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“You’re looking for the Barolo, my darling, not any of those kitsch wines.”
“I am?” You quietly put down the gold embossed list of sweet moscatos, a flush coming to your cheeks. “Is that one… um, sweet or dry?”
“Very good,” Rhysand purred, “you’re learning. This wine is considered dry, though there is a long folklore behind its making that would have historians arguing that answer.”
His eyes twinkled as a sharply dressed waiter brought in a bottle. Rhysand skewered its cork with all the proficiency of both a madman and a lover, ripping the top free and pouring you a flute.
“This wine is older than half the vineyards on the Illyrian Steppes…” He pondered the label. “It’s dated back two centuries, a good era.”
You smiled politely through his drab and confusing explanations. Gods, you were really going to have to drink this… Bringing the glass to your nose, you swirled it. ‘To aerate the wine and loosen the particles,’ Rhys had explained. It smelled first of roses, then hot, black tar.
“Go on, then, tell me how it tastes.”
“Ah- hah, okay…” The wine wet your lips just the barest amount. That would be the end of this date. “It tastes like an old shoe. Doused in perfume.”
Surprisingly, Rhysand tipped his head back and laughed. “That bad, hm? Very well, I shall sweeten my own then.” From the depths of his darkly tailored suit jacket, he pulled a flask. The emptied contents were deep red, like even thicker wine. A strange metallic scent stung your nose.
“You mix your wines? Isn’t that… I don’t know, impure?”
“It’s not wine, sweet thing.”
“Oh… lean?”
“No,” he laughed again. His smile, which had been bordering on condescension the whole night, had turned to genuine amusement.
The waiter had returned, though. Thank the Mother, you were starving. This gown, a deep red silk that served as being both sexy and comfortable, would have enough room for you to gorge yourself. “Can I have the scallops-”
“Seafood?” Rhys looked at you with genuine offense. “No darling, you can’t pair seafood with red, it’ll upset your palette. How about, hmm… She’ll have the white truffle risotto, and the seared bone marrow.”
Nearly three times as expensive as the dish you had picked out. Cauldron, dropping that much gold in one night was madness. “Rhys, I can’t-”
“Nonsense, everything is my treat. A beautiful woman like yourself should expect nothing less from a male,” he tsked. “She’ll have the risotto. Make that two, actually, I find myself craving the same.”
As the waiter left, he returned his focus to you. “You are alright with that choice, yes? I only wished to prevent you from making a grave mistake.”
You considered. Was it a horrible measure of stereotypical chivalry for him to order on your behalf? Yes. Did you also hate ordering food and worry for there to be a mistake you had to send back? Yes. And you weren’t picky by any measure. Seafood, mushrooms… it made no difference to you as long as it was delicious.
“I trust you,” was what you settled on.
“Good, I appreciate that.”
The rest of the dinner went smoothly, except for one thing. Rhysand was a ravenous eater.
Not sloppy, he was not the type to have food on his face or clothes. It was just, well, when he tasted the bonemarrow, he seemed a bit too excited. Twitchy, even. Such fits of rage occurred when you were hungry, too, but it seemed oddly different. Almost immediately after, he had recovered himself, though.
“Would you like dessert?” Rhys asked kindly.
“Oh, no, I’m stuffed.”
“I must confess another motive of mine,” he sighed, seeing you lick the truffle sauce clean from your fork. “Truffles are well known to be… aphrodisiacs.” He paused, looking to gauge your reaction.
“That means they make you want to have sex, right?” Just clarifying.
He covered his mouth, an incredulous laugh leaping from his throat. “Oh, you are just too precious, and so very shameless,” he purred, eyes lowering to a deep smolder. “Yes, that is what that means. You are of course under no pressure to accept an invite to my home tonight, but I wish to extend the offer.”
You sighed inwardly. Promises were meant to be broken, right? Yes, you had said no more going home with men after only one date. But, this man was hot, and polite, and he was definitely big. And how many men would even spend that many gold marks on you in their entire lives, let alone the first date? “I think I’d like to accept your offer.”
Rhysand’s grin turned wicked, flashing strangely sharp white teeth.“Excellent.”
~~~
His home was so massive it could scarcely be considered a home. This was a mansion. No, a manor. It was old, and it both embraced its antiqueness and managed to look clean and well kept.
“Welcome to the House of Wind.”
You carefully stepped inside as lightning crackled in the distance. It had conveniently started to pour on the way, dousing you in a coat of dew. The inside made you whistle. “Damn, what did your mortgage even look like?”
“Haven’t a clue. This is a home that’s been in my family for millenia.” It didn’t seem like an exaggeration with the way he said it. “But I believe similar dark ancestral manors are priced around several million gold marks on Zillow.”
Rhysand led you up a grand spiral staircase. The velvety red carpet under your heels was so thick and old, you expected dust to cloud beneath your steps. It was meticulously clean, though, as if he had hand-picked every bit of lint out himself.
The bedroom. No ruby-draped chandelier, no dazzling gold candelabra, and certainly no lint free carpet had prepared you for its beauty.
High, vaulted ceilings ushered your welcome, the ribs of the interior carved with wood filigree and sacred text in some language you couldn’t read. Everything was dark oak and scarlett, from the ornate fire-side couches to the monstrous silk draped bed in the center of the room.
Even the windows seemed enchanting. And they were, you realized. The ones not open to let in a cool, satisfying breeze were stained and carved. They caught the light with their color, holding it in their grasp before letting it echo in the room.
“Goddamn.”
Rhysand grinned, suddenly behind you. His broad hands came to rest on your shoulders, tracing the skin at the base of your neck before the tips of his fingers danced down your arms. “It’s not all for show, the bed is particularly comfortable. Though, you’ll see that for yourself soon enough.”
