Page 6 of Taste of Blood
DAMN IT. I knew I shouldn’t have gone up there.
Fucking Asher.
It had taken me years to get him out of my system, and now here he is again, screwing up my mind. And don’t even get me started on that traitor in my pants.
I yank the door of my car open and slump inside, pausing before I start it. There’s no way I can go home now. I glance down at the bulge in my pants and up the side of the building to the top.
Nope. Not going back up there. Still, I can’t ignore my current state. If nothing else, there’s the bloodlust to consider. Asher was right about one thing; bagged doesn’t meet all our needs.
“Fuck!” I growl, pounding the steering wheel. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
I start the car and turn around in the street, heading back downtown. The bars will still be packed right now, plenty of opportunities to get this taken care of. I find a parking place on the street a couple of blocks from a dive I sometimes troll when I need a quick fix. While not necessarily a gay bar, it’s frequented more by men than women.
I shove my way to the bar and order a vodka neat, turning to survey the offerings. A scattering of couples are on the floor, doing more groping than dancing. Most everyone else is pairedoff already, including a high top with a mixed gender group who look more like friends than lovers. I watch them for a minute trying to figure out if they’re tourists to the scene or just companions going native on a night out.
He appears in front of me without warning. I really need to get my head straight–second time tonight that’s happened.
“Hey, lover. Long time no see.”
He’s a twink; a prostitute. Shorter than me by a head, slender bordering on frail, with long brown hair and puppy dog eyes. I remember him from a couple of previous encounters, though his name slips my mind. What I do remember is he’s not a user, which means his blood is clean. Not that drugs are a problem with me; I just don’t like the taste. I let my lips curl up in what I hope is a welcoming smile.
He returns it and I feel his hand press against the front of my pants. “Looks like someone needs some relief. How about a trip to the alley?”
What the hell. I down my drink and set the glass on the bar then follow him to the back past the restrooms and out the door to the alley. He wastes no time dropping to his knees and unzipping my pants. Ordinarily I’d object to someone putting their hands on me without my permission, but I’m desperate and tired and just want to get this over with.
He pulls out my cock, which is already leaking precum thanks to He Who Shall Remain Nameless. “I’ll make you feel real good, baby,” he says as he wraps his lips around my head.
I may prefer men, but I’ve never been all that interested in sucking cock. Well, except for one cock. And there goes my mind again down that fucking trail. I try to push the thought away, but it’s there now, swirling around that damn perfect body and soft Georgia accent that’s managed to hang on after all these years and still has the ability to make me homesick. That voice that can get me to do things no one else can. I look down at my cockdisappearing into the twink’s mouth, and in my mind it’s a blond head working me up and down while that emerald gaze stares up at me.
I close my eyes to shut out the image and dig my fingers into the prostitute’s hair, shoving his head against me. He’s either really good or I’m just that far gone, because I come within minutes. The twink finishes slurping up my cum then stands, his brown eyes drunk with lust.
“Still got that blood kink?” he murmurs, leaning close.
I mentally scold myself for my predictability and reach into my pocket to pull out my switchblade, flicking it open. “As a matter of fact.”
The cut is small, barely half an inch long and right under his chin so it looks like a shaving nick. I press my lips to the wound and begin to suck while he moans softly.
“That feels so…sexy.”
Unlike the bag Bernard had given me earlier, this actually takes the edge off my hunger and leaves me feeling restored. I lap at the wound to make sure it’s stopped bleeding, then pull away. Now that my needs have been fulfilled, I want to get away from him and out of this alley.
I shove a fifty into the man’s fist and let him kiss me on the cheek, then make my way down the alley to the corner. I’m hoping that will be enough to erase my earlier mistake, but as I start my car and head toward home, my mind keeps returning to those hungry eyes staring up at me.
“I want you.”
Well, like the song says, you can’t always get what you want. And in this case, I’m determined to make sure that doesn’t happen. My life is in a good place right now. No complications. No regrets. No one telling me what I should or shouldn’t be doing or feeling.
Even if he does look and smell better than sin.
Nope. Not going there.
I climb the three floors to my apartment–no fancy coded elevators for me–and strip down and jump in the shower. Despite the valiant efforts of the twink, I’m still half hard. I soap up and jerk myself off, all the while definitely not thinking about a certain green-eyed devil. When I get out, I throw on a pair of sweats and pour myself a drink, then settle back on the couch with the remote. Times like this I wish I could get shit-faced and black out. I envy humans for that.
Nothing really grabs my interest as I scan through the channels. I’m just about to turn off the TV and head to bed when a text pops up on my phone. I glance down at it and groan.
Wasn’t sure if this was still your number. Just wanted to say I was glad to see you tonight.
What the fuck? I start to ignore it, then find myself typing a reply.
