Out of the Box 2 Read online

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  Alinar Publishing

  www.alinarpublishing.com

  Copyright ©2007 by Kallysten

  First published in 2007, 2007

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  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

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  Out of the Box 2

  Kallysten

  Copyright © 2006 Kallysten

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior written consent of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  The right of Kallysten to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  First Published 2006

  Second Edition 2007

  All characters in this publication are purely fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Edited by Tracey W

  Cover by Kallysten

  My Lady Aphrodite,

  I tried to resist. You know I did. But last night, I gave in.

  For a full week after my first visit to the club, I went home every night repeating to myself that I wouldn't go back. That first time ought to have been the last. My curiosity about vampires and being bitten was satisfied, and that should have been enough. But it wasn't.

  Being with Anando raised many more questions than it answered. About myself, about sex, about what I like, what I want, and what I never knew I liked or wanted. And as much as I tried to convince myself that it was a mistake, I had to return. I had to see him again. And I did.

  I almost caved Friday night, but a rough day at work had left me exhausted. So I went to bed early, determined to get my beauty rest and be at my best on Saturday night. Of course, it didn't quite work like that. I tossed and turned and tried to decide for half the night what I would wear—and even more importantly—what I would choose in Anando's toy box this time.

  By morning, I had decided on a dress—off the shoulders, with a fitting bodice and a skirt made of layers of thin, translucent fabric. It's the same deep blue as the scarf Anando gave me last week, that scarf that I took to work with me every day, tied at my neck to hide the healing bite mark there.

  I couldn't make up my mind about the rest though, and when I took a cab to the club, I still hadn't decided what game I would request to play when he asked. The contents of the white chest were still clear in my mind, etched there in fire and lust; I just couldn't choose.

  I arrived at On The Edge early, barely after sunset, and although there were already people on the dance floor, the crowd was nothing compared to what I had seen the previous week. I ordered a cocktail at the bar on the ground level and went down one staircase to stand on one of the suspended bridges. I sipped on the drink slowly, my eyes on the dancers beneath me but I wasn't really seeing them.

  Instead, I was remembering, yet again, what had happened on that night a week earlier, how Anando had reached toward me, what it had been like to dance with him, what his hands had felt like on me, first on the dance floor, then when he had taken me home and undressed me. The white chest. The toys. The scarves. His cock. His fangs.

  Slow sips turned into larger gulps, and it wasn't long before I returned to the bar to get another drink. A different bartender took my order, tall and dark-haired, his eyes so dark they seemed completely black. He didn't say a word, but I could practically feel his gaze caressing my neck where Anando had bitten me.

  I made a decision at that moment. Whatever happened, it couldn't go that far again, I had to stay in control. And I finally knew what toy I would choose for that. I paid for the drink and left to return to my observation point. This time when I scanned the dance floor and its growing crowd, I could actually see the people down there, and I started looking for darker skin and fluid movements.

  I wanted to see Anando first. I was certain that having a few moments to compose myself before I went to him would help me hold on to my resolve to remain in control.

  The feel of a light hand brushing against my exposed shoulders startled me enough that I spilled some of my drink over my hand when I whirled back.

  "It took you long enough to come back,” Anando said, a small smile playing on his lips. “I was beginning to think I scared you."

  I wanted to say something—something funny, or clever, or anything at all really—but to see him again like this, without warning, had my heart trying to break free from my chest and my mouth too dry to speak.

  He looked even sexier than the first time I had seen him, if that was possible, with a silky black shirt open halfway down his chest, framing the smooth expanse of dark honey. I wanted to touch him. I was sure his skin would be softer even than the silk of his shirt. But he winked at me, and without another word he was striding away, going down to the dance floor.

  It took me a little while to realize that, seeing how my mind had blanked out when my eyes fell on his ass, tightly encased in leather pants that left very little to the imagination.

  I followed him without even thinking, abandoning my half-finished drink on a tray at the bottom of the staircase. My eyes remained on him the whole while, and I started worrying with each step. There were several women around him already, one in particular dancing very close to him as the music accelerated, and it occurred to me for the first time that he might not be interested in me anymore.

  He had mentioned a next time, when I had left his house a week earlier, but maybe he had been teasing me. I had taken for granted that he'd want me again, as much as I wanted him. But the beautiful women trying to get his attention were making it impossible for me to ignore any longer what I had been very careful not to think about during that too long week. I hadn't showed up at the club for six nights, since we had slept together; I wasn't enough of a fool to believe he had gone home alone every night.

  Unexpected jealousy flared through me as I wondered which of the girls dancing around him he had fucked already, even bitten, and I found myself stopping in the middle of the crowd, no longer walking toward him. Turning away was difficult, but it was the best thing to do, or so I told myself. I would go home, and stop being silly. I had had my night with him, and it was time to move on.

