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(the title is a quote from 'dracula' by bram stoker)
The woman’s portrait appeared in Daemon’s hands with a swift flicker of his wrist as he matched it up with the girl that had just exited the emporium.
A small purplish bag lightly was balanced onto her own wrist while she turned around, probably waiting for her companion.
The portrait stayed truthful to the woman’s beauty, but what caught Daemon off-guard was the similarity with his past love: it didn’t go unnoticed to him the irony that he was again presented with your presence.
Just for it not belonging to him fully.
Your dear father had come to Dragonstone, wishing for a quick business affair and instead he had showed to Daemon something that he had ached for thousands of years since he had turned his back to the gods.
Since your death.
And it seemed that the gods he didn’t believe in anymore now taunted him with a copy of the woman he had loved long ago, from the slight curled tips of your hair to the quirk in your ears.
Your dear father had been eager to talk about how they’d all too be soon family as his sole daughter would be marrying Daemon’s cousin, Aemond.
And Daemon hadn’t believed such a destiny fit for the woman that he had loved and lost, now strangely regained for some strange play of Fate.
He stalked you for a few meters after the emporium, as your friend – his own younger cousin Helaena – gently thread your arms together and chatter came easy between the two of you. Discussion of sweets, ribbons, and your marriage.
He thought that you’d disappear in thin air and yet, the sole thing that was left behind to further confirm your rebirth was to touch you.
Something for which Daemon ached but he didn’t dare till you appeared right in front of the Red Keep, the family property.
He wondered who haunted such grounds as his brother had long since passed – as Daemon held his hand and promised to behave – but his progeny had stayed.
He had stayed in contact with it partially, mostly to keep up his own money and interests, pretending to be each time a bastard son of the previous prince of Dragonstone.
He’d fake signatures and faces if anybody ever came to him, showing a family cemetery where every coffin was empty.
Save for his.
So, far he had made through different centuries and now he just knew of your engagement with the dull and algid, Aemond and your friendship with his cousin, Helaena, who preferred the company of insects to the one of humans.
Which was the case as she lowered herself lightly to move after a ladybug, offering the chance to Daemon to finally catch you offguard.
“My lady” he spoke, noticing immediately the way you turned around almost startled, easing your features in a delicate salute as you realized he was a well-dressed man, sporting the same moonlight hair of your fiancé “… may I ask for your kindness in providing me an information?”.
“Of course, my lord” you returned to him the curtsy he had offered you first and Daemon was startled to see the similarity that you had to his own lover even in your movements.
The slight smile always pulling at your lips even in somber expressions and the fact that you’d always curtsy on your right leg, adjusting the rest of the body to it.
“… ask and information shall be given”.
“This is the Red Keep, isn’t it, my lady?” he feigned more disinterest than ignorance, as if the true focus of the question wasn’t the Red Keep, but you.
And he was pleasurably satisfied when you flustered and the blood in your veins sped up. He dug his hands into his sleeves to hold himself back “from a brief taste.
“… I have matters to discuss with some… certain distant cousins… and their father… you happen to know them, don’t you”.
He was coaching you and yet, you didn’t seem to notice it.
There was a shy observation of the man that left Daemon smirking at the knowledge that he interested you enough to break through your proper manners to stare at him as if he was a generous piece of meat.
“I do know them” you spoke attentively, much more than before “… my lord, one of them is my fiancé so if you have matters to discuss with any of them, you can trail after me and my goodsister as we are directed inside”.
“Very kind of you, my lady” he smiled gently as Helaena seemed to finally catch onto the conversation and he realized he hadn’t yet enough time left to discuss with you, simply moving to swiftly collect the hand that laid onto your lap – the one not busy with the emporium bag – and bring it to his lips.
He didn’t know whether it was an outdated gesture but the further embarrassment on your cheek reassured him that you would have thought about the cold pression of his lips for days ahead.
“… also, please forgive my manners. I haven’t even introduced myself. I am prince Daemon, seventh of his name and my parents were Baelon and Alyssa Targaryen”.
“Oh!”.
Recognition flew through you as your hand slithered away from his grip back onto your lap as Helaena appeared right to your shoulder and although such a gesture was utterly innocent, you somehow seemed to have perceived it as… dirty.
