Page 8 of The Nephilim's Finesse
He stepped even closer; only an arm's length separated us. Licking his lips, he locked eyes with me; his dark pools infatuated me. “I'd strip you of your knickers, but you don’t wear them anyway, do you?" His voice was low and seductive, sending a shiver down my spine. "I'd kneel before you, my hands pushing your skirt a bit upwards. Then I'd kiss your soft skin, starting at your feet, slowly reaching your calves and then your thighs. There, I'd lick your flesh in little circles, driving you crazy, until I reached the spot between your legs. I would kneel before you, part your legs and bury my nose into the delicious scent of your sex.”
My eyes widened as his words hit me like a wave. Heat built up inside me as I imagined him doing exactly what he described. His eyes bore into mine, and I felt my heart beat faster with every passing second. The intensity of his gaze spoke volumes, conveying far more than any words ever could; it told me that he wanted to do it—and he would if I let him.
I swallowed, trying to keep the desire at bay but failing miserably. Maybe this was my chance—my one chance to escape captivity by giving in to temptation—to let Raph do those things to me that no man had ever done before.
“My tongue would explore every inch of you, and I'd start off by making sure your lips were wet. I'd then move further and pay special attention to your sweet spot, licking, sucking and hitting it just the way you like it. As I feel you become more aroused, I'd insert a finger inside of you while my tongue sucks and teases your delicate clit. When your legs started quivering, and you let out a deep moan of pleasure, I'd drink in the taste of your desire and feel the ultimate satisfaction when you come undone.”
Hot liquid pooled between my thighs, and I pressed them together, this feeling totally alien to me. What he described was all about my pleasure, not his. I was confused.
“What do you gain from it?” I whispered.
“It’s not about me. It’s about your pleasure. I take mine from the knowledge that I gave it to you." He studied me for a moment before he continued his description. "Finally, I would bury myself in your pussy and drive into you over and over again. We'd move together in perfect rhythm, my hips crashing against you as you wrapped yourself around me, and I'd feel you tremble and moan beneath me. I'd fuck you hard until you come all over my cock.”
His eyes burned with desire, his lips only inches from mine. He breathed onto my skin, hot, wet; it sent a wave of goosebumps over me; I felt how my nipples went hard. Suddenly, a brief pain erupted in my neck, and I saw him move backwards, the empty syringe in his hand, before the room went dark.
My eyes fluttered open to take in the unfamiliar surroundings. Lying on a bed, I realised my hands were no longer bound by chains. Sitting up and taking stock of my new environment, I noticed the lavish carpet coating the floor in a gentle caramel brown. Beige walls lined the room, curtained on one side by a wooden double bed and its accompanying nightstand with a bedside lamp. On another wall was a walk-in wardrobe that had been built into one wall, filled with clothes my size as if they were meant for me. Two comfortable-looking chairs upholstered with steel-grey fabric and a small black coffee table stood in the centre of the room. Everything in here smelt new; a combination of wood, fabric, and synthetic materials resulted in a fresh, clean, and slightly chemical odour.
There was a door which led to a small white-tiled bathroom with a toilet and a shower. On the opposite wall was another door, this one secured by a hand-scanning pad overlaid with silver. The door had a small window, and the hallway was lit up with UV light, which I could hear cracking with electricity. I felt that the entire room was plastered with silver wires inside the walls, subduing my strength.
I knew without testing that I wouldn't be strong enough to break anything in here or even break out. Destroying the hand device system would only lead to not letting someone in, and I needed to feed. The UV light would burn me to death, even if I could open the door.
As I inspected everything in my new cell, I didn’t find any chains or other constrictions to bind me to. How'd Raph imagined questioning me then? Through a speaker system? Why'd he move me here in the first place? It was the nicest jail I’d ever had. Did he think of making me speak now out of gratitude?
I had alliances I had to protect, a plan to fulfil. Nothing these Nephilim were allowed to know. It'd be dangerous, if not deadly, for my confederates. My subordinates depend on me to keep silent. I’d never told one of my captors any of the secrets I had to maintain. In fact, they never got any information at all. This wouldn't be an exception. I’d bide my time, learn of their weaknesses, and then escape. Afterwards would come my favourite part: revenge. It'd be cruel, devastating, and deadly for many. It'd confirm my leading place within the vampires and destroy my enemies, or at least weaken them for a considerable time. I had eternity and was a patient woman.
