Living Out of the Box
Part 1
By Kallysten
The very first time Virginia spent a night with the vampire Anando, she couldn’t have begun to imagine all the sensual and sexual games she would experience with him. She also couldn’t have imagined that she would fall in love with him, or he with her.
As she moves in with him and they find their places in each other’s lives, the discoveries start again. A few of them happen through old games revisited: role-play, public sex or a familiar dildo in a different hand. Other discoveries come through new toys, some battery-operated, others custom-made to fit just right. And yet more discoveries come from playing with old and new partners.
But in the end, the one lesson that remains the same might be the most important of all: love.
This is the first part of the novel Living Out of the Box.
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Smashwords Edition
Copyright © 2011 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.
First Published August 2011
First Edition
All characters in this publication are purely fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Edited by Mary S.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
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Living Out of the Box
One last bit of tape, and I was done. Straightening up, I rubbed my achy back and surveyed the battlefield. What had been a living space now looked like a warehouse. Everything in my apartment was boxed, and the furniture was ready to be taken away. Some things were going into storage, others to my new place. I simply couldn’t wait.
I still had some time before the movers would arrive. Enough time for a celebratory glass, and that was exactly why a bottle of chilled white wine was waiting on the kitchen counter.
My life had taken a few unexpected turns in the past year, and this move was only the latest in a long series of surprises. If someone had told me, the first time I had walked inside the club On The Edge, that this was what it would come up to, would I have believed them? Would I have gone down to the dance floor and approached Anando if I had known the twists and turns our relationship would take? I had only been looking for a night of fun back then. I just wanted to know what it felt like to be bitten by a vampire, and I had found a vampire to show me.
Fate didn’t steer me toward just any vampire, though. It led me to one who was intensely sensual, who loved offering pleasure as much as he enjoyed taking it, and who ended up showing me a lot more than what it felt like to be bitten—and I’m not just talking about our sex games.
My throat still tightened sometimes when I thought of how close I had come to losing him. Except… I had lost him, hadn’t I? For months, we had been on opposite sides of the country, and I had been sure that we had said our goodbyes for good. Or rather, I had wanted to be sure; it hurt less that way. But if I had truly been certain, I wouldn’t have asked the bartender from the club to call me if Anando reappeared. I wouldn’t have jumped, filled with hope and excitement, every time the phone rang. I wouldn’t have run to Anando in the middle of the night when the call finally came that he was back.
While we were apart, I tried to convince myself that I was ready to move on, but at the same time, I still hoped Anando would come back to me. And I was right to hope, wasn’t I? He did come back. He admitted, for the first time, that he loved me. He made love to me as though we had been apart for a hundred years—and yet, he still remembered how to make every inch of my body sing with pleasure. And finally, he asked me to move in with him.
At first, I was convinced it was all nothing more than a dream. It was too perfect to be anything else. But when morning came and Anando was still there, when sunlight trapped him with me for the day and he didn’t seem sorry in the slightest, it dawned on me that all of it was real.
I had come so close to losing everything, and now I had more than I had known I wanted. Life was strange, sometimes.
Picking up the bottle, I tilted it toward the light to look at the label. The foreign words I traced with a slow fingertip meant little to me, or rather, little more than this: Anando wanted only the best for me. He had hurt me when he had left town, more than I could have imagined, but it wouldn’t happen again. I knew it wouldn’t. He wouldn’t let it.
I had remembered to uncork the bottle before I packed away my kitchen utensils, but now I realized I hadn’t thought to keep a couple glasses out. I was still debating whether it was worth unpacking a box—or more than one, since I wasn’t sure where the glasses were hiding—when the familiar chime of the doorbell echoed through the empty apartment. With everything packed away, it seemed louder than usual, or maybe that was just my imagination.
Bottle still in hand, I went to open the door for the movers. The first thing I saw were dark eyes that crinkled in amusement when they noticed the bottle in my hand. His lips twitched, too, but never settled into a full-blown smile. He touched two fingers to his cap, the logo on it all but unrecognizable, and grinned at me.