Good, Daemon thought as he instilled in you the seed of need.
“… you are my fiancé’s long-distant cousin!”.
“I am surprised you know who I am” Daemon spoke again, wishing to know what you knew about him. And what Helaena knew, as he curtsied in front of the second girl, smiling at her with fangs that got her to considerably pale “… much of my time is spent on Dragonstone. Matters there are hard and tough, there isn’t much fun and neither entertainment as in the city”.
“And what has brought so far away from it…”.
Helaena seemed to dislike him, being far closed than you and he didn’t wish such a behavior to impact you, as well.
“… cousin?”.
“Financial matters, as always, my dear cousin” he shot back with a honeyed smile that the girl with the big eyes didn’t believe, clutching tightly onto your arm as if she was scared.
Oh, that wouldn’t just do.
He’d have to get rid of the girl, sooner or later.
“… didn’t your father receive a letter of my own? Did it got lost at sea?”.
“We didn’t receive anything” now the girl was showing him her teeth. Her own fangs, although they weren’t as sharp as Daemon’s own.
“One more reason to have lord Daemon come with us, so it can be discussed with your father, don’t you think, Helaena?”.
You were basically inviting him inside and Daemon couldn’t help but be happier that his plan was working much faster than he had intended.
“… Aemond also insisted that we shall both not be late for the luncheon”.
“We better not have brother waiting for us” and yet, Helaena didn’t seem to acknowledge Daemon while you invited with your sight to come to the side of your own that wasn’t occupied by your dear friend “… he gets so anxious with just a moment of delay. He truly cares about you, my dear friend”.
You flustered, although it didn’t go unnoticed to him that you also reacted with the tingest of annoyance as if you couldn’t stand your fiancé’s precision something that he promptly noted down, moving close to you but not enough to risk property.
“Your fiancé must be indeed wanting to spend as much time as possible with you” he spoke with intention, lightly turning to face you as you did the same in the exact moment, being caught like a deer in headlight “… I would be beyond myself if anything were to happen to a beautiful and kind lady as yourself”.
“You barely know me, kind ser” you joked flustered to the tips of your ears, while Helaena pushed herself to intercede in such a conversation in which she had been cut out.
“And it was just a walk to the emporium” she smiled at him bitterly “… the road is crowded and well-light. It isn’t a darkened alley in the middle of a street on nowhere”.
“A place where no ladies would be ever caught” he humored her, enjoying the way her cheeks flustered with rage, while you turned to her as if to calm her down “… still, I shall say no place can ever be too safe. Not as safe as your own home”.
Unless you were – willingly but unknowingly – inviting inside a predator.
“How is your home, my lord?” you asked, wishing to calm down the whole situation “… I haven’t ever heard of Dragonstone, although my father is there now. Business matters… maybe you have seen him! He is… like me just a bit…”.
“Do tell me your last name, my lady as I struggle to taint your image with a male one” he joked, gaining a silver laugh out of you, while Helaena seemed to have settled into a fast-paced rush inside once the gates were raised at the recognition of who came through.
Once you offered him your surname – another tassel of the puzzle he was building in his mind – he pretended surprise and shook his head.
“… I don’t think, my lady”.
You suddenly became far grimmer, and it was Helaena that sufficed the answer as a good friend.
“Her father has sadly left us without news for whole weeks. Which is unlike him” she spoke with a gentle tone that became hopeful, although your eyes were settled onto the ground as if you didn’t wish to meet anybody else’s gaze “… but I am sure he is just distracted. Certainly, Dragonstone can’t be dangerous”.
“To its locals, it certainly isn’t” Daemon said with mystery in his words, having you turn to him as you pled him with your eyes for more information, but he had to spend it carefully, simply shaking his head “… I am sure, he shall be fine. I shall write to my contacts in Dragonstone, to know more”.
“You’d do so, my lord? For me, a stranger you have just me?” you almost jumped on your place “Oh gods! You are far kinder than I thought, my lord!”.
“If we are to be family, my dear lady, favors shall come easily between us” he curled his lips in a gentle smile, as he didn’t wish to show you, his fangs.
If he got your admiration and loyalty, he’d have won you over. He had done such a thing already and he’d be doing it again.
But this time it’d have lasted because he’d have turned you.
