1 month after Felix’s death
There’s a loud slam of a fist meeting the hood of the 1965 Shelby Cobra I’m currently under, and my head smacks into the undercarriage.
“Shit!” I shout. The socket wrench in my hand clatters to the floor.
Two large hands grab my ankles and tug me out from under the car.
“Thought I’d find you here,” Donovan says, smirking down at me.
“It is my fucking house,” I grumble, annoyed and rubbing at my forehead with my arm, trying not to spread engine grease all over my face.
I get up from my creeper, pull a rag out of the back pocket of my jeans, and try to wipe some of the grease from my fingers. “What do you want?”
“You’ve been MIA, so I’m checking up on you,” he replies simply, crossing his arms over his expansive chest. The white t-shirt he’s wearing is practically painted on and glows against his tanned olive skin. He squints at me with irked judgement darkening his vibrant blue-green eyes. “You look like fucking death. When was the last time you fed?”
“A few days ago,” I answer, looking down at my hands.
“Bullshit,” he grunts.
Donovan strides closer to me, grabs my chin, and lifts my face towards him. His gaze takes in the sickly pallor to my already pale skin, the purple smudges that cling to my eyes, and the sunken shadows that put my sharp features into a deathly contrast.
“You want to try that again,” he growls. He punctuates every word when he once again asks, “When was the last time you fed?”
I jerk my face away and turn. Unconsciously, I touch at the newly healed tattoo on my right shoulder-- symbols of each of us tied to Felix. The grease from my fingers spread across my skin, and I storm across the garage to the work bench that has the tub of mechanics wipes. I slap my rag onto the counter and tug one of the wipes out. Furiously, I scrub at the grease on my hands, arms, shoulder and chest.
“Nolan,” Donovan barks.
“I don’t know,” I sneer. “A while ago. Haven’t really been in the socializing mood.”
“So you were what? Planning to waste away working on your damn car?” His gravelly voice rumbles with frustration. He stalks up behind me, grabs my shoulder, and spins me around to look at him. “You starving yourself doesn’t help Felix.”
I glare back at him, but Donovan clearly doesn’t give a shit. He grabs my wrist and starts dragging me out of the garage and into the house.
“Come on,” he grumbles. “You can feed off of me.”
He drags me like a spoiled toddler through the foyer and up the main staircase. The house is void of people, Alicia, our chef, and Margaret, our housekeeper, both gone for the night. My parents are at some conference in Los Angeles.
“I am capable of walking all by myself,” I mutter sullenly. It’s much cooler in the house than the garage, and I shiver, my naked flesh breaking out in goosebumps.
“Are you?” He challenges. “I thought you were capable of feeding yourself, too, but here we are. If you didn’t want to fucking find someone, why didn’t you just text me?”
“Because nephilim are friends, not food?” I joke, misquoting Finding Nemo.
This earns me a patent Donovan scowl over his shoulder and more annoyed dragging up the stairs and to my suite of rooms. Margaret must have done her magic before leaving, because the sitting room looks straitened and livable, unlike the mess I left it this morning.
He releases me once we’re inside and walks toward the large couch that faces the equally huge television and entertainment center. The room is a den that my friends and I can hang out in, but when you’re posh and living in a manor, they call it a sitting room.
Donovan grabs between his shoulder blades, pulling his shirt up over his head, and then throws it over his shoulder. His muscles ripple with the movement, the long, black feathers of his wings tattoo flexing and shifting across his broad back. The tattooed phrase Omnem diem contere velut ultima along his spine that roughly translates to “Live each day as if it’s the last” is still pink around the edges.
He plops down down on the far edge of the black, leather couch and looks at me with a Why the fuck are you still standing there? face.
I sigh and go sit next to him, turning to face him with one leg bent up on the couch and the other on the floor. Both legs brush against his left one. “For the record, I wasn’t intentionally starving myself. I just...”
“Yeah, yeah,” he says dismissively. “More drinking, less talking.”
A smirk plays across my lips. “Please don’t tell me you’ve used that line on girls.”
Donovan holds out his left arm to me and quirks up one of his heavy, black brows. “I don’t need lines.”
He uses his other hand to gesture along his firm chest, washboard abs, and prominent Adonis belt that V's into his low slung, dark wash jeans. A trail of dark hair leads from his belly button down to his waistband, where there is no sign of elastic from any underwear, implying he’s probably going commando.
“I don’t even need words,” he adds cockily.
It’s a dickish thing to say, but he isn’t wrong. I’m man enough to admit my friend is fucking hot. From the top of his 6’3” frame down to his size 14 boots, and the long, thick cock he has tucked away behind his zipper, he’s walking sex. Angel blood and physical training has served him well.
