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tasted. "Nick, you thould go. Right now."
      "But you're so beautiful," he whispered, and kissed me again, more gently. I tasted his blood, and that was that. Had I thought I was thirsty before? The strongest, most compelling craving I had ever known completely took me over. I kissed him back, sucked on his lower lip, and then we were tearing at each other's clothes like a couple of horny teenagers. I heard the 'clunk' of his holster hitting the floor, heard the jingle of the coins in his pockets as his slacks hit the floor in a polyester puddle, heard the riiiiiiiiiiiip that meant I'd need to buy a new t-shirt. I had no idea what had happened to my leggings. He could have eaten them for all I would have noticed.
      I tore my mouth from his, jerked his face to the side, and bit him on the side of the neck. I wasn't remotely horrified. There was no reticence at all, no maidenly shrinking at the thought of drinking his blood like it was a Cosmopolitan. I couldn't wait. I wouldn't wait.  
      I'd been prepared to really bite down, but my fangs slid through his skin like a laser scalpel, and then his blood was flooding my mouth. My knees buckled as my body truly came alive for the first time since that Aztek knocked me into a tree. Everything was suddenly loud and bright and vivid; Nick's heartbeat thundered in my ears. I could smell his sweat. I could smell his lust—like crisp shavings of cedar.
      I felt myself get slammed up against the wall and thought, oh, oh, Nick doesn't think much of this...poor bastard . However, my thoughts were wrong, because he grabbed me around the thighs, and then I felt him shove himself inside me, all at once, all the way.
      Now, I can count the number of sexual partners I've had on one hand. On three fingers, in fact. Madame Slut I am not. And with every one, as with most women, it took time and manipulation to make me come. That whole three strokes and it's time to ride the orgasm train thing is a pure myth, and I feel sorry for women who believe it and then think there's something wrong with them when they need more than a slap and tickle to get off.  
      That said, when Nick slammed into me, when he took his cock in hand and shoved me apart and entered me with a brutal thrust while his blood was in my mouth, I was instantly jolted into orgasm. It was a shallow one, the kind you get when you're diddling with yourself and squeeze your knees together at just the right moment, but a come is a come (I should stitch that on a sampler sometime). Drinking blood had made everything more there , all sensations were more intense and opened a vein of sensuality I never dreamed existed.
      He thrust, he shoved, his broad swimmer's chest was pressed up against mine hard enough to flatten my breasts. He was sweating and panting and groaning, and I realized I didn't need to drink anymore, my thirst was gone and I felt better than I ever had. I felt like jumping over the house. Maybe I even could.
      I stopped drinking and pulled back, licking the bite mark to get the last few drops. Nick throbbed between my legs and then he was collapsing out of me, clutching me with both hands as he fought to keep his feet. I could feel his come running down my thighs; it burned, probably because I was so cold. And I was shocked—I could have run (and won) a marathon, and poor Nick looked half dead.
      "Oh, Jesus—"
      "Don't," he whispered against my neck.
      "Nick, I'm so sorry, I—"
      "Don't stop," he managed. "Do more. Bite me. Again."
      The full impact of his request hit me, and in my horror I nearly dropped him. I suddenly remembered the church janitor…
      (you're pretty)
      …and the minister…
      (a beautiful stranger)
      …and how odd they'd seemed, odd but, as I was having such a strange night myself I'd shrugged off their reactions. Now here was Nick, a perfectly pleasant man who had showed no interest in me except as a witness, Nick with his pants around his ankles and his dick in