“Good day, ma’am,” he said with an accent that was both heavy and hard to pinpoint. “Been told you need an extra pair of hands?”
Feigning embarrassment, I hid the bottle behind my back and nodded, stepping aside to allow him inside. He was wearing heavy work shoes, designed to protect toes from dropped boxes or furniture, I suppose, and the thick soles and heels put him at almost a full head above me, since I was barefoot.
“You’re all done boxing things up, then?” he asked as he entered and looked around the living room.
My gaze followed his, sweeping over empty bookshelves; the sofa that looked naked without its decorative pillows and the quilted throw over the back; the windows, like gaping holes onto the falling night now that the curtains were folded in one of the boxes.
I had lived in this apartment for almost twelve years, ever since I had graduated from college. It had been the first time that I had lived alone, my first place on my own. Before that, I had lived either in a dorm or with my parents. It would be strange to live with someone again, to go home every day to a smile and quiet talk. Strange, but exciting.
“All done,” I said absently.
When I turned back to him, I realized he was studying me. He seemed unabashed at being caught staring, and I felt a little awkward, suddenly very aware of the dusty jeans I was wearing, how my tank top clung to me, and what I must have looked like, with hair flying free from my short ponytail and a wine bottle in my hand.
“I was… celebrating early,” I said, a little sheepish, glancing at the bottle.
He laughed softly. “Oh, I’m not judging, believe me.”
His accent was gone suddenly, and it gave me such a jolt that I almost missed his next words.
“I know it’s hard work to fill those boxes. Just as hard as it is to move them. Maybe I’ll need a drink myself when I’m done.”
I was still wondering whether he meant he’d enjoy a drink with me, from the same bottle I was holding, or just meant a drink in general, when he looked around, decided on where to start, and chose the closest box. I watched him bend to pick it up. His jeans were tight enough to give me a very good view of his ass. I’ve got to say, it was quite a lovely ass. I am more about a man’s shoulders usually; nice, broad shoulders make me want to step right into a man’s arms. But I wasn’t above ogling a nice ass when it was presented to me in such a fashion.
When he straightened again, he set the box on top of a second one and turned a knowing smile toward me. He undoubtedly knew I had been looking at his assets, and he looked amused more than anything else.
“So, where’ll you be moving to?”
I tried not to smirk at the return of his accent. I didn’t comment on that, nor on the fact that, hopefully, a professional mover would know where my belongings were supposed to be headed.
“On the west side of town. Not very far.”
He whistled appreciatively. “Nice neighborhoods over there. Pretty houses. You bought one?”
With my elbows resting on the counter behind me, I arched my back a little. His gaze drifted down to my cleavage, and that look was equally appreciative.
“No,” I said, “actually, I’m moving in with a friend.”
His gaze slid back up, and I could feel the heat of it along my neck and all the way to my face. “A friend, huh?” He cocked an eyebrow at me. “What kind of friend?”
“Exactly the kind of friend you’re thinking.”
His laugh was deep and low, reflected in his entire face, warm enough that my cheeks felt as though I had been standing in front of a roaring fire. The sudden thought that Anando had a fireplace struck me; I’d never seen it lit, but maybe I would soon. I would like that a lot.
“So where is he, then?” he asked. Raising an eyebrow, he added, “Or is it a she, maybe?”
Both questions surprised me, and I needed a few seconds to figure out an answer. “He is… busy, I guess.”
“Busy,” he repeated, and I could hear the air quotes in his voice. “Not such a reliable friend, then, is he?”
“Well, you better hope he is,” I replied dryly. I didn’t like to hear the man I love criticized like this. “Because he’s the one paying your fee.”
A half smile showed he understood his remarks weren’t appreciated. He touched the edge of his cap with a finger, then picked up the two boxes he had stacked and carried them out. By the time he returned, I had taken a couple more sips of wine and had all but forgotten what we had been talking about.
He hadn’t, though, because almost right away he asked, “How long have you known him?”
