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Paperback available Spring 2010.

Hemovore

deleted scene: alternate ending

First warning - if blood play grosses you out, take a pass.

Second warning - you probably need to read the library scene to understand why the veins are a big deal, and...

Third warning - major spoilerage for the whole book. If you dislike spoilers, read the book first and then come back!

Back when I was writing my first draft, I posted the chapters for my writing group to follow along. I wrote them a bonus down-n-dirty sex ending just for the hell of it, and to get it out of my system. (And for my own pervy enjoyment, of course!) Here it is.

Jonathan tried to make a show of pouting, but he was lousy at it. Or maybe he was actually too good at it, because I was putty in his hands whenever he made that sulky little face. “Just try,” he said.

I sighed. It’s not that I thought it would be dangerous. Even with the small dose of aspirin he took, he was still a quick clotter. Quick enough that it might not even work.

He sidled over to my desk and closed my laptop, which gave a mournful beep at being so rudely dismissed, and then went into sleep mode. “Tonight." Jonathan's eyes bored into mine.

I had a feeling I wasn’t going to get out of it, but I had to at least make an effort. “Why tonight?”

“Because while you were up here writing, I’ve been getting ready.”

I hadn’t realized there was any way to prepare.

But now we got all the V-magazines, even one from Germany, as well as the special subscription cable channels and the V-world website set as our home page. If there were a way to get ready, Jonathan probably knew. I looked back at him and raised my eyebrows in expectation.

A tiny, satisfied smile. He knew he had me. I was surprised it had taken him that long to figure it out. Then again, he’s not an empath. Maybe that’s a good thing. Because I’d sure miss it if he stopped going out of his way to make me a crazy, lust-addled mess. Which he does so well it’s scary.

His long sleeved T-shirt was a black V-fabric affair that hugged every chiseled contour. He pulled it up slowly, inch by inch, exposing his rock hard abs muscle by muscle. The tiny line of dark hair under his navel. His ribs. His nipples. I shifted a little but couldn’t look away. He slid the shirt over his head, his hair momentarily trapped, then spilling down almost to his shoulders in a glossy, black tangle.

“Okay, you’ve got my attention.”

His shirt dropped to the floor. He wet his mouth, and then trailed a fingertip across his chest. Um. I wondered if, by preparation, he’d meant masturbation. I wished I’d been there to see it.

“Look,” he said.

I blinked and wondered what I was supposed to see. It was brutal, so much hotness like staring into the sun. His paint-stained finger trailed over his chest, up his shoulder, down. And I realized he was showing me a vein. I glanced up at his eyes and he smiled, satisfied.

“They’re bulging,” I said.

“Weight training--don’t worry, I was more careful this time.”

I reached out to him, ran my finger down the vein he’d shown me, noticed everywhere it branched, connected, forming a whole network beneath his smooth, translucent skin. And it turned me on, got me salivating, all at the same time. My God. I was drooling over the thought of what he wanted me to do. Damn him for his persistence.

“How long...um....” My voice sounded dry.

“Plenty of time." He unhitched the buttons on his jeans with one hand and let the front fall open. His lower belly was a roadmap of veins.

My breath caught.

“See?” He sat on the floor and pulled me down beside him. He shoved my hand down the front of his pants and I felt the bulging veins, hard, pulsing and vibrant. “You like it.”

My salivary glands continued working overtime and I had to swallow, and swallow again. “It’s...um....”

“Come on.” He fell back. “I’m ready to be ravished.”

He grinned up at me and used the tip of his tongue to toy with one of his fangs, and I wondered who was getting ravished. Not that I was complaining. My gaze trailed from his incredibly dark eyes, inching downward, enjoying every chiseled hill and valley, until I came to those veins again under his navel.

“I want you to bite my neck.”

I felt a thrill that my puritanical brain tried to smother.

“That’s too dangerous.” Okay, I know. Like anything was dangerous compared to living in the subway and bartering with rat men.

He pouted. Oh, man, what a pout. “My shoulder, then.” I didn’t answer. He sighed, and raised his eyebrows. “What is it? You want me to beg?”

“You beg pretty well, I’ll give you that.” I buried my nose in his hair. It smelled like shampoo with an undertone of linseed oil and turpentine from his studio. “But no. I wouldn’t want to get into a rut.”

