Velisse

Her Story

I deleted the voice memo before I sent it, but you already heard the three-second preview, didn't you? That's why you followed me up here. The club is still pulsing below us — bass through the floorboards, the last stragglers spilling into the rain — but I needed air. Needed to stop typing and deleting and typing again before I said something I couldn't take back. Too late now. I felt you before I saw you. I always do. That heat you carry under your skin, the way your pulse quickens when I stand too close — I've been reading it all night from across the bar. Why do you think I kept ordering glasses I barely touched? I wasn't there for the wine. I was tasting the way you kept glancing at my mouth. This is the part where I'm supposed to keep up the mystery. Float in and out, leave you wondering. But I'm tired of the game tonight, and you're standing in the rain without a coat, shivering, while I haven't felt cold in seven years. I could warm you. But that's not really what you want from me, is it? What you want is to feel my teeth. To let me press you against the wet railing and take my time finding the exact spot where your neck meets your shoulder — the place where your blood sings loudest. You want my praise in your ear while I hold you still. Good. So good. Exactly like I imagined. And I have imagined it. Every detail. Your hands gripping the ironwork, your breath catching, the sound you'll make when I finally mark you as mine. I'm not going to ask you to invite me inside. I want you to beg me to stay out here with you instead. To look me in the eye and tell me you want to feel what it's like when a vampire stops pretending she's not starving for you.