“… fear not, your father shall come to you in one piece”.
That did depend upon whether Rhea, Laena and Rhaenyra had had pity on the poor man, as he had left him with his three wives – the ones he had taken out of boredom and sadness at not having you – and they could be quite… famished, although he had told them to keep him alive.
He was his secret weapon against you.
“Thank you, truly” your eyes shone with naivety and innocence.
True thankfulness and Daemon felt his old heartbeat, although he knew it wasn’t possible.
Or if it was, such a thing happened just because he had drunk recently and he doubted you’d have laughed at him, had you known his thirst.
“… although I have to admit that my fiancé’s family has been quite close to me”.
And like that you turned to poor forgotten Helaena, who smiled back at you.
Genuinely.
“When shall the marriage happen?” he asked, feigning interest for an event he’d have disrupted.
“In spring” again Helaena answered instead of you and again you seemed to have that strange sense of annoyance in your eyes.
And Daemon could have faulted you for such a thing: it was clear that his newest family wished to use you as a pawn in their own games.
The daughter of a rich merchant with a decaying aristocratic house would have shone and helped with the finances.
They’d have controlled everything around you and Daemon could take advantage of this.
Even more when rebellion shone in your eyes.
“We are waiting for the flowers to bloom. As such will be a beautiful sight” you parroted as if you had been previously instructed.
“What a lovely bride you shall be” he commented, although his words held the truth. He had already seen you in white.
He had already loved you and you seemed to know lightly letting embarrassment take onto you.
“… I hope to be invited”.
“We didn’t know of your existence till you came, dear cousin” Helaena shot him down, as they finally reached the door of the entrance which she banged discreetly, promptly producing a series of servants who took the ladies’ overcoats, hats, and bags, while Daemon insisted to keep his clothes “… may I say… that your clothing, cousin, is fabolous? But outdated”.
“Dragonstone sticks to its tradition, cousin” he shot back coldly as you were a bit far away, instructing a governess about something he couldn’t listen even with his heightened senses. Instead, all his ears were full was the sound of Helaena’s suspect “… time froze on there”.
“I don’t think that your clothing is inappropriate, my lord” you jumped in promptly, as Helaena seemed to have been almost scolded as she rushed to correct herself by saying ‘she had said outdated, not inappropriate’ “… but what about your luggage?”.
“I am staying at a hotel” a cozy crypt he had had reserved for himself “… I didn’t know whether I’d have been a welcomed guest or not”.
“I wonder why”.
It was so low that you didn’t seem to catch onto it, but Daemon’s heightened ears did, and he turned to Helaena who had pronounced the spiteful words with a slight glare and somehow, she had enough gall to appear terrorized at having been heard.
Still, the intimidatory moment didn’t last long as a figure went down the stairs and before Daemon could process it, it came to your side.
A younger boy than him, an eye hidden by an eyepatch and long white, blonde hair, was onto your side and all too well, you latched onto his arm no differently than you had done with Helaena.
He was tense against you, greeting with your name and a soft expression that badly reached his eyes.
He doubted that that boy had done much more than to hold your hand. Always supervised.
There was an innocence into you that hadn’t belonged to the woman he had loved, but this didn’t make you any less attractive.
You seemed to whisper something in your fiancé’s ear as the sole uncovered eye turned upon Aemond and he felt the immediately dislike that formed between them, although he didn’t know for whatever reason such a thing happened.
Maybe it was the fact that they both vied for the same woman, although Aemond didn’t look that taken with you.
Or at least not in the proper amount, according to Daemon.
He had always been – straight up – obsessed with you.
Not enough to limit your freedoms but his hand wouldn’t have been in your own right now, and your lips would be swollen in kisses for having come back to him.
Oh, how he ached for such a thing.
“Cousin” the brat greeted him as he came one step closer, with you shielded by him “… my fiancée says that you are a cousin of mine, aren’t you?”.
“Daemon, seventh of his name” he spoke lightly, offering a charming smile that the boy barely noticed “… I hope I didn’t bother your fiancée and neither your sister, but I had a need to discuss with your father”.
“Father has died last year”.
Oh gods, what an unfortunate thought and yet, another reason to reinforce the Targaryen’s link with the bourgeoise.
“… Helaena, didn’t you tell him?”.
