Vampire!Romania x Reader -Foreplay-

A shuddered breath escaped your lungs as his tongue slithered across the length of your nape. His hands trailed down your back, feeling every groove of your body as his fingernails prodded your thin skin like tamed branches. Whenever you readjusted your position, he would hold you back, tightening his grip as though releasing his embrace would set you free.

But you weren’t going anywhere.

He had you under his spell. Dazed and drunk with his hair, you could only lay yourself down on the stream of silken sheets and allow him to take control of you in your entirety. His touch, cold as ice against his stilled heart, set your instinct alight with an igniting passion. You lusted for his attention and craved his affections as if they were sustenance to your meek state. More. You wanted more until you were begging for him to stop.

The teasing was outright torturous. Your entire body squirmed. Your legs tightened in the center, and small mews squeaked out in helpless intervals at the mercy of his strength. How long could he pull this off, you wondered? How could he possibly put up with this incandescent foreplay when you were underneath him and begging for him? It was cruel. It was unbearable. You needed him.

In desperation, as he nipped the tender skin encasing your throat, you uttered his name with a shaky whimper.

“Vladimir…” Your lover’s name barely made it past your lips before they were sealed against his. He adjusted himself to your movements and allowed your breath to fall in synchronization with his rhythm. Before long, your mind went numb, and your eyelids fluttered and drooped. Suddenly, the sharp taste of iron in your mouth stinted the blurry cloud in your mind. It set you on edge. He must have been feeding earlier.

Alarmed, you broke the kiss and gasped for air. He must have done it to stave himself from you. Even so, that didn’t change who he was…or rather, what he was: a monster. A vampire.

“Vladimir,” you said a little louder, as he had already started to caress your neck, inching his way towards your arteries rich with blood and absorbing its sweet scent. He was ignoring you.

You tried again only to have him swallow your voice with his imprinting lips that molded to fit your fruitless struggling. A short moan rushed from your lungs when his hand traveled from your jaw, down to your navel, and finally resting upon your quivering thigh. He stroked and squeezed, earning more gratuitous sounds from your weakened frame. It wasn’t fair that he could do this to you. Someone whose heart did not beat at all should not have deserved the power to toy with your emotions this way—not when he could have easily crushed you under his hold.

Still, you persisted, uttering his name in soft syllables spilling from your tongue in hopes of getting his attention. The kind you were getting right now wasn’t the kind you wanted. He continued to fondle you and shower your neck with kisses. Always the neck, you realized. It was where your arteries were the largest and most fragile. He could completely rip you apart and feast on you blood if he wanted. It was only a matter of time before he would lose control.

Finally, he gave you a moment’s rest and pressed you on his icy chest. Fire to ice, you leaned against his collarbone and let your chest rise and fall on his cool surface. His nose buried into your hair and inhaled your scent while you caught your breath.

“Are we really going to do this?” he whispered. You paused. So he was having doubts, too, despite how much he had acted on you. Then again, he must have been holding himself back all this time. If he really expressed himself, he might have killed you. Yet, in spite of knowing that, a ravenous part of your heart yearned for him to act. If nothing else, you loved him. You wanted him.

“We’re doing this,” you replied back, your voice hushed but confident. “I’m not afraid.”

“You’re lying.”

You nearly chuckled. He knew without having to look for the signs. He was aware of what he was.

“I can destroy you,” he reminded you. “I can sink my fangs into your little neck right now and break you. I don’t even have to hold you like this.” To prove his point, his arms around you tightened. You feared your lungs would pop right out of their cavities, but for the sake of him, you suppressed a scream and held your pain back. It was for his sake as much as it was for you.

“You won’t do it,” you told him, masking your agonizing pain and planting a soft kiss where his heart should have been. “I trust you.”

A wave of relief swept over you when his grip relaxed. He craned his neck forward and nuzzled your cheek. Occasionally he would stare at you with his large, anticipating blood-red eyes setting your heart ablaze at the thought of letting him take over. To this thought, you proved your statement by asserting your position. You firmly kissed him and dug your fingers into his strawberry blonde locks. Skin to skin, you moved your body against his and let friction run its course. He flipped you on your back and pressed his nose and lips to your neck.

At first, you thought he meant to tease you again, but this time, to your surprise, he pricked you with a fang. A small bead of blood drew from your blood vessel and trickled down the arch of your throat. He ran his tongue over your scorching skin and licked the drop up.

Too stunned to react, you exposed yourself to him like a helpless piece of prey to a predator. However much you wanted it to be, the intimate relationship you longed for remained second to the fact that he craved your blood. That fact was only embedded further into your brain like the way his fingernails embedded into your neck, scraping through your flesh and revealing four new trails of rich red. The fiery-hot pain barely subsided when he starting lapping the iron-heavy liquid and pressed his lips onto your wounds. He was starting to suck. Like any lover, one might draw and break blood vessels, but he went one step further and drank your blood like the richest wine.

“It hurts, doesn’t it?” he breathed in a husky voice.

“Not as much as you must be,” you mewed when he pushed his tongue into a gash and moved it along your sanguine trails.

That remark apparently turned him on because his movements became less constrained and harder. His hands squeezed your wrists, and his legs pried your thighs apart. His torso was hovering over your body in such a manner that the lack of contact made you desire him. He was starting to enjoy himself.

“You think I’m hurting?” he snickered. “You have absolutely no idea. Loving me is like asking for me to kill you. I’ll tear you apart, piece by piece until there isn’t a single drop of blood inside your pretty little body.”

“And you expect me to believe that?” you smirked. “That’s all talk. You’re not going to do it, Vladimir. I know you.”

Seeing that as a challenge, instead of replying with words, he used actions to go against your statement. His lips, still stained with your blood, moved to your own lips. His tongue passed through and into your mouth. You could taste your own blood on his breath, but however sickening it was, you reminded yourself that this was what you got for provoking him.

Then, his tongue and lips left you. The rustic taste still remained. He was making his way down. You prepared yourself. Try as you might to hide it, you knew the first time would hurt—perhaps every other time after that if you were correct. Gumdrops and rainbows did not come with the package of falling in love with a vampire. It was all he could do to prevent his instincts from kicking in. All the same, you still loved him. Nothing was changing that, and he knew it, too, because he loved you as well.