Jonathan slid his hands up under my shirt and dragged his fingertips along my back. He wedged a knee between my thighs and rocked his groin into my quadriceps. Another wicked thrill--the way he approached it, sex, always flustered me and turned me on at the same time. The guy who’d once been unable to complete a successful pat on the arm was now humping my leg; copping feels in taxis; whispering dirty, dirty things in my ear at boring dinner parties where we couldn’t eat anything anyway.

“Fuck me while you do it.”

My hands, as if outside my active control, grabbed his jeans by the front pockets and started tugging them down. Where’d he learn to talk like that--porn videos? I couldn’t say things like that. Not out loud. He twisted to dig some stuff out of the back pocket while I stripped him, tossing it on the floor beside us. A small tube of KY and an X-acto blade. I shivered.

He’d been barefoot, and once I got the jeans off he just lay there looking up at me, naked, waiting. My gaze roamed his body. Veins showed, more prominent than usual, bulging over his shin, a pale blue webwork on his inner thigh. His hard belly, though--I couldn’t stop looking there, as if it had me hypnotized.

I dropped my face to his stomach and kissed it. His hands went to my head and held me by the hair while he sighed, and I felt him stiffen against my collarbone. I dragged my lips over him, fine, silky skin stretched over rock hard muscle and bone. And now vein.

My salivary glands continued to pump as I took a vein between my lips, grazing it with my tongue. I could feel his pulse pounding, and my heart stuttered as if to time itself to Jonathan’s rhythms.

“Or there,” he gasped. And he didn’t sound so cocky anymore, pardon the choice of words. “You could do it there.”

But it seemed a shame to waste all that good spit. Plus he was sliding his hard-on along the side of my neck, so things pretty much handled themselves. I took my licking lower, wetting him from root to tip while he panted and clutched my hair. I’ve told him to go easy on the hair, but he always seems to forget when I’ve got my face between his legs.

I had him nice and wet and all the way in, my head fixed between his hands while he flexed his hips upward, moaning, “Yeah, uhh, yeah.” I tried to imagine us as a positive/negative bloodbond and just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t imagine not kissing him, not touching him, not tasting him. More power to people who can live on flowers and poetry. But it just wasn’t me.

I relaxed my throat and concentrated on the sensation of him sliding along the roof of my mouth, the faint hint of salty precome, the big vein I could feel rubbing against my tongue. Jonathan’s hips dropped down to the carpet but his hands stayed clenched in my hair. “I don’t want to come yet,” he said. As if he’d do it anyway even as he was regretting it.

Normally, I’d keep going and figure I could always get him to that point again, maybe even a few times over the course of the evening, but there was some challenge that appealed to me in making it all happen, choreographing the blood and the sex and both of our climaxes. He let go of me when I eased him out of my mouth, giving the salty tip a final suck and lick.

I knelt up and looked at him, running my palms over his body while he squirmed beneath me, watching me with heavy-lidded, dreamy eyes. His veins still bulged, and I found my hands drawn to them, the sternum, over the shoulders, the base of the neck.

I salivated.

Nope, I told myself. Not the neck. Not without some big time anatomy research.

And since when had the neck even become a serious option? One that turned me on?

Jonathan writhed under my hands and wet his lips while giving my a very plaintive, deprived look.

Suddenly, it felt like I had way too many clothes on. I sent my polo shirt flying across the room and unzipped my jeans, shoved down my boxer-briefs. Jonathan tried to get his legs around me but I flipped him onto his side, figuring I’d have better access to those veins in his shoulder if he wasn’t bent in half beneath me. He sighed and stretched as I got behind him, pulled his leg up and then groped for the KY. “Touch yourself,” I whispered, feeling like I was in a porn video myself, talking like that. He purred a little and slid his hand between his legs, cupping his own balls, stroking them, while I greased my fingers.

My fingertips brushed his when I reached down to lube him. He mumbled a, “Yeah,” that was mostly lost in breathing. I pushed a finger in--he was so incredibly tight I felt like we were teenagers and not grown men. And I had this suspicion that I’d been his first, at least that way, though it’s always felt too awkward to really ask. “Mmm. Yeah. Yeah....”