“It passed my mind” and yet, Daemon was sure that the little minx hadn’t mentioned it to make him appear like an impostor, but he was quick to recover.
“I hadn’t received any letter about it” he truly hadn’t, although he wasn’t surprised.
It had been a long time since he had been directly called upon by his family, with him usually doing his own biddings.
“… my condolences, cousin”.
“I think then that your trip has been wasteful, hasn’t it”.
He hadn’t ever been sent away that quickly.
Not even when he was nothing but a belligerent human.
“Aemond!” you chastised him quickly, promptly sweetening your tone as you turned to Daemon “… it would be rude to send your cousin away, without the proper hospitality”.
“And your father may be dead, but I trust that you have a financial advisor. Somebody I could discuss about the merit of my inheritance. Of my salary”.
It was obvious that the finances troubled the siblings, but Daemon doubted that they’d have admitted this in front of you.
“… it won’t take much”.
“Grandfather, who takes care of our financial records isn’t coming back till tomorrow” Aemond spoke the statement as if it didn’t matter to him, but you were quick to add:
“Then your cousin might stay with us, dine with us and then talk with lord Otto, couldn’t he”.
Although Aemond didn’t speak, it was obvious that he didn’t appreciate your plan, and yet, he didn’t deny it, nodding along and gently unlatching himself from you with little delicacy and he saw the way hurt showed on your adorable features dirtying them, although you were quick to recover while your fiancé told you ‘to handle it’.
“If you excuse me” he took leave, with his sister after him with a similar excuse, effectively leaving you and Daemon alone.
“Am I wrong or is there an art gallery, somewhere here?” he spoke with expertise before correcting his mistake “… or so I have been told by an older grandfather”.
Still, you didn’t seem to notice his mistake, all too quick to hide your beloved’s rudeness with a cheeriness of your own.
“… would you like a tour of it?” and you offered to him your arm.
“Careful” he joked, although inside he knew that it wasn’t a joke “… you give a man an arm and he’ll take everything”.
Your posture at dinner was tight and tense, as you sat beside your fiancé.
Still, Daemon had been lucky enough to snatch a place right in front of you, with your fiancé’s mother, lady Alicent, beside him, questioning him with intention and oftentimes chastising her eldest son who stood by Daemon’s other side.
‘Don’t drink so much, Aegon’ she repeated while the boy downed another cup ‘Eat with more manners! We have a guest!’.
“My fiancé told me that you visited the gallery, cousin” Aemond broke the awkward silence, while you poured yourself water as lady Alicent had already seized the wine glass, chastising a servant for having brought one for you as well.
‘Proper ladies don’t drink’.
And Daemon couldn’t agree more: he’d have preferred to have you drink something else, with the same color and density of wine, but a whole different flavor.
“How did you find it?” Aemond went on, as he cut on the meat completely uncaring of the fact that you seemed to have become flustered and even more tense as if you wondered whether Daemon would spill a secret of your own “… my dear love is a very talented woman for art. She has an eye like no other and knows a whole lot about the artists on the raise… and on the low…”.
“Father wished me to be educated in the ways of the world” it was almost as if you wished to justify yourself “… I simply enjoyed art the most among the other things…”.
“And her piano playing is like a kitten being choked” Aegon commented crassly, promptly getting you to lower your head, although her fiancé sent his own brother an annoyed look.
“It was a nice explanation” Daemon spoke with low and attentive words “… you are lucky, cousin. Brain and beauty”.
“You are too kind, lord Daemon” you answered, instead of Aemond, being chastised by Daemon’s neighbor, lady Alicent “I just…”.
“What was your favorite painting, lord Daemon?” Helaena seemed to help you exit the judgement.
“I have seen a few that caught my interest” he commented, letting you breath for a moment, before his eyes came onto you, again “… but what got me was the ‘Saint Therese’ you own”.
As if on cue, you seemed to grow agitated on the spot, lightly moving on your chair, pretending to adjust your dress, as Daemon went back to the conversation in the small art gallery as you had illustrated the next portrait, while your cheeks heated up genuinely.
‘The ecstasy of Saint Therese has been often recorded as strictly…’ you had searched for the most appropriate word ‘… sexual’.
‘A pain so exquisite that it just… orgasmic’.
