Chapter 9- Come to me

Life was spontaneous. Grace craved redundancy, simplicity, and, well, ordinary. But when midnight rolled around, her mind still hadn’t settled in regards to the vampire.

Giving up, she returned to the kitchen, grabbed the book, and prowled to bed. She promised just a few more passages, just a few pages... damn it, then she’d start craving redundancy again.

Her oversized white T-shirt huddled at her waist as she braced the book on her upraised legs, opened to the middle of the tale, where the bookmark was still set, and paid attention again to the pages. For many seconds, the letters appeared to be written in a language she did not understand. It's like it was made a very very long time ago.

Then, a blink later, they were written in English again. It was very strange, and surely, and hopefully—a she-just-needs-sleep mistake on her part.

She found her place.

"‘They called him James.’" James Gregory III. A pureblood vampire from the kingdom of Nork. 

A powerful, delicious name. The syllables rumbled through her mind, a caress. Her nipples beaded, aching for a hot, wet kiss, and every inch of her skin flickered. She thought back. She’d never questioned a vampire named James, and the one in her dream had never spoken to her. He had never acknowledged her in any way.

She raised her bow and continued reading aloud.

"‘He did not know his past or if he had a future. He knew only his present. His hated, torturous present. He was a slave, locked away like an animal.’" 

Just like before, a surge of dizziness crashed through her. This time, Grace pressed on, even as her chest was crushed. 

"‘He was kept neat and lubricated. Always. Just in case, the Master's daughters and wife needed him in their bed. The master's daughter, Leticia, did need him. Often. Her cruel, twisted passions left him whipped and wounded. Not that he ever acknowledged defeat. James Gregory was vicious, nearly delirious, and so filled with hate that anyone who looked at him saw his death in his eyes.’"

The dizziness heightened. Hell, so did her desire to see the vampire. It was like his name alone could make her orgasm to no end. To tame a man like that, to have all of his vigor concentrated on her, pounding into her... his participation willing, Grace shivered.

Damn it. She nearly lost it.

Grace cleared her throat and continued. "‘He was hard, merciless. A fighter at heart. A man used to absolute power. At least, he thought he was. Even with his lack of memory, he was patently conscious that he was someone important and powerful. His intuitive needs for vengeance were raw.’"

Another shiver rocked Grace. She gritted her teeth. James desired her kindness, not her fascination. Is he that real to you? She asked herself. 

Yeah, he was. 

"‘At least he would have a few days’ ceasefire,’" she read on, "‘forgotten by one and all. The whole kingdom was frothing over Leticia's return from the grave and—’"

The rest of the page was blank. "What the hell? What happened next?" Grace flipped to the next page but shortly realized the tale had ended on a sketchy cliff-hanger. 

"Who the hell wrote this?" She murmured under her breath.

Great.

Thankfully—or not—she found more writing toward the end and squinted and shook her head. 

The phrases didn’t change. "‘Dear Grace Lim,’" she spoke hollowly. "‘You are Leticia. Dave me. Come to me, I command you. Save me, I beg you. Please, Grace. I need you.’"

Her name was in the book. Why was her name in the book? And written by the same hand as the rest? On the same age, smeared bloodpages with the same stained ink?

I need you.

Her attention returned to the part directed at her. She reread it again and again.

 "You are Leticia," until curiosity overpowered the desire to whimper. Her mind stirred. There were so many roads to take with this. Forged, reality, hallucinations, lies, and truth.

Come to me. Reach the thread.

I beg you. I command you. Please, Grace. Open your mind. Follow the thread of Kali. Come back to me. I need your help. I can't live like this forever. I need you. Follow the thread. Follow it.

Something inside her acknowledged that power, pursued that command, accepted it like it was her very own mission in life, more than anything else in the book. The desire to run—here, there, anywhere—beat through her. Then she saw it. A shining thread. So bright. It was like an explosion inside her mind. Creating a pattern and path from the isolated void inside her brain.

As long as she found him and saved him, nothing else mattered. And she could save him just as soon as she reached him.

Come to me!

Yes. She wanted to accept it so excruciatingly, painfully. She felt as if an unseen magical cord had been wound around her neck, and was now tugging at her.

Shivering, Grace closed the book. She wasn’t looking for anyone. Not tonight. She needed to rest her head. She was getting crazy. She was seeing things. In the morning, after a few cups of coffee, her head would be clear and she could reason this out. She wished.

After placing the time on her nightstand, she flopped into her bed and closed her eyes, trying to force her brain to peacefully hum. A futile effort. If James’s tale was real, he was as imprisoned by those chains as certainly as she had once been imprisoned by her body’s feebleness.

Her sympathy grew, spread... While he was kept in a cell, Grace had been bound to a hospital bed, her bones broken, her muscles torn, her mind hazed by drugs, all because a drunk driver had slammed into her car. And while she had been—was—tormented by the loss of her grandmother, her best friend. James was tormented by a vicious woman’s unwanted touch. She felt a surge of shame, a crackle of resentment.

I need you. The voice echoed.