Taking the chance, I used the shower and washed myself properly for the first time in weeks. I savoured every moment of the luxurious hot water cascading over me, lingering longer than necessary. After drying my hair and putting on some new clothes, I sat in one of the chairs, which was very comfy. Yes, I had a new room, which was agreeable, but I was still a prisoner, and there was nothing I could pass the time with. Hours passed before I heard doors opening in the distance. I turned to face the door and saw Raph with a very young Nephilim walking along the now turned-off UV light hallway. The white man had to be at least twenty-one; otherwise, he wouldn't have his tattoos, which the Nephilim got at their initiation ritual at that age. However, with his brown hair and naive green eyes, he looked almost like one teenager from my village when I was still human.
After the door to my cell was closed, both stopped at the entrance. I waited in my chair, legs crossed, watching them.
“I hope you like your new accommodations. I equipped the room myself,” said the young man.
Raph half turned and shot him a glance that silenced the boy. Then he faced me again. “We won’t use any shackles until you try to attack us or flee.”
I nodded my understanding.
“What are your plans?”
Inwardly, I rolled my eyes at the same questions again. I tuned them out as my face gave nothing away. They came together for the possibility that I would attack one if he were on his own. I wondered what kind of relationship these two men had. To bring an inexperienced warrior into the questioning wasn’t the smartest choice. If not for Raph, I'd have tried my luck to outplay them. The huge Nephilim executed the quiet, confident power of a man fully in control of the situation. His face was emotionless, like a stone carving; his posture regal like that of a Greek god as he stood there, hands on his hips, accentuating his broad frame full of muscles.
Raph’s lips moved as I focused on them. His bottom lip was full, and I wanted to bite him there. Not for blood, but to feel how he'd taste. Heat flushed my face as I thought back to what he described doing to me, how he made me feel. I loathed him for that; he awoke feelings within me I had never experienced before and now craved to have again. To feel the heat between my thighs and the rapid beating of my heart in excitement and anticipation of what would happen next. Feelings that I'd never have again until he decided to give them to me. Within those minutes, he gained a new form of power over me, something I never thought possible. Yet, there he stood, and I pictured how his hands would glide along my skin, how his tongue would dart out to get a sample of me. I had to stop that. He was my captor, a man to despise and break free from, nothing more.
As he asked question after question, his deep voice calmed me more and more, and when his scent washed over me, I was back in Southern France, the fields of lavender painting the horizon purple, the crickets chirping in the setting sun. Pine trees rustled in the wind, their scent mixing with the lavender. Those were good years until the French Revolution destroyed my heaven. War was never good for a vampire. Of course, one had a lot of blood and bodies, but I never wanted to feed from dead flesh. People get guarded in times of dread and need, making getting on a fresh neck harder. Uproars and destroying property were more issues if you wanted to sleep and not be vulnerable to being burnt in a fire or the sun. We wouldn’t get burnt to ash in a second if a ray of sun hit us like some books or movies stated, nor would we start to sparkle, but we'd get an ugly, painful sunburn. The longer we were exposed to the sun, the more severe the burns would be, and in the end, we'd die. Eventually. Fire was dangerous, too. We felt the flames as if we were just as fragile as paper or kindling. Although our bodies wouldn’t catch fire immediately, it'd be far quicker to ignite us than a body made up of muscles, bones, and flesh typically would.
Raph’s lips formed a thin line, and I knew he was at the end of our little game. As suspected, he turned without another word and laid his hand on the plate, which scanned his lines. The UV light in the hallway went out, and the door opened. When both were through the door at the end of the hallway, the UV light turned on again. I sighed as another round, another day in captivity, went by. When would he give up and let me go?
We fell into our new routine quickly. Raph came into my room—no, it was still a cell; I wasn’t in a hotel—and would question me. He didn’t bring any water buckets anymore, as I had a shower at my disposal, but he collected my worn clothes and brought them back freshly laundered. Then he'd repeat all those questions while trying not to look at me with hate and disgust in his eyes, or more often, like he’d devour me if he could, and failing to do so. My mind would wander to the endless possibilities of what he could do to me, but to be frank, it wasn't that much. Almost every time, I imagined the scenario he described to me for lack of any other pleasant experiences in my past.
When he was in his monologue asking question after question—his inflexion indicated that he didn’t expect to get an answer anyway—I interrupted him.
“Bloody hell. I can't stand this tension anymore. Do what you want. Get it over with.”
He raised an eyebrow. Several emotions ran over his face: he furrowed his brow in confusion, and his eyes softened with longing for a second, only to harden moments later, overflowing with doubt and disdain. In the end, he shook his head. “No.”
“Why?”
“Because you don't want me to," he said matter-of-factly.
“I do.” My heartbeat accelerated, and I pressed my lips together. What had I said? I sounded like a harlot. Guilt and shame washed over me, but a bit of excitement was there, too. I felt the heat in my cheeks, and I waited for his decision with a hammering heart. Would I experience actual pleasure for the first time in my life?