I take his offered arm into my hands, adjust it so the smooth side of his forearm faces up, and lean over it, resting his elbow on my knee.
Donovan relaxes his body, slouching down a little and leaning his head back. He releases a throaty moan when my teeth sink into his flesh. The fact that he embraces the sensations that flood his system from my bite is what makes this bearable.
The time I fed from Connor, he was so damn stoic that no one would know he was feeling anything if it wasn’t for the raging hard-on in his pants. Kaleb looked anywhere but at me, and his body was so rigid, I’ve seen marble statues look more relaxed. I took them up on their offers once, but never again, if I can help it. Feeding from my friends is difficult enough as is; I don’t need to add their awkward. Donovan with his more adventurous approach to life has fortunately just rolled with it, enjoying instead of fighting the pleasure and arousal that goes with a vampire bite.
His blood has a rich and heady flavor as it floods my mouth and down my throat, a copper aftertaste coating my tongue. Pleasure heats his skin, and the earthy scent of leather and musk fills my nose. I groan and lap greedily as his life force restores me, the tired and sluggish feeling of my starving body slowly washing away.
My cock grows hard watching out of the corner of my eye Donovan’s right hand sliding down to the growing bulge in his pants. He grips himself, the heel of his palm pressing hard against his zipper. A rumbling purr emanates from his chest, and I flick my gaze to his face, just catching his eyes, heavy with lust, drooping closed and his teeth sinking into his generous bottom lip.
I’m quickly regretting my decision to wear fitted jeans this morning. When the person I’m with gets turned on, I get turned on. Man or woman, doesn’t matter. The sounds of building pleasure pouring from their lips. The growing heat of their skin, the scent of arousal perfuming the air around them. It fucking gets me. And when they come in sexy packages, all the better.
As one hunger begins to sate, another rages forward. I want to touch and be touched. To bring us both to bone melting release. I slide my left hand up his thigh, pushing his hand away, and stroke his cock through the pant leg of his jeans.
He gasps, his head tilting further back and his breaths are heaving flurries. “I’ve told you, you don’t have to do that,” he breathes. “I’m just as capable of jerking myself off.”
I lap clean the puncture wound on his arm, my saliva sealing over and healing most of the damage.
I look up at him, licking my lips and catching any remaining blood clinging to my mouth, and say, “I get complete strangers off after feeding from them. You think I’m going to do less for you?” My gaze drifts down his body, taking in the sculpted lines of muscle, to where my hand is firmly pressed against his dick. “Besides you’re horny. I’m horny. And last time I checked, someone else’s mouth feels a whole lot better than your own hand.”
Donovan’s brows shoot up in surprise. Probably, because this is the first time I’ve made this offer. Due to my situation, I have a very healthy sex life, and since it’s been awhile since I fed, it’s been awhile since I’ve had any action either. Just the idea of sucking his cock has me hard enough to hammer nails.
With the lust for blood and sex coursing through my veins, I can feel the predator in me taking over. The sensuous flow to my body that makes every human I meet want to fuck me. I lean up, stretching until my mouth is near his ear and purr, “And I wasn’t done yet, so now I’m going to have to bite you again.” My lips graze down his neck, and I can feel the full body shiver that goes through him. Against his skin, I murmur, “Now take out your cock.”
He hesitates, his breath coming out in heavy pants. This is a side of me he hasn’t seen. A side of me that really none of my friends see, because experiencing the truth of what I am is a hell of a lot different than intellectually knowing it. But I know he’s going to do exactly as I tell him to, because he’s too far gone not to. My voice and body promise too much pleasure.
Donovan swallows heavily and reaches down, popping the button and unzipping his jeans. He shifts a bit, then reaches down and pulls himself free, his dick heavy and rigid against his thighs.
Straddling his lap, I reach between us to grasp his large cock, which twitches in my right hand. I hold his gaze while I stroke him, generous amounts of pre-cum making him slick.
His eyes widen, and he releases a shuddered moan, surprised and turned on by the predatory fire in the arctic blue of my eyes. His hands fist at his sides.
Continuing to stroke him with a slow, firm grip, I fist my other hand into this thick black hair and lean down to the left side of his neck. I lick a long moist trail down his skin, turning his breath choppy. I nuzzle his neck before my fangs once again retract down over my incisors, and I sink my teeth into his fevered flesh.
“Oh shit,” he utters in a breathless whisper, quivering under the heightened sensations of my second bite.