“Almost a year now.” Even as I said it, I had to marvel. So much had changed during that year that it seemed like a lot longer than that.
“Almost a year?” he repeated, and I thought I could hear an edge of disapproval in his words. “And you’re already moving in together? That seems fast.”
I couldn’t help but be amused by that remark. It certainly revealed a lot about him and his views on relationships. “Some people would say we took our time,” I pointed out. “It’s all relative.”
“So I’ve heard before,” he said wryly. “How did you two meet, then?”
A smile always comes to my lips when I think of the first time I met Anando. “At a club. We danced together.” On the spur of the moment, I added, “And I seduced him.”
His eyebrows twitched, although I couldn’t have said whether it was from amusement or incredulity. “Did you, now?”
I felt vaguely put off by his tone. “Why so surprised? You sound like you don’t think I could seduce anyone.”
He looked straight at me, deep into my eyes, as though trying to show me the truth of his words. “I think you could charm anyone with that lovely smile of yours, Virginia.”
My eyes widened in exaggerated surprise. “How did you know my name? I didn’t tell you.”
For just a second, his expression was the one of a child caught with his hand in a cookie jar. It seemed so out of place on his features that I had some trouble not laughing aloud.
“Oh, I… I mean…” Flustered always looked very cute on him. “It was on the invoice?”
I grinned at the uncertain tone in his voice and decided to let him off the hook. “I see. That makes sense.”
A flash of relief crossed his face before he gestured to the boxes at his feet. “I’d better pick up the pace or we’ll be here all night.”
With three boxes in his arms, stacked up high enough that he would have trouble seeing where he was going, he left the apartment to go down to the parking lot. I went over to the window and watched him put the boxes in the back of the van. When he was done, he looked up, and even from where I stood high above him, I could still feel the warmth of his gaze.
“What is he like?” he asked when he reentered the apartment moments later.
“Hmm?”
“Your friend.” He picked up a box, set it on another one, and turned a questioning look toward me. “The one you’re moving in with. What is he like?”
I wasn’t sure whether he was asking about personality or physical characteristics. I went for the easier of the two possibilities.
“He’s… very good looking.” I couldn’t stop myself from grinning. “Tall. Strong. About the same complexion as you. Beautiful eyes. Like you.”
So maybe subtlety isn’t my strong point. I never claimed it was.
He didn’t seem to mind my bluntness and gave me a beaming smile. His eyes were sparkling, tiny fires glittering in their dark depths.
“Thank you,” he said, his voice low and almost purring.
I didn’t trust myself to reply, so I only nodded.
He looked around until he found a smaller box to put atop the two he had already stacked. “Does he treat you well?” he asked with forced casualness.
The question could have been intrusive, but I didn’t really mind. I answered without a sliver of hesitation. “He does.”
Anando and I had come out of rough time, but I knew he had never intended to hurt me. He had just been trying to keep both of us safe, albeit in a somewhat misguided way. I was sure that he’d never run away from me again, not after what we had shared with each other.
I didn’t say any of it, but maybe something showed on my face because he put down the box he had picked up and observed me with piercing, almost challenging eyes.
“Always?” he asked, the slightest hint of doubt edging the word with frost.
“Always,” I repeated, and I meant it from the depth of my soul. Whatever had happened, I bore no resentment toward Anando. Forgiven and forgotten, the bump in the road that slowed us down didn’t exist anymore as far as I was concerned.
He watched me for a little longer, as though trying to decide whether I was telling the truth. In the end, he gave a simple nod and a just as simple, “That’s nice.”
Picking up the stack of boxes, he carried it out of the apartment. I followed the path he would take in my mind, taking the staircase to go down two floors, pushing the front door open, setting the three boxes in the back of the van. I could have helped him. It would have gone faster. But it was his role, after all. And I was still working on that bottle of white wine, slow sips taken straight from the bottle, with my hand closed tight around the neck. The wine was so sweet it was almost like drinking honey. The main difference was that honey wouldn’t make me so light-headed, my thoughts fluttering inside my head like colorful butterflies I could catch with my bare hands.