He didn’t think that you had ever heard such a word as you regarded at him with confusion.
‘… it means you reach a climax’.
You seemed far more comfortable with such a word, although it was obvious that still it put you at unease.
Still, your body had lightly drifted towards him, just barely noticeable to anybody.
As the quickened pace of your breath.
‘Oh, I…’.
You were so innocent, oh gods!
Where had they kept you for all those years?.
‘… plead forgiveness for my ignorance’.
‘No need for such a thing’ Daemon had calmed you ‘… I just personally find it fascinating. The thought of pain being taken as pleasure’.
‘Isn’t it scary?’ and he knew all too well that you didn’t mean only the pain ‘I just… you have to forgive my lack of knowledge…’.
‘You are innocent” he spoke as he came closer and effectively, he left you no place to run away ‘… you know nothing of pleasure, do you? Has your bethroted even kissed you?’.
At such an indiscrete question you closed in yourself, but not called out the inappropriateness of such an inquiry.
‘I… it’d be… inappropriate’ you had spoken through a gentle stutter ‘Aemond… Aemond… he is very religious. Doesn’t think… it’d be proper till the wedding’.
‘And yet, you look at this painting and can’t help but wonder’.
He didn’t need to read your mind to know that such a thing happened.
Quite far often than you should have.
There was a burning desire creeping through you and your tool of a fiancé hadn’t ever thought of settling it on fire.
Unlike, Daemon who gently dragged the tips of his fingers up your arm and he felt the goosebumps that raised up your arms.
‘… you have every right to be… curious’.
‘But what if curiousness brought me to damnation?’ it seemed that his family had contaminated your healthy curiosity ‘… I… don’t know, my lord. There are things that need to stay fantasy’.
‘And there are some that don’t have’.
And he knew that he had planted the seed that would grow.
That he could already see grow at dinner as you distanced yourself from Aemond, to push yourself further to question him about Dragonstone.
Your mother-in-law looked attentively, and she called upon you retiring early, although it was clear that you didn’t wish such a thing, still she insisted:
‘Your day has been quite eventful, hasn’t it?” as if such a thing was your fault ‘… do get a good night of rest, my dear’.
And much to Daemon’s surprise, Aemond didn’t bid you ‘goodnight’ and neither he offered to accompany you.
He still did accompany Daemon to his own rooms, a thick distaste on his lips as he bigdhim ‘goodnight’ and Daemon barely held himself together from laughing at his face.
At how much he left behind for his own strict values.
He readied himself for bed, although he knew that he wouldn’t have found rest but in his crypt.
For this, he did get out a vial of blood out of his small baggage, cursing at the expired taste as the blood conservated wasn’t as good as blood taken from a rightful victim, but he knew better than to let himself be hungry around you.
Not only his powers would have dulled alongside his appearance, but you’d have also been in danger.
In danger of his fangs and he didn’t wish to turn you till you were utterly falling onto him.
For nights – as he managed to trick Otto Hightower into letting him stay as the documents he needed were in the city and not in the mansion – he waited for you to gain the courage, as he spent the day with you under the chaperoning of sweet Helaena or uptight Aemond.
Either seemed your own jailers, although you’d smile softly and gently and sometimes languidly to Daemon.
He knew that he got you, the day that his hands gently threaded a flower behind your ear.
The touch got you shivering, and your blood pumped fully into your veins, at a heightened speed that got you utterly flustered, even through your body hid the need and ache quite well.
But not that night, when he heard a soft knocking on his door and found in your billowy and white nightgown, looking around as if you expected to be caught.
He wouldn’t have been surprised if Helaena and Aemond had guard shifts to check onto you, the reason why he ushered you in swiftly in the room, closing the door with caution as you moved through the house crowded by consumed candles that further heightened the atmosphere of intimacy between the two of you.
And maybe that’s why you spoke so swiftlu about what got your eyebrows scrunched.
“I feel … suffocated” you admitted shyly, as you looked right up to Daemon’s eyes, unable to choose whether to sit on the luxurious bed or stay up “… I… have been wishing for my father’s return… I had wished to talk to him.About… breaking up my engagement”.
“Is your fiancé … is he bad to you, my lady?” he wouldn’t have put the words in your mouth, he’d have let you talk “… does he beat you or…”.