I pulled my finger out and lubed myself up, stroking slowly, making sure I was hard, really hard. “Touch your...dick,” I managed.

A breathy hiss, and I saw his arm change positions, his hand cradling it, stroking it.

I set my forehead into the curve where his neck met his shoulder and pushed a couple of fingers in, pressing toward the prostate. Jonathan moaned and arched his back.

“Come on, Mark,” he said, rolling the “R” just a little. “Fuck me.”

I pulled my fingers from his tight heat and lined myself up there, fucking my fist while the head of it poked at him, prodding, getting a sense of him. He arched hard, backing onto me, and I let go of myself and took him by the hipbone, dragging him back harder. He raised a leg up, spreading for me, and a final, well-placed thrust and I was in.

We both moaned.

Once I was in place, he dropped his leg back down, tangling it between mine, and his tightness became a glorious vise. A couple of thrusts and I didn’t give two damns about the blood, just wanted that tight hole gripping me, stroking me, that hard body under my hands to take and to use.

Jonathan made the most exquisite sounds in his throat as he arched his back, pressing his butt into me, writhing in my arms. I crammed my forehead into his shoulder and felt sweat form between us even though we kept the AC at sixty-five. I licked the salt of us from his shoulder blade.

“Now." He pressed a cold metal handle into my hand.

I didn’t want to stop, but Jonathan had arched and held position with me pressed into him down to the balls. I took a shuddering breath and looked for a vein.

I almost went for a big one on the meaty muscle between his shoulder and neck, but opted for a little more caution, at least for the first time around.

First time? Like I could already see it as a recurring event?

I slid the sharp little blade under his skin and put my mouth to it.

Jonathan moaned, arched harder, managed to cram me deeper inside even though I’d thought I was as deep as I could possibly be.

A taste of blood, and the tiny cut closed.

“More,” he panted, his voice low and gravelly.

I could feel myself throbbing inside him, that final climb starting on me.

I found that vein again by the tiny cut I’d made in it and slid the blade in again, slicing the vein the long way, maybe a half inch cut. I closed my mouth on it and sucked hard.

Jonathan cried out loud enough for the neighbors to hear.

It was only a little blood, even still. But I was scared I’d hurt him.

“Come on,” he panted. “Really do it.” His hand was moving fast on his dick, his breathing shallow, hitching. And I didn’t think I’d hurt him at all.

My body was seemed to agree with him, warmth gathering in my balls, my palms and the soles of my feet going all pins and needles. That big vein was right there, urging me on. The handle of the X-acto was slick in my palm.

“Now." It sounded so strangled, and his ass throbbed around me as he said it.

A quick stick of the knife and I got my mouth on him and sucked. My insides exploded in a torrent of pleasure....

And in retrospect maybe it wasn’t even the blood. It was Jonathan feeding me in his own moment of passion, and me drinking it, and the whole act escalating as it fed itself and fed itself until it went nova.

I’d pushed Jonathan onto his face as I peaked, like I could pile-drive him into my carpet. His arms were trapped under him and his hair hid his face completely. I peeled myself off his back where I’d been stuck to him with sweat, and saw his ribs rising and falling as he tried to catch his breath.

The cuts I’d made on his shoulder were nothing compared to the teethmarks around the biggest slice. A ring of red, straight lines for my incisors, with four black divots where my canines had bruised him.

Jonathan rolled onto his back beneath me and his cheeks were flushed. He nodded at me, as if to say, “See? I told you it would be amazing.”

I almost asked him if it’d hurt, but duh, of course it did. And then I told myself that the question was probably irrelevant.

“Come here,” he whispered, and pulled me down into a slow, gentle kiss. I shivered as sweat evaporated from my body, and his hand trailed down my side, settled at the low of my back.

When we broke the kiss, I stared into his eyes even though we were too close to see each other’s eyes properly. “Was it...good?” he asked. And not as a way of saying I-Told-You-So, at least I didn’t sense that.

Good? Oh, man. I nodded.

He let out a breath and hugged my head to the crook of his shoulder. “Then think about having your fangs sharpened. Don’t say anything now--just think about it.”

So that idea sent a naughty thrill through me, too. Dammit. I shifted my hips so I was bearing some of my weight on one of my knees and pressed my face into his hair.