When he came back, I freed one such butterfly—one such thought—and let it flutter between the two of us.
“He’s a vampire. My friend, I mean. My lover.”
He stood still and cocked an eyebrow at me. “Is he, now? I hadn’t figured you out as a vamp groupie.”
I had never been called that, and I would have felt insulted, I think, if not for the wine mellowing my mind.
“I’m not,” I said simply.
“No?” He came closer until he was standing right in front of me. His expression was still doubtful He raised his hand, slowly enough that I could have stopped him, but I let him brush two fingers against the scars on my neck. Even at work, I had stopped trying to hide or camouflage them. They were part of me, and so was my relationship with Anando.
“So those marks on your throat weren’t left there by vampires?” he asked softly.
I shivered at his touch, but my voice was steady when I answered. “No. By one vampire. If I’m a groupie, I’m his groupie; no one else’s.”
He let out a quiet laugh, his entire face lighting up from it. He really was very attractive. “Some guys are lucky.”
I raised the bottle up in a toast.
“Need help with that bottle, too?” he asked, passing his tongue over his lips and grinning.
I chuckled, then took another swig before I answered. I was sloppy, and a drop of wine escaped my lips and ran down my chin.
“I’d offer you a glass, but I already packed those.”
His grin sharpened and turned almost predatory. He raised his hand again, as slowly as before, but this time it felt more like he was flirting than trying to give me a way out. He pressed his thumb to the drop of wine on my chin, tracing it back to my lips, his gaze locked with mine the entire time. A shiver ran down my spine. I couldn’t have moved away from him for anything. But I could—I did—move forward, just barely, just enough to draw his thumb into my mouth and suck on it gently. His nostrils flared and he licked his lips again. His thumb made a wet noise when he pulled it out of my mouth.
“That wine’s very good,” I said breathlessly. “My… friend gave it to me. I didn’t want to waste a drop.” Turning my head to the side, I brought the bottle back to my lips and drank deep. When I lowered it again, I was feeling a little more light-headed. Not so drunk that I didn’t know what I was doing, but tipsy enough to be more daring than usual. I leered at him, at the way he was watching me like I was dinner. “Do you want a taste?” I offered.
He nodded and started to reach for the bottle, but I held it out behind me and out of his reach, fumbling to set it on the counter.
“Oh, not like that. Right here.” I pointed at my mouth. “It’s sweeter this way.”
He laughed again and the sound seemed to vibrate along my spine. I pinched my lips together so I wouldn’t moan and embarrass myself.
“Sweeter,” he repeated as he came closer to me until we were toe to toe. “Yes, I’m sure it is.”
I felt his last words against my wet lips when he leaned in to lay his mouth on mine. He traced my lips with the tip of his tongue before slowly sliding inside. My eyes dropped to half mast. His kiss was so gentle, so heady, that I didn’t immediately realize that his fingers were playing along the hem of my tank top.
“I bet it’s even sweeter here,” he murmured, and while his eyes remained locked with mine, he lowered himself until his mouth brushed against the band of skin he’d exposed by tugging my tank top upward. His tongue dipped briefly into my belly button. I drew in a sharp breath, which only accentuated my cleavage now that he had pushed my tank top above my cotton-clad breasts.
He pressed open-mouthed kisses over my stomach, then pulled back and blew gently over the wet patch of skin. I shivered, then again when his mouth returned, a little higher this time. He repeated the process, wet kiss, cool puff of air, then up again, until he had reached the underside of my breasts, and his next kiss was half on my skin, half on my bra.
“There seems to be something in the way,” he said with a wicked grin.
In a blink, my tank top was on the floor. Another blink, and my bra joined it. Every time his fingers brushed against me, a fresh wave of goose bumps erupted over my arms. I thought his mouth would return to the skin he had exposed, but instead he looked at me for a few seconds, his gaze caressing the curves of my breasts so intently that it was like he was touching me with fingers tipped with fire.