  Strong arms wove around my waist from behind just as I was about to reach the nearest staircase. I would have recognized Anando's touch anywhere. He pressed himself against my back and started moving, dancing, much more slowly than the beat of the music pounding in my ears and heart, and still his movements seemed perfectly in tune with it.

  "Leaving so fast, Virginia?"

  He had to speak loud for me to hear him above the music, but his words seemed like a whisper against the shell of my ear. I shook my head and turned in his embrace to answer.

  "This isn't me. I don't ... I shouldn't have come back."

  "What if it is you?” he objected. “What if leaving now is the real lie?"

  I should have denied his words, told him he was wrong, asked him to let me go. I wanted to. But he lowered his mouth to my neck and a flash of raw need coursed through me when his lips touched the healed scars there. All I could do was cling to my resolve from earlier. I would set boundaries and remain in control.

&
nbsp; As much in control as I could be when my knees were turning to jelly.

  "You can't bite me again,” I said, hating how my voice was wavering when I wanted it to sound strong. “I came back to ... play, but not like that."

  He was quiet for a minute, his eyes looking right through me and I was sure he would remind me how much I had liked to feel his fangs sink into my flesh; almost as much as I had enjoyed the feel of his cock, strong and thick, and my memories really were not helping anything.

  "I can feed here,” he finally said, surprising me enough that I didn't know how to respond.

  His arms dropped from my waist, but his right hand slid into mine and he led me up the steps to the ground floor. The same bartender who had served me prepared a drink for him, mixing blood and alcohol, and Anando thanked him by name before asking me if I wanted anything. I started saying I didn't, but the bartender, Leo, was already preparing the same drink I had ordered earlier. All I could do was follow Anando to a table and be grateful that he had chosen one on the open floor rather than in one of the private alcoves on the sides of the room. Maybe he realized part of me was still hesitating and he was trying to comfort me. I certainly needed the reassurance.

  I barely touched my drink and stared at his own instead, fascinated by how dark it was. I would have thought that seeing him drink blood would bother me, but it really didn't. I knew what he was—I had known since I had first seen him—and this was just part of him.

  "What's on your mind, Virginia?” he asked, catching my eyes with a soft smile. “You're not going to run on me again, are you?"

  "Do you always feed from the club's customers?"

  The bluntness of my question startled me, but it was too late to take it back. He didn't seem to mind, however, and answered as though I had commented about the weather.

  "Most nights, yes. Does it bother you?"

  I didn't know what to say. On the one hand, I knew he needed blood to live and I understood—or at least I supposed—that feeding from a human had to be better than sipping on a drink. On the other, I couldn't help but feeling jealous at the idea of his mouth and fangs on someone else every night.

  "Why me?” I asked. I looked straight into his eyes and tried to understand. “Those ... girls downstairs, they would give you anything you asked for, so why choose me?"

  His smile was utterly predatory and screamed that, deep down, he was a hunter.

  "Why not you?” he practically purred. “Those girls as you call them are ready to try anything, but for them it's all about the end, all about their orgasm, and not about how they get there."

  I blinked at hearing him talk of sex so openly, where anyone could hear, but he continued without a care in the world.

  "More ... mature women aren't as rushed. I want to see the pleasure rise in a woman—every shudder, every gasp, the way her skin flushes or the grip of her fingers on the sheets ... I knew the instant I saw you that you wouldn't hide anything. You have such a beautiful, expressive face, Virginia. You show your soul for the world to see if they only look. And that's why I chose you."

  Once again, he was leaving me speechless. I brought my cocktail glass to my lips and took a sip, more to regain my composure than because I was thirsty. What he had said had touched me, but maybe because he had just claimed he could read me so easily, I felt the need not to show my feelings.

  "Mature, am I?” I said, the attempt at a joke already feeble on my tongue. “Just call it what it is and say that I'm old compared to these girls."

  He continued to smile, but now his lips had a softer upturn to them; it was all I could do not to reach out and run my thumb over them.

  "I have seen the dawn of two centuries,” he said, very quiet, very strong. “You're but a child next to me. But a child mature enough to know what she wants."

  It was a question, I realized. He was asking me if I knew what I wanted, now. Answering that I did was easier than I would have expected, and my heartbeat, for once, remained steady and calm.

  Before I knew it, we were back to his home. I led the way to the bedroom, remembering my earlier choice and decision.

  I immediately went to the white chest against the wall and knelt by it to pull out a white pillar candle, almost twice as thick as my wrist. Amongst the contents of the chest, this was the only thing I had some experience with. I knew what to expect, and because of this knowledge I thought it would be easier to retain some control even if I was passive. And if I stayed in control of myself now, it would be easier to resist later on, when the urge to come back to him would rise again.

