8. Chapter Seven

“No, no, no!” I empty out all the drawers in this house, scattering knick-knacks I had forgotten I owned all over the floor and counters. I can’t find any of the medical bills. They are gone. I swear, they were on the coffee table, in the bin, like always.

“Everything will be okay.” I place my hands on my hips and take a deep breath. “Retrace your steps.” I remember coming home from my amazing night with Ambrose and— my cheeks heat at the memory of the filthy dream I had.

It had felt so real. I swear, I could feel him against me and hear his voice.

I fan my face, scorching heat boiling my blood until a light sweat breaks over my entire body. That’s odd because there is one thing this house always is, and it’s cold.

I snag my cell phone, opening the internet browser to log into the portal the hospital has for payments.

Your balance: $0.00

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I groan with frustration. Of course, they would have a glitch. If I was a bad person, I’d let it go, but morally, I wouldn’t feel right taking advantage of a mistake. “I swear, I don’t have time for this.” I click the button to call the billing department while getting ready to go to work.

“Thank you for calling Bishop General Billing Department. My name is Veronica, how can I help you?”

I trip over my shoe, smacking my head on the corner of the wall. “Son of a—”

“Hello? Can I help you?”

I rub the spot, my patience gone. My cheeks are flushed. My body is hot. I’m starting not to feel well. “I’m sorry. It’s been a hectic morning. I can’t find the bills I owe, and I tried to login to the portal to pay but the amount says zero. I know this is a mistake. I owe a ton of money.”

“Let me look up your account. Can I get your name, date of birth, and last four of your social please?”

“Oliver Grandie. October 10th, 1994. 0154,” I say, a cramp shooting across my stomach and it steals my breath.

“Mr. Grandie, the account is correct. Your balance was paid in full last night.”

“What?” I rub my temples in confusion. “That’s impossible. I don’t have that kind of money. Who was it?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Grandie. They asked to remain anonymous.”

A tear drips down my face, stopping at the edge of my jaw. “I’m debt free?” The words are choked in my throat, coming out as a garbled mess.

“Yes, Mr. Grandie. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

I shake my head, unable to form the words.

“Mr. Grandie?”

Right, she can’t see me.

“No, no. That’s— um— that’s it. Wow. Okay. Thank you. I hope you have a good day.”

“You too, Mr. Grandie.” I hear the smile in her voice as I hang up the phone.

My excitement and relief are short-lived as another cramp shoots its way across my abdomen. I grab onto the counter, sweat dripping down my forehead stings my eyes. I’m dizzy and holy fuck it’s hot. I shrug my shirt off, smacking my shoulder into the wall as I try to stay on my feet.

Nausea threatens my throat. Just as I kick off my pants, I have to hold onto the wall to steady myself. Wildfire burns down my body, gathering at my cock. Something slick begins to drip from between the cheeks of my ass. Pressing my forehead against the wall, I slip my finger down my crease, feeling the wetness dripping down my thighs.

“What the fuck is happening?” I whine, confused when another cramp forces its way through my body. “Ah, fuck!” I cry, falling to my knees on the hard floor.

Mr. Hanks sprints across the house, the loud bang of me hitting the ground scaring him to the back room.

Tilting my chin to my chest, I look through burning, watery eyes to see a long drip of precome fall from the tip of my cock and land on the floor.

Leaning most of my weight against the wall, I rub my finger around my hole, pleasure zipping down to my cock, causing another thick stream of precome to leave me.

“Yes, oh fuck yes. That feels so good.” I press my finger inside me easily, the questionable slick dripping to my palm. “Oh my God, what is wrong with me? What is this?” I suck my bottom lip into my mouth, easing my finger out, then in, realizing the force or girth isn’t enough. Tears brim my eyes from the frustration I’m feeling and I’m not understanding why.

Slipping in another finger, I groan, my forehead hitting the wall with a hard thud. I rock, fucking my fingers while my other hand wraps around my cock.

“Fuuuck,” I growl low until it vibrates my chest. The dual sensations are almost too much, but it isn’t enough. “Yes, yes, yes,” I chant, tossing my head back as I add a third finger, stretching myself further.

If someone were to walk in right now, I can’t imagine what they would see. It looks like I’m fucking the air with how hard I’m rocking my hips, but I can’t seem to slam myself on my fingers hard enough to bring me to orgasm.

Hot tears leak from the corner of my eyes. The only person I can think of is Ambrose. I need him. No, that isn’t the right word.

I yearn for him. The inside of my bones ache. It’s as if something is twisting me inside out.