Without warning, he grabbed my hips with both hands and, as though I weighed nothing, hoisted me onto the counter. I gasped in surprise, wondering what he was up to, but before I could say a word he had climbed on as well, one knee wedged between my legs and the other next to my thigh. He guided me backwards until I was lying down on the countertop. It was cold against my bare back, but it didn’t matter, not when he was kneeling over me, his eyes like fire again when he picked up the bottle I had forgotten and started tipping it over, his thumb blocking most of the opening. A thin trickle of wine dripped onto my stomach and down my sides, some of it pooling into my navel.
“Now,” he said as he put the bottle down again, “let’s see how sweet you are.”
He lowered himself over me and started licking my skin, following every wet trail the wine had left on me. My eyes drifted closed, and I hummed softly, pressing a hand to the back of his head to draw him closer. Every sensual slide of his tongue sent pangs of desire thrumming through me—until he lapped at the wine in my bellybutton. The tickling sensation had me squirming and laughing immediately, and what was left of the small pool of wine spilled over.
He clucked his tongue reprovingly. “Look at what you’ve done, Virginia dear. I wasn’t done tasting yet. I’ll have to start again.”
And he did start again, but this time rather than drizzling wine onto my stomach, he did so on my chest. I shivered when the cold wine hit first one nipple, then the other, pouring down the sides of my breasts and pooling at the hollow of my throat.
He licked the sides of my breasts, first one side then the other, sensuous lines of his tongue that caused my hands to clench on his shoulders. I tried to guide him to my hardening nipples—to where I craved to be touched—but he resisted my efforts, and only when I stopped trying to direct him did he finally press the flat of his tongue to my left areola. Then the right. The touch was both rough and silky, almost electric, and my body shivered under him. He went back and forth between my nipples, at times lapping, at times sucking, but always stopping much too soon.
“Stop teasing!” I demanded, and gasped when his lips pinched the very tip of my nipple.
“You’re going to spill my wine again,” he chuckled, leaning closer to my throat. “If you do, I’ll have to start again from the beginning.”
I held very still when he started to lap at the small pool of wine gathered at my throat. It wasn’t that the idea of more teasing was unappealing, quite the contrary, but I wanted more—and I wanted more now.
Sliding a hand between our bodies, I searched for his cock. Even trapped inside his jeans, it wasn’t difficult to find, thick and hard, demanding attention, and I couldn’t wait to wrap my hand or my mouth around it, couldn’t wait to feel him inside me.
He, however, didn’t seem to have any problem waiting a little longer. After another few swipes of his tongue, he sat up and straddled my thighs. He caught my gaze and made a show of licking his glistening lips.
He kept eye contact, and I couldn’t look away, couldn’t move a finger when he undid my button fly, one button at a time, so slowly it was like he was giving me time to stop him between each button. But stopping him was the last thing I wanted at that moment. I felt so warm that getting out of my pants seemed like a great idea, and when he moved off the counter to tug my jeans down my legs, I helped—and pushed down my panties as well.
With no warning, his hands closed on my waist, and he pulled me closer to the edge of the counter, close enough that my legs were dangling uncomfortably. I raised myself up onto my elbows to see what he was doing. He pulled a stool closer and sat down in front of me, then guided my legs onto his shoulders, one after the other. He looked at me, licked his lips, then leaned forward toward my pussy.
At the first flick of his tongue, I moaned in encouragement. He replied by pressing a kiss directly against my clit. The pressure was exquisite—and nowhere near enough. He really had teasing down to an art.
“Come on,” I gasped when his next touch barely darted inside me, gone before I could truly enjoy it.
The way I was positioned, I couldn’t quite see his tongue or lips touch me, but what I could see of his expression was pure amusement. I tried to curl my leg around the back of his neck to draw him tighter against me, but he turned his head to scrape his teeth against the inside of my thigh. I yelped, more in surprise than pain, and he chuckled.
“I thought I was coming on to you,” he said, looking back at his task. “I guess I’ll have to try harder.”