You stepped towards that huge bed- only to be yanked straight back. A startled noise escaped you as your hands went straight to your neck. A band of soft leather studded with loops and spikes of metal lay at the base of your throat. Rhysand’s fingers curled through the back of it, holding fast.
A collar.
“Ah, ah, ah, not so fast, pet.” He spoke every word as if it tasted of that sweetly rotted wine. “You’ll wait for permission, yes?”
Without even the conscious thought, you found yourself nodding. Talons, sharp and dark and sinful, crawled across your mind with a phantom caress. Every muscle in your body froze. You went to your knees.
Rhysand laughed. “That’s a good look on you, you know. Surprise, a morsel of fear.” He bent down, grazing your ear with his teeth. Yes, they were far too sharp, indeed. “Don’t worry. It won’t hurt too badly.”
And though you knew now exactly what he was, you asked anyway, “what won’t hurt?”
He only laughed, tightening his fingers on the collar that kept you still, and then his teeth were in your neck.
~~~
Everything was dark and hazy. Everything felt good. Too good, like the fly trapped in honey, still craving sugar and excess straight through death.
“You’re awake,” Rhysand noted, his expression thoughtful in the dark glow of his room. “And how do you feel?”
No answer came, only a deep moan. Fire ravaged through your blood, which felt heavy in your veins. Your hand found the silky front of his blouse, fisting in the material.
“Needy girl, you woke much faster than I expected.”
The fire spread through you, tunneling down your veins and straight to the aching nerves between your legs. Every sense but touch fled you. Shaking all the while, you felt the base of your neck. The collar was still there, and just above it, two fresh wounds split skin. Little punctures rested where he had fed at the jugular. But that didn’t explain why you felt like this.
Unless death felt like need, the body’s final desire, you were pretty sure that most folks on their way out the door did not grow utterly aroused.
Rhysand laughed softly, watching the reel of emotions play out in your eyes. Sleep, want, hunger, confusion, all of it a comedy.
“No, sweet thing, you’re not dying. It’s venom,” he soothed, petting your hair as he read every thought from the source well in your mind. “It makes the bite less painful and the prey less afraid, but it has some… other effects as well.”
Your clit throbbed. Rhysand laughed at your startled cry.
“That would be one such effect.”
Hours you had slept, surely. A few candles in the master bedroom had guttered out into pools of cooling wax. The drug in your system should be working its way out, not getting stronger.
“It won’t go away,” he answered your train of thought. “Not until the desire is sated.”
And the fables and folklore made sense. All the humans that fell for vampyric charm and only fled by coffin… it made sense. For how could you leave? Heat ravaged your body, and you wanted nothing more than to have him fill you, to plunge deep inside of you and never leave.
“Oh, I’m flattered.” His purr was a startling balm to your weary soul. “Might I consider that an invitation? A welcome inside?” He laughed at his own witty jest, but you were already moving.
Navigating by pure feel, your hand struck corduroy. Metal button to unloop. Silky underthings. Searing hot, hard flesh.
“Eager,” he mused, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Shall I fuck you out of your misery, or wait to see the fool you make of yourself with such clumsy stroking.”
Callous, but you could see the way he bit his lip as you squeezed the base of his shaft. Rhysand shifted, angling toward you, then above you.
You went to wrap your legs around his hips, but he easily thwarted the attempt, pushing your knees to your chest and holding your legs back- just the way you liked.
He knelt before you, tracing a finger through your now utterly exposed cunt. “So wet. I do love how mortals wear every emotion so freely. Though it’s not as if you could control it.”
One finger slipped into the sweltering passage of your pussy. The heat banked for a moment as he curled and stroked, but it was not long before the embers sparked again.
“Oh, poor thing, it’s starting to hurt isn’t it?”
You nodded blindly as he pushed a second finger into you.
The seconds felt eternal, and every bit as pleasurable as they were punishing. “P-please.”
Rhysand paused, his sharp smile turning wicked. “Good girl. I thought you had forgotten how to speak. Delightful.”
In reward, he rubbed the head of his erection between your drooling folds, notching against your entrance. “Say it again.”
“Please.”
His first thrust knocked away every last trace of intelligent thought. He did not pause. He gave you no grace. You sweat like a fevered peasant, trembling as he worked you open one thrust at a time.
Pure pleasure arced like a charge of energy through you, and Rhysand moaned as your pussy locked tight around him, suckling him deeper.
His free hand found your collar, hooking his fingers through the material and holding fast. He used the leverage to fuck deeper into you.
Your blood bubbled to a low simmer as drips of precum leaked into you, every bit the antidote he promised.
“You take it so well,” he groaned, forcing your legs back further.
The tip of his cock pummeled your cervix as your body swallowed him up. The thought of him leaving, of ever being parted from his thick cock, had you growling, sobbing, screaming.
You were an animal. A creature running on sensation and carnality. He fucked you through every second of torturous bliss.
You were not sure what was orgasm and what was fever, it all bled together.
But his thrusts were faltering now, growing sloppy and deep. Hot cum flooded your channel as Rhys threw his head back. His pleasured grunts were beyond human, but they cooled the broiling of your veins.
His hips stuttered as he pushed his seed deeper. Your venomed blood cooled and sense returned to you.
“Better?” he asked between harsh pants.
You nodded and he freed himself from your depths. “Good.”
With the last dregs of strength you had, you turned to face him. “Second date?”
He blinked- then laughed. “You are quite resilient for a mortal.”
“Thanks.”
“I suppose we could dine again together… How about Thursday evening, when dusk is at its ripest?"
“Pick me up at 8.”