Page 103 of Phobia
“So you … killed him?”
“Not yet,” he says. “He’s still alive. I kept him alive for you.”
“For me?”
“I knew you’d be hungry.”
My stomach cramps at his words. I am. I’m starving. And the only thing that I crave is … I glance again at my brother’s heaving body. His eyes dart back and forth as if he’s searching the dark for something. His lips open and close, open and close, babbling something unintelligible.
Our positions have been reversed. He’s the one terrified now, looking up at me with abject horror on his face. He shakes his head and blood splatters all over the pavement. And for the first time in what seems like my entire living memory, I don’t feel fear.
I feel … powerful.
“That’s it, Adrien.” The presence at my back whispers into my ear. “He’s yours now. Take him.”
I don’t know how. I bite my lip and realize at once how sharp my teeth have become. Like … fangs with pointed tips. Perfect to slip beneath the skin, to tear and rip and kill.
Seeming to notice my uncertainty, my savior moves over and leans down by Mickey’s trembling body. He beckons me, smiling softly, face set and ever so gentle. “Come, darling. Let me show you how.”
I fall into his side, powerless to resist his kind eyes. I don’t know what’s happening to me, but just like that night when he guided me, when he spoke to me and brought me to release, I trust him. There’s something between us, something otherworldly and absolutely extraordinary. Though I don’t even know his name.
I watch those slim, graceful fingers graze Mickey’s neck, watch those long-tipped nails dip into the bloody gash like a smile torn into his flesh. My savior brings that bloodstained finger to my lips, and I catch my breath.
“I can’t,” I whisper, the ghost of that old fear rearing its ugly head and giving me pause.
“You can,” he insists. “I’ll be here with you the whole time.”
“Will it … kill him?”
He nods, never taking his eyes off mine. “Yes.”
I’m not sure why, but at those words, a giddy thrill shoots through me. My entire life, I’ve never been in control, always at the mercy of others.
“Brother,” Mickey grits out as I draw nearer, baring my newfound fangs.
I laugh, actually laugh, at that word. The one last word he worked so hard to say. Once he mocked the same word as it fell from my lips—asked if I said it to win his pity. He won’t find any from me now.
I lunge forward and bite down, ripping into his already tattered throat. I’m inside him then, my mouth and lips and tongue consumed by his flesh and blood. I lap at him, drinking deeply, desperately, and he moans beneath me. The sound is almost … erotic. I bury my face in his gash, drinking, drinking, drinking.
I’m face down in a pool of blood, and I’m not afraid. I’m not panicking. In fact, I’m overwhelmed by complete and total euphoria, swimming in a sea of lust and pleasure unlike anything I’ve ever felt. Between my legs, my cock is rock solid and ready to burst.
I feel my savior’s body come up behind me, his groin pressed against my ass where I crouch over Mickey. He ruts against me, his arms coming up to circle around my chest, holding me to him as I drink.
“You’re beautiful,” he purrs into my ear, and those words spur me on. I take more and more, trembling with need. His palms scale my stomach before dipping down to trail featherlight fingertips over my sensitive, leaking cockhead.
I gasp at the exquisite pressure, my eyes rolling back in my head. Never in my life have I felt like this, never felt more alive. Gloriously alive. Moaning into my dying brother’s slashed neck, I succumb completely. I let instincts take over and become a completely feral, wild thing, more animal than human.
He grips me then, pulling on my shaft and stroking it vigorously, catapulting me toward release. I can feel my savior’s erection rocking against my ass as he ruts against me. He’s desperate for me as I’m desperate for him. For blood. For … everything. And together, we take and rock and fuck. His hand moves up and down, stroking me from balls to tip and back again, using my own pre-spend to assist in the glide. I fuck up into his palm as I continue to drain Mickey’s life. As I feel my brother die beneath me.
As the last of his life gasps away, I melt into orgasm, a blinding white light unlike anything I’ve ever seen or felt. As though with the last vestiges of my brother’s dark soul go the last pieces of my humanity. And I give it freely, taking the new eroticism and exquisite pleasure in exchange.
Now Mickey lies dead beneath me, his eyes pale and unseeing, his body covered in my cum and dried blood. I’m panting hard as I come down from my release, my limbs shaking in recovery. My savior holds me still, petting my hair, cooing soft words into my ear.
“That was so good, sweetheart. You did so well.”
I turn to look at him, truly look at him now, at his breathtaking red eyes, his full lips, his soft yet masculine features. That hair that falls in wavy locks down his back and over his shoulders. He’s gorgeous.
“Who are you?” I manage to whisper, and he smiles. His teeth are glimmering white and straight and ever so sharp.