And ‘harder’ is exactly what he gave me. Where he had only teased my clit before, now he took it between his teeth and held it delicately as his tongue flicked it back and forth. My body started shaking at the sudden stimulation. I lay down before my elbows could give in, expecting him to keep going until I came. I could have cried out when he stopped—no, I wanted to cry out, but all that came out was a moan. His mouth had already slid a little lower, and he was lapping noisily along my slit. With every pass, his tongue lingered a little more against my entrance, pressed a little deeper, and soon he was simply fucking me with his tongue, holding it rigid and pushing it inside me.
Flashes of pleasure blurred my vision. My mouth fell open in a soft, continuous moan. Only when his left hand pressed gently against my belly did I realize I was squirming under his touch. I tried to stop, since that was what he wanted, but I couldn’t, not anymore, not when the fingers of his right hand replaced his tongue inside me, three of them, I think, thick and eerily talented at finding that one place that feels, oh, so very good. His mouth didn’t leave me, though: it fastened onto my clit, sucking and nibbling and pushing me higher and higher until I could have sworn I was flying. My body arched off the counter, pushing down tighter against his face and his hand. I had no breath left to cry out my pleasure when it splashed through me, a roiling tide of sensations nothing could have stopped.
I relaxed again, lying on the counter and staring unseeingly at the ceiling, my own blood beating fast in my ears, barely aware that he was lapping at my wetness again.
“God, you’re so sweet,” he rumbled, so close to my clit that the words were like a touch, and another wave of shivers rolled over me. “I want you. Can I have you?”
He sounded almost frantic as he finished, hungry, afraid I might refuse him. But how could I when he pleaded like that, when he had made me feel so good already and I expected to feel even better soon?
I nodded, unable to get a word out. I’d never been as glad that condoms were not an issue, because I couldn’t have made us stop even if they had been.
With his help, I slid off the island. My knees wobbled a little, but he held on to me until I was steady. His body was lean and hard against mine, solid as a rock, and so full of strength…
He leaned in and kissed me so fiercely that by the time he pulled back, I was breathless again. With firm yet gentle hands, he turned me so I faced the counter. I rested my forearms against it, bending down to press my forehead against them while he got ready.
I heard fabric fall to the floor first, and I imagined it was his t-shirt. I didn’t need to look back, I could see his chest perfectly well in my mind, skin the color of coffee with a light touch of cream, just the way I like it. The sound of his zipper was next, and it seemed as loud as fabric tearing apart. He shuffled forward at once, and I knew he had only pushed his pants and boxers down without bothering to take them off. I bit my lip at the thought that he wanted me so much he couldn’t wait a second longer.
He pressed against me from behind, his cock hard and thick as it slid between my parted legs and brushed against my most tender parts. That simple touch made me shiver, and he buried a low chuckle against my back. “Want it that badly, huh? Are you going to beg for it?”
My body shook, both from excitement as he continued to caress my folds with his length and from silent laughter. “I already came,” I pointed out breathlessly. “You didn’t. If anyone’s going to beg, it won’t be me.”
He raked his teeth over my shoulder blade with a low growl that ran over me like an ice cube. I shivered again. Truth be told, I wasn’t that far from begging, not when he was still teasing us both, coating his cock with my wetness until he was slick and slippery against me.
He didn’t say another word, but the head of his cock pressed inside me—only the head, and then he pulled back again. I thought he would ask me to beg again, but he pushed back inside right away. His cock slipped in so slowly it was almost torture. I wanted to rear back and pull him in faster, but his hands were on my hips, keeping me still.
“Are you sure,” he said with a nip at my earlobe, “that you’re not going to beg?”
I tried to push back again, with no more success than before. He had me pinned with hands and cock. He was so strong that I felt completely at his mercy. I’m not sure if it was that thought or the pleasure still coursing through me that caused my pussy to clench around him. His low groan reminded me that I was not, in fact, powerless—far from it.