“Ambrose,” his name is a croak as I come. Thick white streaks land on the wall. Over and over until I’ve counted nine spurts. Never in my life have I orgasmed for so long.

Yet my cock is still hard. My hole flutters, more clear liquid dripping down my body. After the orgasm, the slick is heavier, flowing from me until my thighs are wet. The feeling in my cock turns from a deep ache to an unbearably sharp pain. It’s as if it is trying to get harder but can’t.

I breathe in and out in rapid beats, saliva dripping from my lip. A tear rolls down my face until I taste the saltiness spread across my tongue. Reaching down to wrap my palm around myself again, I cry out in agony.

“What is happening!” I roar, my cock becoming a deeper shade of red with every passing second. I can’t touch it. It hurts too much.

My breathing turns to panic. “Ambrose! Ambrose, please,” I sob, leaning against the wall in exhaustion. The cool damp streams of my come stick against my back, and while it is gross, it feels good against my heated skin.

I sit, my fingers digging into the floor so hard, the blunt edges of my nails scrape across the wood. The wet liquid continues to pool under me and with every passing minute the lust turns to torture.

“I can’t take it anymore,” I sob, falling to my side as another cramp tightens across my abdomen. “Ambrose.” I curl into the fetal position, shivering from the pain. My teeth clinking together is the only sound in the house, the only touch giving me comfort are my arms wrapped around my waist.

Digging deep for any energy remaining in my body, I yell, “Ambrose” as loud as I can. His name drops to a rasp as I force it out of my lungs.

“Oliver?”

I gasp, opening my eyes to see him standing there in my living room. I’m not sure if he’s an illusion. There’s no way he can actually be here. How did he get inside? Do I care?

No. I don’t fucking care. I need him here. I already feel better. Not in the lust department, but the pain isn’t as bad.

“Ambrose,” I whimper, another cramp biting at my stomach just as another rush of slick drips from me and onto the floor.

He tilts his head back, nostrils flaring wide as Ambrose inhales. He visibly trembles, the tendons of his neck flexing. The light hidden behind him, casting shadows along his throat to showcase the dips of muscle straining with every breath.

“Ambrose,” his name is caught in my throat, a strangling of my vocal cords. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I think I need to go to the hospital. I can’t drive myself.”

He growls, his chin slowly lowering to his chest, and bright blood red eyes stare down at me.

I gasp in shock, wondering what the hell kind of trick my mind is playing on me. I close my eyes and shake my head, sweat flying from the ends of my sweat-soaked hair. Opening my eyes, I risk looking at him again, but instead of standing, he is directly in front of me.

And there is no question that his eyes are the color of fresh spilled blood. Sharp white points tease his lips, and his cheekbones are a bit sharper, more angular.

“You don’t need the hospital, Kitten.” His voice is rough, reminding me of whiskey burning the back of the throat and holding himself back from doing something he might regret. He wraps a hand around my cock, and I moan, a spurt of come leaving me just from his simple touch. “You need me.” That tone of his darkening, sending shivers down my spine, but the last thing I want to do is run away.

Unable to control myself, I launch myself at him, wrapping my arms around his neck while straddling his lap. His hand slides up my chest and he shoves me. My back hits the wall with a hard thud, a slight pain twinging the space between my shoulder blades. The ache growing in my back isn’t enough to deter my cock from telling me what I want. Long strings of come drip from my aching shaft, the length so red I feel like I’m about to explode.

“You don’t want me? Please, Ambrose. Please!” I yell at him, big tears threatening to fall over my bottom lash line to wet my pinkened cheeks. “Please, I can… I can be whoever you want. I’ll pretend. You can pretend, but I’m dying. I feel like I’m dying, Ambrose. Please!” I beg pathetically on a broken sob.

His hands flex by his side, his nails growing to a long length and turning black. Before I can blink, Ambrose is in front of me. He wraps his hand around my throat yet keeps his body as far away from mine as possible. I glance down, noticing the large erection tenting his jeans.

“I can take care of that for you.” The words are broken and quiet because of the pressure he is applying. “I’ll be your whore. I’m fucking aching, Ambrose. I’ll do anything, please. I feel so much better when you touch me. I don’t know why—”

“—I do,” he snarls, his crimson irises becoming sharper as he takes a step forward.

I lick my lips, the motion causing his gaze to falter to my mouth. I whimper when another cramp cuts into my abdomen. I have so many questions like why are his eyes red? Why does he have fangs? But I’m too weak to ask them. I’m getting tired, but my body is on fire, humming with desire for him.

Only. Him.

