Page 30 of The Count

My feet moved of their own accord, the gravitational pull of just his voice too much for me to fight. The closer I drew to him, the more comfortable I felt until finally I was inches from him. I wanted to reach out and touch him, but I held myself back.

He placed his whiskey on the mantel. When he turned toward me, there was a single tall shot glass in his hand. It was full of a dark burgundy liquid. In the flickering light of the fire and the surrounding candles, it looked almost like a vial of blood.

“Drink.”

I reached out, taking the crimson cocktail into my hands. I stared down into it and then back at him. The consistency was thicker than I expected. He nodded and my hesitancy vanished.

I took a small sip first, gasping at the delicious taste of mulled wine and something else I couldn’t quite identify. He waited patiently and I tipped back the glass, downing the rest of the shot in a single gulp.

It made me feel so warm, more so than the plum brandy he’d had me try or anything else I’d ever tried. The aftertaste was smoky and spiced, with lingering hints of black cherries and vanilla that burned through me with vigor.

“Good girl,” he smiled.

“What is that drink called? I’ve never tasted anything like it.”

“Its name is Blood. It’s a drug I’ve been working on perfecting for quite a while now,” he answered.

“A drug?” I squeaked. I stared into the bottom of the glass. “You drugged me?”

“It won’t hurt you, my little girl. It’s simply a formulation that is meant to bring your greatest desires to the surface. It’s far more complex than anything currently on the market.”

My clit seemingly tried to answer for me, throbbing harder than ever.

“You’re a monster,” I seethed.

“Perhaps.”

“Let me go. I won’t tell anyone about what happened between us. I promise,” I pleaded.

“Little girl, I’m a man that won’t stop for anything to get what I want, and I want you,” he declared. His dark eyes had turned almost pitch black. The flames flickered in his eyes, giving him an otherworldly, almost supernatural air.

“None of this is okay. It’s the twenty-first century. You can’t just invite a girl into your home and keep her on a whim. I’m not a possession to be kept on a shelf,” I fumed.

“Are you done?” he asked pointedly. My fury spiked and I threw the shot glass into the fire. It shattered against the stone wall. He grabbed me around my waist and jerked me away from the fireplace as several shards bounced out. The fire flared up for a second, burning away any remnants of the drug he’d tricked me into taking.

Even as my fury began to boil over, my arousal blazed hotter.

“No,” I scoffed.

He reached down to the fabric around my hips, gathering it in his hands.

“I had this made especially for you,” he declared, and he pulled at the skirt. The buttons holding it in place popped off and suddenly the bottom half of the dress was no longer connected to the top. I tried to reach down to pull it back up, having no idea how I’d keep it in place but needing to try anyway.

I still had some measure of dignity.

He lifted me off the floor, up and out of the skirt. My bottom was practically bare, the lacey little panties he’d bought for me barely covering my cheeks. His fingers slipped beneath the waistband, and he tore them clean off.

I gasped, the lacey fabric pinching the folds of my pussy cruelly. Instinctually, I pressed my thighs together on the off chance that they would protect me, but the stinging pain came regardless.

“I had hoped you would behave so that we could have a nice meal and I could enjoy the sight of you in such a pretty dress, but on second thought, I think having your bottom and your little pussy bare and within reach would be much more enjoyable for me,” he rumbled. His arm was still around my waist, and he pulled me flush against him, my back to his chest.

The iron hard spike of his cock pressed against my bare backside.

“Will you sit down like a good girl for dinner, or do I need to whip that pretty bottom with my belt first?”

My entire body shuddered hard. My hand reached back, sliding along his waist. My fingers brushed against the worn leather of his belt. I pulled back, feeling as though I’d burned my flesh on a hot stove.

“I’ll be good,” I pleaded.

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