Grace inhaled deeply, breathed out unhurriedly, and veered around to her side, clutching her bright pillow close. As close as she unexpectedly wanted to grab James, to soothe him. To be with him. Uh, not going there. She didn’t know the man. Thus, she wasn’t going to imagine sleeping with him.

But that’s precisely what she did. His predicament was ignored as she visualized him climbing on top of her, his dark blue eyes bright with need, his pupils blown. His lips were plump and red from kissing her entire body, still moist with her aroma. She licked at him, tasting him, tasting herself, eager for anything and everything he would give her.

He kissed her longingly as she felt the flutter in her pelvis, pulsing with need. Almost embarrassed as she feels warmth, engorgement, and a tingling sensation as the fabric begins to darken with her wetness. His lips met hers again, their tongues intertwined. His palm slides against her awaiting throbbing folds and pleasures her in circles over the thin covering intended to protect the centre of her femininity. But now, as his tongue slid against hers, Grace's body was pinned against the soft mattress. He seductively assaulted her inner thighs, nearing the centre. His fingers violated the outline of her slit through the thin material, thus making clear her carnal intentions: to penetrate her, to take her to her peak again.

"Oh, James," she moaned under her breath.

Slowly, submissively, she spread her legs, conceding further access. James’s fingers tantalize her, making her moan at the same time. He kissed her neck as he felt Grace’s own fingertips against the outline of his increasingly hardening trunk. He nibbles on her earlobes as his other hand massages her breasts, full and supple, her hardening nipples straining against the constriction of her bra. He releases her momentarily from his sweet grip, and as he breathes in her sensual scent, his hands fall to her waist. "You are amazing, dear."

"And so are you," Grace moaned in her reply.

Swiftly, deliberately, he turns her around as she bends slightly at the waist and braces against the headboard. She felt her heart retracting, excited, ready to receive him again. His left hand wraps around her waist and moves again between her legs, his fingers beneath the lacy, delicate lace. A soft penetration. She moaned again.

Grace felt her moist entry beneath the sheer fabric. His breath was hot on her neck as she felt his hardened shaft pressing against her from behind. James took her little cover, fully revealing the sweet moisture and her tight, inviting buttocks. His fingers slid up her thighs, tracing the edge until she was moaning with need.

"Tell me, what do you want, sweetheart?" he teasingly asked her.

He slid his hands slowly down her now creamy, feminine, wetness-drenched pants from her hips, down over her thighs, the saturated lace rumpled around her ankle, throwing it somewhere in the room, too delirious to respond.

"I want this to last forever," she replied. James nodded and gazed at her glistening, perfectly prepared haven... the pink lips were open and inviting. She heard his zipper slide open. She drew his throbbing manhood back... stroking fullness with one hand. He places one hand on the back of her neck, massaging her tense muscles as his other hand rubs the back of her thigh. James urged her forward, their bodies close, his stiff shaft brushing against her. He gently presses her down on the pillow.

"Lower, dear," he told her.

She obeyed, bending slightly more at the waist.

"A little lower...", and further still, she bent. "Perfect, sweetheart..."

Her breathing was heavy, a mix of nervousness and sensual anticipation about where he might touch her next. James was enthralled at this sight. Almost dangerously, he thrust a little at her back. She moaned as he caressed her pale, smooth back. Her beautiful skin-smooth body, her gorgeous charcoal hair curled against her neck... James groaned as he breathed in her heavy, sensual scent. The folds surrounding the opening withdrew and were ready as she bent over in submission. His erection throbs, yearning to be free, to be inside of her, to satisfy. To fill her.

She breathed deeply while bracing against the pillow as she anticipated the fulfillment of his shaft plunging inside her wet, awaiting folds.

A shock surges through her body. She squeals in delight as he makes unanticipated contact: His tongue touches her. Kneeling behind her, his face pressed against her body, the point of his tongue making a circle around her opening. She nearly collapses from the surge of sexual intensity. Simultaneously, she felt his fingers against her opening. She cries out in pleasurable relief as two fingers slide unimpeded inside her deliriously inviting and perfectly smooth centre.

Then he growled his approval, flashing his fangs.

His big, muscled body surrounded her, his skin hot, little beads of sweat forming, causing them to rub and glide together, straining toward release. God, he felt good. So damn good. 

Long and thick. A perfect fit, stretching her just right. Rocking, rocking, faster and faster, taking her to the edge of sensation before slowing…slowing…tormenting.

She clawed at him, her nails scoring his back. He groaned. She raised her knees, squeezing his hips. Yes. Yes, more. Faster, faster still. Never enough, almost enough. Please, more.

James’s tongue thrust into her mouth, rolling with hers before he bit down, drawing blood, sucking. A sharp sting, and then, finally, oh, God, finally, she tumbled over.

Ripples of fulfillment swept through her whole body, little stars winking behind her eyes. Her inner muscles clenched and unclenched, liquid heat pooling between her legs. She rode the tide for endless seconds, minutes, before sagging against the mattress, boneless, unable to catch her breath.

An orgasm, she mused dazedly. A freaking orgasm from a fantasy man, and she hadn’t even needed to touch herself.

"James, you are mine... Only mine," she murmured, and she was smiling as she, at last, drifted off to sleep.