His blood tastes even better this time, flowing into my mouth and dripping down my chin, the desire for sexual release heightening all my senses. I groan thinking about bending him over the couch and fucking him hard in that firm, tight ass of his.
His hands shift to my hips-- his thick, long fingers digging into my skin. He bucks into my hand, silently begging me to go faster, but I control when he comes and he doesn’t have my permission yet.
I release his hair to trail my fingers down his right arm, sliding along the toned muscles that are damp with sweat, to his hand that I pull to the painful erection trapped in my jeans. I press myself against his hand, encouraging him to touch me like I’m touching him. My moan vibrates against his skin when he obliges me.
I’m not small, but his hands are massive and make a tight grip around me. Pre-cum drips into his hand while he slides up and down my shaft in a corkscrew pattern.
We both moan and thrust into each others hands, the sounds of my pleasure trapped against his skin while his reverberates through the room. It feels so fucking good, but when I’ve fed enough, I’m ready for more of him.
I retract my teeth, and once again clean his skin, the punctures healing to look like an intense hickey. The predator in me is amused that I’ve left my mark in a place not so easily concealed.
“Now for the main event,” I purr into his ear and slide from his lap, my cock hanging glistening and erect from my open jeans. With authority, I command, “Strip.”
“What?” he grunts. His jaw is clenched, and he has the hungry glare of a man desperate to come.
“It’s difficult to kneel between your legs, when you have your ankles tied together by your pants,” I reply matter-of-factly, toeing off my own shoes and wiping at the blood on my chin. “Now strip.”
His hesitation only lasts for a fraction of a moment before he’s bending down to untie his heavy boots. I strip down right along with him until we’re both naked, and I’m kneeling between his widely spread thighs.
“Don’t worry,” I say, smirking up at him and taking his dick into my hand. “I give great head.”
“Worry isn’t what I’m really feeling at the moment,” he mutters, his whole body quivering with need.
I rest my other hand on his thigh, fine black hairs brushing against my palm, and bow down to lick up his shaft. I tease the slit of the mushroomed head, his cum thick and salty on my tongue, then swirl around the ridged edge, paying special attention to the underside. Finally, I take the whole tip into my mouth and suck-- hard.
“Fuuuuuuck,” he groans, his breaths labored like he’s just ran a marathon.
His hands fist open and close until they can’t help but burying themselves in my hair, the pads of his fingers firm against my skull.
Instead of closing his eyes and drifting back, I can feel his gaze taking in my bobbing head as I allow him to fuck my mouth. My dick twitches and my skin feels tight knowing he’s watching me spread wide around his girth, his length hitting the back of my throat and still needing my fist to take the rest of his inches.
“Yes,” he breathes, his hips rocking to meet my mouth. “Shit, that feels good.”
Up and down, I slowly take him in, lapping at the pre-cum that drips into my mouth. His grip grows tighter, furiously wanting me to go faster, but I plan to draw this out. The key to a good blow job is patients and attention to detail.
My right hand slides up his shaft, following my mouth as I pull back, and I feel the subtle resistance of his grasp around my skull. His eyes meet mine, lust burning within their aqua depths. I smirk and hold his gaze, while I deliberately run my tongue down the length of him then suck one of his balls into my mouth.
Donovan moans loudly, the air from his lungs whooshing out of him. His lids droop nearly closed, and he bites down hard on his lip.
Heat radiates from my body, sweat starting to stick to my skin, and my dick aches, dripping cum down my thigh. I pump him with tighter, faster strokes, letting one ball pop from my mouth, only to suck the other one. My desire to bury myself within him grows while I lick and suck every part of him.
Donovan’s hips rock faster, pressing his dick harder into my hand. “Your mouth,” he groans desperately. “Go back to sucking my cock.”
Fuck. The gravel in his voice skates down my spine-- his need making my whole body throb. After due diligence paid to both balls, I twist my head, running my closed lips along the length of him, before I suck his dick back into my mouth. This time when he reaches the back of my throat, I trap his gaze and swallow.
His mouth drops open, and his brows knit together in an expression of overwhelming pleasure. A deep, rumbling groan vibrates from his chest, while my throat constricts and bulges around his fat cock.
I pull back, licking and sucking as I go, and take a deep breath, before sliding back forward and swallowing him again. Over and over, I repeat this. Donovan’s grip grows tighter, his breaths choppy gusts, and his stomach trembles each time his pelvis meets my lips. With both hands, I grip low on his hips and as much of his ass as I can, guiding his powerful thrusts into my mouth.
“Shit, just like that,” he cries, roaring moans filling the room. “Don’t stop. Fuck-- fuck, I’m going to come.”