“Aemond is wonderful” you admitted with honesty “… just neglectful”.
“To you, my lady?” he took initiative sitting down on the bed and you followed him quickly. Good girl “… he is just shy and religious… isn’t that what you told me?”.
“I know!” you were frustrated but quickly got in control of your voice “… it’s just… I… I’d have thought that maybe he’d have… he’d have changed with marriage or… grown looser with the engagement, but no… I… fear that my marriage shall be nothing but dull annoyance”.
“You are trying to predict the future” Daemon told you.
It might have been in his best interest to insult Aemond with you, but he also knew that if he was too forthcoming with his words, he might have gotten you scared. Running away from him right when he had found you.
“… there’s no way to know for sure whether your future husband will be lacking…”.
“But I am scared!”.
You seemed almost childish in your protest, and he couldn’t deny that he had to calm the need to steal you away.
“… I… I apologize for being like this… I just… my father is missing, and I have so little… friends. Helaena and Aemond are close but… ugh… there’s a distance, even more since my engagement began”.
“He might have fears of his own, my darling” he softened lightly as he let himself grow closer to you “… maybe this is something that needs to be discussed…”.
“I tried” you justified yourself, looking down at your own hands “… desperately. I tried talking to him, but I am always shut down and when I manage to get him… alone… he… he doesn’t listen to me”.
And he knew it.
“… not like you do, either way, kind lord”.
You tried to lighten up the meaningful phrase with a small laugh but it all soon turned into a choked sob that Daemon tried to ease up by gently rubbing your back, but he was surprised when you turned to him.
Huge tears further heightened the color of your eye and he desperately wished to have you comforted. He didn’t need such a thing as you clutched him tightly.
“… I wonder each night about whether my father sent you as a protector to me”.
“Oh, little darling your father shall come back to you” maybe not in a full piece, but… “… in the meanwhile do come to me for whatever… well, for anything. Truly”.
“Thank you, my lord” you dried your tears and gently grew flustered.
He felt the tension go through your body as it still held Daemon’s own close but you were putting distance between the two of you.
“... I just… well, I just worry that my requests might be inappropriate”.
“Inappropriate?” he feigned ignorance “… why? You are a dear friend of mine. A woman of culture and propriety! I am sure that nothing that you confess to me could be… inappropriate”.
“Would you still believe such a description if I told you that… I… well, I wish to feel like Saint Therese?” you admitted finally and Daemon felt like he could finally let go the whole pretense of it “… I… not the martyrdom… but the pleas…”.
“You wish to feel pleasured, don’t you”.
He was still careful, not wanting you to see the trap that had been laid out for you, but also his ego was stroked by your admission and how eagerly you nodded.
“Aemond won’t go further than a kiss on a cheek. No matter how many times, I…” you stopped halfway ashamed “… but you didn’t… you seem well formed in such a matter and… in the gallery, when you came closer to me…”.
“Yes?” he spurred you on, enjoying your embarrassment as much as the obvious resemblance.
“You… you enjoyed it” you blurted out “… you pushed yourself… you… you caged me”.
“I had just wished to see the painting closer” he saw the way you felt guilt at your misinterpretation “… what is that you ask of me, little girl?”.
“Show me how Saint There felt” you ordered, finally breaking free from that pretense of innocence “… I… think that I could survive a life of dullness if I knew… if I knew how she felt. What a sweet torture is pleasure”.
He thought that the opposite would have come, had he given you a drop of pleasure: you’d have chased it desperately, like an addict.
But that’s what he wanted and although he had pretended to refuse, now he couldn’t resist you anymore.
Not when you asked so prettily.
“Oh, sweet girl” he muttered as he suddenly was right in front of you, his hand gently coming to latch beneath your chin to have you meet his gaze “… how could anybody deny you”.
And just like that he kissed your lips.
You tasted of wine, probably a little liquid courage to have you challenge him.
You hadn’t lied to him about the lack of experience that you had, as you missed the rhythm and startled at the intercession of his tongue, enough that you pled with him, apologizing as the tears appeared again, but he was quick to settle you down.
‘No need to apologize for your inexperience’ he spoke gently not wishing to put you at unease as he knew how the situation was promptly… troubled. O
ne wrong move and you’d have fled.
