I send a mental plea for help to Vincent as I sit on my bar stool wishing I hadn’t done that third – or was it fourth – shot.

When a muscled pair of arms lifts me and carries me out, my vision is totally blurry. I know the feel of him, though, and I nuzzle into his chiseled chest as he carries me out to my car and deposits me in the passenger seat. He digs my car keys from my pocket and then shuts the door. I am only vaguely aware when he gets in on the driver’s side, and I must pass out, because the next thing I know, I am in my own apartment, on my own couch, and he is sitting beside me, watching television.

I sit up, bleary-eyed and still tipsy. “What time is it?”

“I believe it is around one in the morning,” he says. “I feel less intelligent for watching these television shows.”

“Not a T.V. guy,” I say. “Noted.”

“Why are you so inebriated, Amy?”

“Where to begin, Vincent? Um, I still haven’t figured out who this warlock is and another girl is dead. I nearly had a panic attack in the morgue. My best friend thinks Damon was an abuser. And…I miss him. I miss him and I wish he would come back home.”

Tears are falling down my cheeks. I do not cry. I am not a crier. It must be the alcohol, because as I blubber and cry, I crawl into the crook of Vincent’s arm and lay my head on his chest. He’s stiff as a board, though, not consoling me in any way.

Once I have let it all out, I sit back up. “You couldn’t pat me on the back or hug me or anything?” I ask accusingly.

“I am uncomfortable with human emotion,” he says. “It has been a very long time since I was human. Those memories and feelings fade with time. I did hug you after your injury.”

“Yes, you did, and it was both uncomfortable and unexpectedly sweet,” I say. I am quiet for a moment before I ask, “Did you feel anything when I said I thought I was in love with you?”

“You know that it is different for vampires,” he says.

“Don’t dismiss my question like that,” I say. “I know that you experience things differently than humans – don’t forget that I have been in your head, a lot. I’m asking you, did you feel anything?”

“I feel something for you, yes,” he says. “I feel protective of you. I feel attracted to you and sexually aroused by you. I love the taste of your blood more than any other human from which I feed. I enjoy being around you. You do make me feel more…human. Sometimes. But love? In the human sense? I do not believe I can feel those feelings anymore.”

“Good to know,” I say, salty. I stand up, frustrated and inexplicably embarrassed. I feel rejected, even though my rational mind knows that he is just being his honest self. That he is saying he cares for me in whatever ways a vampire could ever care for a human. I am more than food to him, yes, but I am still food.

I start to march toward my bedroom, pulling my t-shirt off and throwing it to the floor. I step clumsily out of my jeans, letting them fall to the floor as well. I am about to dive back into the safe cocoon of my covers when Vincent catches me by the waist, pulling me toward him.

“I can sense that you feel rejection,” he says, his lips very close to mine. “I assure that was not my intent.”

“I know,” I say, trying to push him away. He is too strong, though, and I am too drunk.

“I want you, always,” he says.

“I…I want you too,” I admit.

He doesn’t wait any longer. His lips are on mine in an instant, his fangs pricking at my bottom lip, his tongue tasting the blood there.

“Will you get drunk from drinking my blood?” I ask.

“Possibly,” he says, picking me up, his hands large on my back as he walks the few steps to my bed, laying me down gently. He takes off this shirt and twirls it, turning it into a thick rope, which he uses to tie my hands to the headboard. I squirm a bit, blood rushing to my sensitive core.

Vincent undresses slowly, his eyes never leaving mine as I take in the sight of him. He must have been modeled from clay; his body is so perfect. I have seen it before, but it never ceases to amaze me. I lift my hips in invitation and he gives me a sly smile.

“So eager, Amy,” he says. “Good.”

He crawls along side of me, his teeth nipping along my side, at the top of my breast, in the sensitive underside of my arm. He licks each small wound, tasting me. When his lips meet mine again, they taste coppery. I love it. My hips buck again, my core pulsating with want.

He rips my bra and panties from my body as if they were made of paper. The cool air hits those delicate parts. My nipples turn to hard pebbles, my pussy clenches, dripping with juices.

Vincent puts one finger inside of me, pulling back out, tasting my arousal. “Delicious,” he murmurs. “Almost as good as your blood.”

“More,” I beg. “Please. Please, Vincent.”

He kisses my stomach, bites at my pelvic bones. He stops for a moment to look at the scars that dot my abdomen. He kisses each spot gently before he growls, burying his face between my legs as he uses his hands to spread me wide.

My legs are so far apart and I would crack myself in half if it meant giving him further access to my dripping, aching cunt. He licks and nips, his fingers and tongue and teeth working me to a frenzy. I needed this. I need this. I want to come. I need to come.

It’s a mantra, all I can think as I feel it build and build. I am nearly angry when I can’t quite push over the edge and into oblivion.

Finally, Vincent lifts up, puts his lips on my neck, and bites down, just as he shoves his massive cock inside of me, pumping in and out as if he will break me in two. I love it. The harder the better as I push up to meet him, so ready, so ready.

Then, finally, I crash. The waves roll and roll as my orgasm takes my breath away, the feeling of lust and war and bonding rolling through me as my body shakes with the force of my orgasm. I swear it is ten minutes long, or ten days. I don’t know, but it just doesn’t end.

And when my body tingles with the endorphins this coupling has caused, Vincent slices his own wrist and feeds me enough of his own blood to replenish what he has taken from me.

My clit pulses with aftershocks and Vincent, realizing I need more, fingers me again, his lips sucking my nipples as he works me to another orgasm. My hips rise and stay as the pleasure takes me into orbit once more, my vision fuzzy and my mind empty of everything but the feel of his fingers between my legs, his mouth on my breasts.

Finally sated, I curl onto my side. He kisses my temple and covers me with blankets.

“Goodnight, Amy,” I hear him say.

I don’t dream that night at all.