“You’re in a mating heat,” he explains, a flash of regret and shame pinching his face. “Because of me. I didn’t think it would happen so soon. I thought I had more time. Time to explain so many things. You need to know before—” he swallows, groaning just as another wave of slick drips down my thighs. “—Fuuuuck. You smell so fucking good. You don’t know what you do to me.”

“Fuck me, then.” I cup his cock through his jeans, just the feel of him has me moaning and becoming wetter.

He disappears in front of me. I’m left cupping air where his hard cock used to be.

“I can’t.”

I turn my head to the left to see him against the farthest wall. I can barely see his body, but the glowing twin embers aimed in my direction let me know he is there.

“How— how—” I stutter, staring down at my hand that was just stroking his cock. It’s so hard to focus on the impossible with how the blood is raging through my cock so hard, so fast, that dizziness hits me. Everything is beginning to hurt. My skin, my tongue, my cock, my somehow leaking hole, and my bones.

The lust is a heavy weight threatening the marrow in the crevices of all my skeleton. If I fall, if he holds me too hard, I’m afraid I’ll shatter into a million pieces.

I double over, slapping my hand against the wall as my muscles attack me again. A breeze rushes by my hair and Ambrose is next to me, lifting my chin. The touch has me releasing a breath as the pain lessens.

Moaning in relief, I lean into him. “Please, Ambrose.”

“You do not need to beg, Kitten. I will give you everything you want, but there are things you have to know before we go any further. Like how I knew you needed me—”

“—Why your eyes are red? Why can you move so fast? Why does your touch feel so fucking good? Why do you have fangs? Questions like that?”

His talons scrape along my chest, pulling a moan from me from the slight pain. Even the scratch brings me pleasure. My entire body quakes before him. His nail skims the base of my cock and I groan.

“Oh, Ambrose.” My cock leaks profusely, the strings of precome so heavy, he holds his hand below to catch the liquid. I squeeze my eyes shut, gasping for much needed air. “Please. Please. What is wrong with me? I’m on fire.” I curl my fingers into his shoulders, pressing into his ropes of muscle.

He licks his palm, gathering my precome, and his fangs flash against the dim light emanating from the lamp.

The whites of his eyes appear as they roll back while he tastes me. “You are divine, Kitten. So fucking divine.” He cocks his head, snapping those garnet gems my way. “And so curious.”

I’m naked, but the way he is looking me up and down makes me feel even more exposed. I cross my arms over myself, and he snags my wrists, pinning me against the wall. My wrists are so small compared to his hold on me. His fingers easily touch, and his claws pinch the sensitive flesh of my skin.

“If there is one thing you will never do, it will be that you never, ever, hide yourself from me, Oliver.” He ends my name on a savage rumble.

I react, arching my back as the timbers of his voice cloak my skin. A groan of want slips free, my heart pounding so hard, so fast, I hear the blood rushing in my ears. I’m at my limit. I can’t take anymore.

“You feel like this—” He skims his nose over me, his head turning as if he is going to kiss me. Instead, he hovers his lips above mine, flicking his tongue across my bottom lip “—because you are my beloved, my fated mate, my destiny, and I am your vampire. I am eternally yours. I only ache for you, dream of you, and yearn for you.” He moves my right wrist to the left, until his other hand can hold both of my arms in place. Ambrose walks his talons down my arm, a breath escaping my lungs of its own accord.

I can’t control my body.

He is the master, the controller, the puppeteer.

And I am the object he uses to his advantage.

“You are my blood, my soul, and my body.” He presses his oversized frame against mine, his cock rubbing against me, causing another rush of come to escape me. “And only I can make you feel better, Kitten. Only I can relieve your pain, your—” he bends my head to the left to expose my neck. “—Your agony.” He rubs his fingers over my throat, a soft kiss of a touch that has me exposing the soft pane of my body further.

Why do I want everything he is saying without question?

He takes my hand and slides it down his abdomen until I’m wrapping my small hand around his cock. “I will only be hard for you. I will only respond to you. I will only drink your blood. I cannot stomach another’s.” Something flashes across his gorgeous glowing eyes but before I can figure out what it is, it’s gone. “You are the answer to my life.”

“You expect me to believe you are a vampire?” I ask him in a shaking voice, somehow knowing he is telling the truth. “Vampires don’t exist.”

A wicked smug grin tilts his lips to the right, showing his long cuspids. “I’m afraid we do. Nightmares are all around you, Oliver. I only happen to be yours.”

A flow of fear pumps my heart alongside lust.

In the molecules of my being, of what makes me, me, I know he is telling the truth.

How do I accept it?

As another wave of lust weakens my knees, I ask myself two questions.

Do I truly care? Or is it just the desire talking?