“Are you sure,” I asked back, proud that my voice was only trembling a little, “that you won’t beg?”
I squeezed my inner muscles around him and drew another of those lovely groans from his throat. It seemed to be enough, or maybe too much. He abandoned his teasing pace and pushed all the way inside me in one sharp jerk. The movement pushed me against the counter, as did his next thrusts, but the moan that rose from my throat was one of pure, raw pleasure. The angle could have been awkward; instead, with the twists of his hips he added after each thrust, it felt nothing short of amazing.
“Did he ever take you like this?” His words came out in ragged breaths against the back of my neck. “Hard and fast in your kitchen?”
An involuntary chuckle escaped me. On the scale of what Anando and I had done so far, ‘hard and fast in my kitchen’ wasn’t all that impressive. “If you think that’s—”
I finished with a loud, broken moan when he accelerated again, sharp slams of his hips that caused white dots to swim in front of my eyes.
“You—were—saying?” he asked, out of breath and fucking me harder still.
I couldn’t answer; it was all I could do to lock my knees to stop myself from collapsing. Each new thrust pushed sharp moans out of me, and there was nothing I could have done to stop them—not that I could even think of a reason to do so.
He continued to drive his cock inside me until I wasn’t aware of anything anymore but the way his body pressed into mine, filled it, with new bursts of sensation overloading my system with every thrust.
He was pressing in so fast, so hard that I almost expected pain to start accompanying the pleasure that flowed through me like waves, but whether by skill or happenstance, he always seemed to stop short of causing me actual pain.
I had never felt like this before. Even my first time with Anando had been different. He had looked at me, taken care of me, of my needs, and I had felt… something. A connection, although it might be too strong a word for our first night. But there had been something, the same something that had pushed me to come back, time after time, the same something that had bloomed into love.
Now, for the first time ever, I felt like it truly was a stranger taking me. It was sex and nothing more. Raw and primal. His main goal, and that was quite obvious in each of his movements, was to get off. Getting me off again at the same time would be nothing more than an afterthought.
I think I was just tipsy enough to find the whole ‘fuck a stranger’ game exciting, but in retrospect it’s not one I’d care to play again.
At the time, though, I wasn’t thinking about any of this. Coherent thought was beyond me, and it was all about sensations, about our bodies, about flesh slapping against flesh in an increasingly frantic rhythm.
I had lost my breath and I was panting, on the verge of hyperventilation. My fingers were clenched over the edge of the countertop, as tight as his fingers were on my hips. I’d have bruises, I thought dimly. Flowers shaped like his hands, and Anando would kiss each petal until they faded away.
A sudden twist of his hips ignited my body again one last time when I had been so sure he had wrung every last bit of pleasure out of me. Gathering what breath I had left, I cried out his name, and it seemed to push him over the edge. The next instant, he thrust jerkily, almost uncontrollably inside me as he came. The thought of him losing control so completely caused me to shudder yet again and obliterated everything else in my mind.
When he finally stilled, his cock slipped out of me and I couldn’t help but moan at the loss. He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me close, his chest moving in the same fast rhythm as my heartbeat. It was all I could do to turn in his embrace and face him. The next second, we both slid down to the floor. He leaned back against the base of the counter and pulled me into his lap. I curled up against his chest, still shivering from pleasure. His arms wrapped around my waist, snug and comfortable. He started rocking me slowly, and at that moment I wished I could have purred like he did and let him know how good I felt without uttering a single word.
When my breathing had calmed down against his neck, Anando passed a hand through my hair, combing it lightly. My ponytail had come loose at some point.
“Are you all right?” he whispered, so close to my temple that I felt his smile.
I was too languid to even say a word. I hummed against his neck and hoped it sounded affirmative.
“Did you have fun?” he asked next. “Was this what you wanted?”
I hummed again, a little louder this time. It wasn’t what I had expected when I had asked for a do-over of our role-playing game. It was that game, back on Halloween, that had broken us apart, and it had felt necessary to replace that experience with better memories. When Anando had suggested we change the rules a little, I hadn’t been sure. Now I was glad I had gone along with it.