  When I stood again and turned to him, all that was left covering Anando was the leather of his pants, and even that disappeared in seconds as I watched, entranced. I shut my mouth with an audible snap before I could start drooling.

  He was stunning, more so than I remembered—and I had spent a lot of time thinking of him, recalling every inch of his body. His shoulders were just a little broader than I remembered. His chest and abs just a little more defined ... and I'll admit I didn't get any lower than his cock. It was standing at half-mast already, the head peaking out of the foreskin, and I wanted nothing more than to wrap my hand around it and pump it to full hardness. Or maybe drop to my knees in front of him and take that taste I had dreamed of too many times to count in the space of a week.

  I blinked when he came to me and gently pulled the candle from my clenched hands. My eyes came back to his face, and I blushed a little at the cocky grin on his face. He knew what I had been thinking about, that much was clear.

  I watched the muscles of his back and ass flex as he walked to the nightstand and pulled a matchbox from the first drawer. Then he set the candle and matches on the bed and sat down next to them, propped on his hands on each side of him, his thighs spread just a little, and those fantasies of taking him in my mouth were back with a vengeance.

  Only when he said my name softly, twice, did I realize that he had been talking to me.

  "Undress for me?"

  I wished I could have stripped slowly, made a show of running my hands over myself as I slipped out of my dress and underwear. I wished I could have made Anando as hard by simply looking at me as he had made me wet by displaying his body for me. But the truth is, I was just too excited to manage any kind of seductive move. I don't even know how I managed not to throw myself at him. Despite my lack of creativity, his cock hardened a little more, reaching higher toward his belly, and he murmured a quiet “Beautiful” that had me breathing just a tad faster.

  A shiver ran through me when he stood and I licked my lips, expecting at the very least a kiss, and hopefully more. To my great disappointment, he walked by without laying a finger on me, and I turned to watch him walk into the adjoining bathroom. He immediately returned with a large terrycloth towel and a bottle of oil. He spread out the towel on the bed and gestured for me to lie down. I did so gingerly, both excited and nervous at what was coming next. I was a bit surprised when Anando didn't reach for the candle and instead opened the bottle of massage oil.

  "What...” I started, but Anando shushed me as he knelt next to me on the bed.

  "Shhh. Close your eyes and just relax."

  Only when he touched me, hands slick and smooth, did I realize exactly how tense I was. I tried to focus on his touch, on the glide and press of his fingers and palms on my flesh, and soon my entire world was contained in the feel of his skin on mine. It was arousing, but only because it was Anando. He treated every inch of my front to the same deep, soothing massage, without remaining at my breasts any longer than he did any other part of me, and never reached between my legs even when I spread my thighs a little more for him.

  "You didn't fall asleep on me, did you?” he asked as his hands finally left me, and I half opened my eyes, humming my answer. “Good. Here we go, then."

  I turned my head a little when I heard the crack and hiss of a match being lit, and watched him light the candle with it. The sleepiness and contentment I had felt a moment earlier sl
owly melted away along with the wax pooling at the top of the candle, and my eyes widened as Anando tilted it to one side.

  The single drop hit the back of his hand, and I blinked in confusion.

  "Just checking it's not too hot,” he explained, catching my gaze, and I started to nod. Before I had finished, the first drop of molten wax hit my belly. I arched under the fiery assault, drawing in a hissing breath. It was as hot as I remembered from past experience, but at the same time, it was very different. Where I had expected pain, all I felt was heat, and a sensation unlike any other. The burning slowly abated, but I remained intensely aware of the spot where the wax had hit.

  After Anando's massage, the feeling was at the same time unbearable ... and not enough. Every inch of my body, every single one of my nerves was crying for more, for a touch or caress from his hand, and the wax was such a touch, but it wasn't him.

  I answered Anando's questioning eyebrow by forcing my body to relax again and lie still. I tried not to tense as he moved the candle above my body, but found that I couldn't if I followed his movements, so I closed my eyes. And I waited.

  For the next few minutes, single drops of fire and sensation touched me, never twice in the same spot, and always with enough time between each drop for my body to absorb the feeling, revel in it, and prepare for the next one.

  Then, without warning, his rhythm accelerated. Not by much, there were still a few seconds between the contacts, but all my body felt suddenly so hot I was now gasping for air. The sensation was bordering on pain, but it was more than that, and I waited for the next drop of wax with as much eagerness as apprehension. Three drops fell in a quick succession, one at my hip, the next just above my bellybutton, the last on my breast and I cried out.

  "Anando! Please ... please..."

  I thought he would stop for a second, give me time to breathe and compose myself. Instead, he cupped my chin in his hand and tilted my head away. Before I could understand what he was doing, several drops of wax fell on my neck, hitting the two scars his fangs had left behind.