I bob my head up and down faster, and when I can feel he’s just on the edge, I deep-throat him until he climaxes, swallowing the thick ropes of cum.
When I need air again, I let his still twitching cock slide from my lips. I sit back on my heels and use my thumb to catch the drip of semen from the corner of my mouth then suck it off. Rising to my feet, my own cock still rock hard and jutting nearly straight out from my body, I smirk and say, “I’d say that’s better than jerking yourself off.”
Donovan lets out a weighty breath, his body still quivering and his dick still dripping. He nods and runs his fingers through his hair that is now damp around the temples. He looks at me like he’s trying to figure something out, and it only now really strikes me that I’m probably the first blow job he’s given-- will give-- hopefully. His gaze runs up and down my naked body, and I shiver under its intensity.
“Sit,” he commands, and I can’t help but smile at the authority he’s adopted now that he’s orgasmed. Like now that he’s come, he can think again.
I relax into the middle cushion of the couch, the sensuous predator still evident in the smooth movements of my body. I spread my legs wide in invitation.
“Good to know you’re not a selfish lover,” I croon.
“Shut up,” he grumbles, getting up so he can kneel in front of me. He looks at me straight on and says, “This isn’t a thing.”
“I said blow job, not a relationship,” I reply, the picture of arrogant calm, while my mind and body are begging him to suck me off, now!
“Just clarifying,” he counters with a raised brow. He reaches forward and begins stroking my cock, once again in a firm, corkscrew motion. He squints at me. “And I’m not swallowing, so warn me about that shit first.”
I give him a two finger salute and pitch my chin down, ready to enjoy the show.
He leans forward, strands of black hair falling around his face, and runs his warm tongue down my shaft then swirls a bit around the head, similar to how I started-- then he fucking deep-throats me right off the bat. Apparently, the fucker doesn’t have a gag reflex.
“Oh shit,” I gasp, as I feel the muscles of his throat, hot and wet, constrict around me. My hands immediately go to his shoulders, fingertips digging into his back, while he grabs my hips.
It feels fucking amazing.
I watch intently as his lips spread wide around me, his cheeks hollowing as he sucks, and his throat tightening as he takes in my whole fucking cock. It’s so damn hot, I’m afraid I’m going to blow my load early.
“You know, I swallowed,” I pant, teasing and trying to distract just enough where I don’t come too soon. It feels so good.
Donovan pulls back, my glistening cock dropping from his lips, and he looks up at me. With a knowing smirk, he asks, “Do you want me to stop?”
“No!” I exclaim a little too emphatically.
“Then shut the fuck up,” he demands, then goes back to sucking me off.
It’s such a Donovan thing to say that I kind of laugh moan, which I didn’t know was possible.
Whereas I licked and teased, he’s purposeful-- swirling his tongue and holding me deep in his hot mouth, demanding to drag out my orgasm whether I’m ready or not.
My hips pump of their own volition, my balls bumping against his chin every time he bottoms out.
“Shit, you’re pretty good at this,” I murmur, my voice strained. Coils of pleasure snake through me, my muscles tightening and trembling from their tendrils.
Donovan flips me the bird, and I release a breathy chuckle.
One of my hands reaches for the back of his head and fists in his hair. Holding him steady, I start to take over the pace. I’m too far gone for control, thrusting faster and harder, only conscious enough to make sure he gets a chance to breathe.
Everything feels so fucking good and watching him take all of me into his mouth, his breath hot puffs against my skin, I can’t help racing toward the edge.
“I’m going to fucking come,” I roar, quickly releasing him.
He sits back, and with a few tight jerks, I’m coming hard in his hand-- and on my thighs-- and on his chest. Shit.
As he looks at the cum dripping down his chest and webbing between his fingers, I say with a smile and handing him his shirt, “Now you know why I swallow.”
He glares at me, but that’s normal for Donovan, and does his best to clean himself off with his shirt. Once he’s finished, he stands up and hands the shirt to me so that I can attempt to clean enough off not to drip all over the floor.
Looking down as I wipe at myself, I ask casually, “So, we’re cool right?”
“With waiting so long between feedings, going full vamp on me, or for sucking me off?” He asks just as casually.
I look up at him to make sure he’s as okay as he sounds. “All of it?”
“Yeah, we’re cool,” he answers, hands on hips and still fully nude. “Just don’t go so long between feedings, alright?”
I sigh and nod. Getting up, I head towards my bedroom and say over my shoulder, “I’m taking a shower. It’s big enough for like a family of fucking four. You want to join me?”
“Yeah, yeah,” he replies following me. “I’m coming.”