A final barrier between them he was only too willing to do away with. His hand had no sooner reached for his belt then her whispered words find his ear now in a final demand for a certain act, a certain manner in which she desired to be taken. Those very words a near caress to the lobe of his ear that sends that static up his very spine. Darcy clinging to the final tendrils off control as they threaten to snap and fray beneath his mistresses tantalizing temptation. How readily he is forced to exhale in a final attempt to restrain himself. Those words accented so thickly once more in the wake of that lustful arousal that coats his very figure.

"As yar wish, Darlin'."

She leans agianst her desk then in confident assurance, her body a painted display, a vision off macabre delight, an invitation for a singular night alone and one he held no desire to ignore as her finger trailed along her thigh, that silvered talon tracing a perfect pattern that took with it what precious little remained off his control. As if that manicured nail frayed through every remaining string with its upward trail. His boots at the first to go, kicked aside and from his feet with effortless ease, his belt loosened a moment later before his thumbs hook within the hem off his jeans and boxer shorts in turn to shuck them both from his fit, masculine figure at once. How very much he desired her was so blatantly clear in that moment with that restrictive fabric so finally removed. That belt was tossed aside and onto that pile of clothing scattered upon the bloodied floor. She had been kinder tonight. Allowing his hands and arms a freedom she sometimes did not. His own belt having having been used agianst him before like the handcuffs within her bedroom. Those nights in which she restricted him by far the most tormenting. How readily she teased him over and over and over, baiting again and again and again with those tormenting touches of pleasure- only for the silver of those handcuffs or chains or whatever else she had found to bite him every time he moved- but not tonight. Perhaps he had been more then pleasing tonight to be rewarded such free range off her figure. Yes, that was it. He would remember this.

No more then two long strides is all it takes to cross that room and reach her once more. His body near colliding with her own as his hands seize her hips and waist, lifting to slide her back and onto the edge off her desk once more. That positioning placing her just as he needed, with himself between her thighs, to so fulfil those intentions within his mind. His lips find her own again, crushing agianst those soft, bloodied pillows with a renewed hunger, one hand skated up her side to brush across first one breast and then the other, his thumb finding those peaks, tormenting them only to further prominence and yet that very action is little more than a ruse. One that distracts from his free hand as it brushes agianst her thigh, his fingers seizing the black lace off her underwear only to suddenly and abruptly tear them from her very figure and toss them into the depths off that room. Risque so at last left bare save for her heels. His hands shift again now, dropping once more to her waist to slide her forward in the same moment as his own hips rolled to abruptly and readily enter her with that single smooth, commanding stroke.

There was nothing on this earth more glorious than that sensation. The feeling off her figure around him coaxing that near instant moan of utter pleasure from his lips and yet he afforded her only the barest of moments to adjust to that ready invasion. His hands coaxed her legs to wrap about his waist, those silver-tipped heels holding every chance to cut at his back and behind and yet here and now he hardly cared. Darcy done with that desk for tonight. A sudden, near blinding rush of that vampiric speed so suddenly saw his mistress lifted from the desk pressed roughly agianst the side wall. The sheer force of that action so resulting in the crack and groan of the wall itself as part of it gave way beneath the force of that action and yet- how readily that wall served its purpose- affording Risque something to lean back agianst to brace herself agianst each ardent thrust off his hips. His hands remained beneath her thighs, holding her up and agianst him, assisting in keeping her legs wrapped about him in turn to meet each commanding movement off his body into hers. So little about that action gentle in any fashion. Darcy seeking to fulfil that very fire of need she had roared to life within him while seeking to coax her to that pinnacle of pleasure in turn.

There was little need to restrain himself now, no need to hold back, not with a vampiric lover capable of meeting his rough strength with her own. That ready roll of his hips only increased, that feeling off her around and agianst him utterly exquisite, those sensations eclipsing his figure in every possible way. Their blood-slicked bodies content to engage in a newer, more ardent dance now so based on lust and need and want and the desire for release. His lips found her own once more, crushing to her own without breaking that rhythm to steal a final kiss before pulling away. His lips, this time, finding the opposite side of her neck to the one he had marked last. That cold titanium chain at his own neck brushing agianst her skin. Those dangerous fangs skating the surface off her skin again, teasing at its silken surface- before abruptly biting down a second time to combine that exquisite pain and pleasure and afford her both in that maelstrom of sensation.

d a r c y
and i'll stay alive, just to follow you home