Rather than reminding me of our ill-fated role-play—what could have been the end of our relationship—it had instead brought me back to our first night together, when Anando had been little more than a stranger to me. Even then, I now realized, something had passed between us. And that realization, maybe, was what I had needed, what we had both needed.
“Are you ready to go home?” Anando asked, stroking a hand down my back.
This was a question I had to answer in words. He wasn’t simply asking whether I was ready to go home. His home, which would be mine too now. He was asking whether I was ready to start a new life. With him.
I still didn’t know what was ahead of us any more than I had in the past year every time I had sought him out, but I knew one thing: this time, like every other time, I couldn’t wait to figure it out, couldn’t wait to see what would happen next.
Raising my head from his shoulder, I looked at him and smiled, then pressed a kiss to his lips, just a peck, little more than a caress.
“I’m ready.”
I had never meant anything more.
Continued in Living Out of the Box
Kallysten’s most exciting accomplishment to date was to cross a few thousand miles and an ocean to pursue (and catch!) the love of her life. She has been writing for fifteen years, and always enjoyed sharing her stories and listening to the readers' reactions. After playing with science fiction, short stories and poetry, she is now trying her hand, heart and words at paranormal romance novels.
To see her other stories, including a free monthly story and sample chapters, visit
Other stories available from Kallysten:
Out of the Box – the complete series
(available as eBook now and in print in September 2011)
The first time Virginia went to the dance club On The Edge, she only wanted to find out what a night in a vampire’s arms would be like. Anando showed her it could be much, much more than she had imagined.
Over the next few months, every time she returned he continued to stretch her imagination and the boundaries she tried to set on their relationship.
Soon, though, Anando’s limits were tested as much as Virginia’s when their sexual encounters gave way to feelings neither of them had expected.
(available as eBook now and in print in September 2011)
Brett Andrews thought he had it all.
His new club, On The Edge, catering to vampires and humans, is a smashing success, and the beautiful vampire Lisa is everything he could have dreamed of.
When an old lover of hers, Leo, shows up at the club, Brett’s immediate fear is that he will lose Lisa. But if he just stops thinking long enough to follow Lisa’s lead, he might gain a lover instead of losing one.
(available as eBook now and in print in September 2011)
One heated night brings together two men and a woman, one of them human and the other two vampires, but when morning comes there are more questions than answers.
Brett, the human owner of the new club “On The Edge”, hires Leo as a bartender, but unexpected security issues threaten their burgeoning trust. For his part, Leo is caught in the same pattern that once caused him to lose Lisa, and he struggles to adapt and allow his new sleeping arrangements to last as long as possible. And Lisa, who brought her two lovers to the same bed, now realizes that she also invited back in her life a past she thought forgotten.
Will they be able to make it work, or will this ménage collapse after a few nights of lust?
(available as eBook now and in print in September 2011)
Vampires don’t grow old; it doesn’t stop Leo from dreading his birthday and the yearly disappointments it brings back.
This year, though, with two lovers in his life, the day might just take a better turn. Lisa knows him well enough to guess what he doesn’t even realize he needs, while Brett is ready to give – and ask for – the greatest gifts.
All Leo needs to do is hang on and ride the wave when it comes.
(available as eBook and in print)
In a future world shattered by the invasion of beast-like demons, humans are fighting back as well as they can, using ancient weapons along with magic to defend their cities. Next to them, vampires are fighting too – some for the thrill of it, others to hold on to age-old Pacts, which demand that they protect humans.
When Kate’s squad of fighters meets vampires Marc and Blake, she is torn. Her squad could use their help, but the two men are distracting her from her duty. Night after night, they search together for the breach between realities that allows the demons’ invasion. They search, also, for the equilibrium that will allow Blake to forgive his Sire, Marc to accept Blake as he is – and Kate to admit she is attracted to both of them.
Can they find that delicate balance before the demons destroy the squad?
First part of the Blurred Trilogy