The Vampire Won't Bite Without My Yes, and I Keep Giving It novel · Chapter 2 of 24

Chapter 2: No Teeth Yet

Vinnie drives to Park Point and tells him to keep his teeth in his mouth and put his mouth on her instead. A black car's driver hands her a summons to the Hall.

The black car's door opened, and a man in a black overcoat walked up the hill to us through the blowing snow.

"Mr. Trask," he said. "Miss."

He had a tablet in one gloved hand and no coat buttons undone.

Emlyn stood very straight.

"That's the Chair's driver," he said, quietly, to me. "He'll have logged the bite already."

"Logged it how?"

"Every bite is entered at the Hall. The human registers within seven days."

The driver held out a card.

It was heavy cream stock with a cameo pressed into the corner.

"Thursday, nine o'clock," he said. "The Chair does not care to be kept waiting."

"I'm on shift Thursday," I said.

"The Chair is aware of your shift, Miss Doyle."

I hadn't told him my name.

He tipped his head, got back in the black car and rolled away without turning on his lights until he reached the corner.

I looked at Emlyn.

"That's creepy," I said.

"Yes," he said. "It's meant to be."

I drove him home in the truck because I wasn't going to leave him in a ditch, and I still had four hours of route.

He lived on Park Point, the long sandbar that runs out into the lake, in a grey shingled house with the lights off.

He sat very still in the passenger seat with his hands on his knees.

"Thank you," he said at the gate. "I'd like to say something properly, and I haven't got the words."

"Say it when you do."

"May I see you again?"

I looked at him in the dash light.

"Not the Compact's way," I said. "My way. I'm off at six."

His mouth moved.

"The sun comes up at twenty to eight," he said. "I'd have to be inside by half past seven."

"Then I'll be there at six-thirty."

I finished my route.

I plowed every street between Lincoln Park and the harbor with my heart going, and I didn't feel the cold once.

At six-thirty the sky over the lake was the color of a bruise.

His kitchen light was on.

He opened the door before I could knock, in a cream sweater with the sleeves pushed up, and his glasses sat slightly crooked.

He had made me tea.

It was in a good china cup on a saucer, on a counter that clearly hadn't held food in a decade.

"I don't drink it," he said. "But it seemed correct."

"You bought a whole box of tea for a woman you met four hours ago."

"I bought it at midnight, in case you came."

I stood in his kitchen and looked at him.

Nobody had ever made me tea in case I came.

"I have one rule," I said.

"Please."

"No teeth today."

His eyes flicked down to my wrist, where the little pink mark sat.

"I understand."

"You don't, yet."

I put the cup down.

"I'm not saving my other two bites for a rainy day. I want to pick the moment."

"I don't want it to be because you're starving or because I'm dizzy over you."

"Of course."

"And I'm going to kiss you now and not ask."

"Oh," he said, very softly. "Good. Please don't ask."

I crossed the floor, took his glasses off and set them on the counter.

Then I kissed him.

His mouth was cool for one second and then it wasn't, and his hands came up and cupped my face.

I'm not.

I'm five-ten and I move salt trucks for a living.

I pulled him in by his sweater and kissed him until he made a sound against my teeth.

"Vinnie." He pulled back an inch, shaking. "I have to tell you, it has been a very long time."

"How long?"

"Twenty-two years."

"Then you've got catching up to do."

I got my hands under his sweater and he was warm, from me, from his bite, and his skin was soft over thin muscle.

His breath went ragged at my throat.

His teeth touched the skin there, just the edge of them, and he stopped dead.

"Ask me," he said into my neck, so low I felt it in my ribs. "Not now. But one day. Ask me."

"Not today."

"No. Not today."

I lifted myself onto his counter.

It was cold stone through my work pants, and I didn't care.

"Take my pants off," I said.

He did it with shaking hands, and he was careful with the boots, then the thermal layer, then the rest.

I lay back on his counter in the grey light, naked from the waist down.

I'd known the man for four hours.

He knelt on the tile.

He looked up at me with his glasses still on the counter and his eyes grey and enormous.

"Tell me what you want," he said. "I mean it. I'd like to hear it."

Nobody had ever said that to me.

Not once in thirty-two years had anyone waited to hear the answer.

My throat went tight.

"Put your mouth on me," I said. "Lick me. Slow. Start slow."

"Yes."

He put his hands on my thighs and spread them wide.

Then his mouth was on me, cool and then hot, and he licked up the whole length of me in one long, patient stroke.

I gasped and grabbed the edge of the counter.

"Again."

He did it again.

He was slow, the way I'd said, and he watched my face the whole time.

When he found my clit he circled it with the tip of his tongue, soft, then firmer, until my hips came up off the stone.

"There," I said. "Right there. Don't you dare stop."

He hummed against me, and the hum went all the way through me.

I put my fingers in his hair, that soft sandy hair, and held on.

"Use two fingers," I said. "Inside. Now."

He slid them in, one at a time, thick and slow, and curled them forward.

I cried out.

"Oh, fuck. Yes. Like that."

He worked me with his hand and his mouth, steady and unhurried.

His tongue lay flat and slow on my clit, and his fingers pressed the place that made my toes curl.

I could hear myself, loud and wet and shameless, in a kitchen with a china cup of tea going cold.

My orgasm came up my spine.

I came on his tongue with my back arched and my heels digging into his shoulders, and he didn't stop until I told him to.

"Stop," I said finally, laughing, almost crying. "Stop, stop, God."

He stopped.

He laid his cheek against my thigh and breathed.

"Nobody has ever just asked you, have they?" he said into my skin.

"No."

"I'm going to ask you every time," he said. "For the rest of whatever we have."

I pulled him up and kissed him, tasting myself on his mouth.

My hands were not steady.

"You've got twenty minutes till the sun," I said.

"Eighteen."

He looked at the clock over the stove, and I looked at him, flushed, hair wrecked, his glasses on the counter beside the tea.

"Go," I said. "Lock yourself in whatever you lock yourself in."

"Tonight?"

"Tonight."

He put his forehead to mine and then he was gone down the hall.

Somewhere in the bones of the house, a heavy steel door slammed.

I dressed in the cold kitchen with my legs still shaky.

When I opened the front door, the black car was across the street.

The driver stood on the sidewalk in the early light with a cream envelope in his glove.

He held it out as I came down the steps.

"The Chair would like the donor to know that Thursday is not a request," he said.

I took it.

I looked at him for a long moment, and then I put it in my pocket without opening it.

"Tell her I'll be there," I said. "When I'm done."

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