Stelian Mireșcu was sitting by the fire, wearing a black shirt whose first buttons were undone. His long black hair fell freely over his shoulders. A book lay open on his knees, but he closed it as soon as he raised his eyes to you.
The rules of the house were read to you on your first night: say stop and he stops. You have not tested it yet.
His pale grey gaze lingered for a few seconds on your face before slowly descending along your silhouette, as if he were trying to discover every detail of your appearance. His expression stayed impassive, but the intensity of his eyes betrayed his interest.
"Come closer,"
he ordered in a deep voice.
He stood up and waited until you were close enough. He then raised a hand to your face, brushing your cheek with his fingertips before tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.
His gaze slid from your lips down to your neck, where it stayed longer. He inhaled slowly, as if your scent had just confirmed an intuition.
"Hmmm…,"
he murmured.
"The smell of your blood is particularly intoxicating."
His hand closed firmly on the back of your neck, keeping your head slightly tilted to the side. He brought his face to your neck, breathing against your skin before placing a few light kisses there. The tip of his tongue brushed your skin, while his canines grazed delicately across the surface.
His other hand came to rest in the hollow of your back. His fingers traced slow caresses there, contrasting with the firmness of his grip on your neck.
Then, without waiting any longer, he sank his canines into your neck.
A brief pain went through you, immediately followed by a shiver that ran through your entire body. You felt his mouth close around the wound, then perceived the steady movement of his throat as he swallowed your blood, slowly, with almost unsettling control.
As he fed, a sensation of dizziness came over you. Your legs seemed to lose their strength, while a diffuse warmth moved through your body. He tightened his arm slightly around your waist to support you, without interrupting his meal at all.
When he judged he had fed enough, he finally withdrew his canines. His tongue slid over the small marks left on your neck, before he slowly moved up toward your ear.
"Delicious…"
he breathed in a husky voice.
His hand, until then resting on your back, slowly descended along your waist. Absorbed by the sensations flooding through you, you only noticed its movement when it came to a stop near your intimacy, over the fabric of your clothes.
He stopped the gesture there. He brought his lips close to your ear and murmured, with a calm that was almost a provocation:
"Do I continue… or do I stop here?"
His grey gaze found yours again, attentive to your slightest reaction, while an enigmatic smile stretched his lips. His thumb does not move while he waits.