He needed to be patient and sweet.
‘… I shall make up for it, as you have asked me, sweet girl’.
And he continued to kiss you, needing to have you relaxed. And you did, wrapping lightly your legs around his torso and softly rubbing yourself against him.
He’d have enjoyed the sensation better hadn’t the expired blood been in his veins as he knew all too well that the lack of fresh blood made it difficult for him to actually… enjoy sex.
But this wasn’t about him.
It was about you.
You, who were chasing his kisses, learning his rhythm so swiftly that he wondered whether you truly remembered nothing about your past life.
He had been dropping hints about such a thing, but you never seemed to pick up and he eventually relented that the gods had given you back to him… but without your memories.
He’d make of new ones, as he gently laid you down into the bed.
Your clothes had slowly ridden up, but he didn’t attempt to divest you, noticing the way your hands clutched tightly the fabric as if it was some comfort.
Either way, he didn’t need you naked for what he wished to do.
At least for the moment.
He raised from the bed, feeling your eyes trail after him, almost desperately.
He enjoyed the submission and devotion, you already showed him as he gently grabbed onto a candle, A colder one that had almost finished his lifecycle and he was careful not to burn as he held it to himself before coming to you. While you laid with your back on the mattress head lightly turned to face him, he sat down on the bed, beside you.
“You know better than me that the pleasure that Saint Therese feels is due to the pain that springs through her” he started explaining, immediately interrupted by your scared eyes.
“I… thought… well, I am not… well… pain…”.
“Fear not, my sweet girl” he spoke again “… I have no intention to injure you, but I wish you to know how it works. To better understand fear less”.
This settled you and Daemon smiled at himself for the small conquest of your faith.
“You don’t have to fear pain as it is anything but the other coin of pleasure” he explained “… it is only through the knowledge of pain that we can experience pleasure fully”.
You were hanging onto his lips, and he gently pulled down one of the sleeves of your nightgown, exposing the fullness of your shoulder through the pale light of his room.
“Yet, not all pain is necessarily…” and he moved the candle so that you could see what he was doing and what he was about to do “… without pleasure”.
“Won’t it… won’t it burn?” you asked, and he allowed the questions as they showed both an insecurity but also a clear interest “… I just… marks, well, I…”.
“But for a moment” he had taken a consumed candle for that as it’d have hurt far less “… do you wish me to try onto a smaller area? This way you can tell me whether… whether it’s pleasurable enough”.
And although you held your lower lip between your teeth in pure tension, you did nod slowly and Daemon let the candle tip lightly, as a drop of wax fell right onto your exposed shoulder.
You hissed, but for a moment as the wax solidified and cooled down and he saw the way your nipples pushed through the white nightgown.
It shouldn’t have surprised him when your hand shoot to his wrist and instead of stopping him, you tipped the candle lightly and another drop fell onto you nearby the other one, although you did hiss with more intensity.
“Pace yourself, girl” he chastised you as he regained control over the candle, taking in the art that was composed by the wax onto your shoulder, and he thought that he needed to see it further “… and may I lower your nightgown? Shoulders aren’t as pleasurable as…”.
And with a slight node he revealed your chest, although the wax didn’t dribble immediately onto your peaked and darkened buds, but instead on the valley of your chest.
You arched lightly as a slight redness followed onto in its wake and Daemon felt the way your heart started to further pump blood, and although you lightly screeched when the wax fell onto the swollenness of your breasts, he also felt the way you clenched your legs tight.
“Is it… is it … always this pleasurable?” you asked through a moan, that Daemon chased away with his own lips, unable to stop himself from taking away the taste of your moans “… pain, I mean…”.
“It depends who deals with it” he answered you while he further dipped the wax, right onto your right nub, holding down your hips from bucking up and messing his art piece on your chest “… I am an expert…”.
“Can tell” you muttered with a soft smile that was transfigured as he gently tugged onto the abused nipple while he dribbled the last drops of wax in a zig-zag patterns against your other breast, careful to avoid your nipple as he didn’t wish for you to overstimulate you.
Even more when you had taken into rutting in the air, pushing against your smallclothes.
“Pain can be good, my little Saint Therese” he teased you gently as he further pushed up your clothes and you finally seemed to panic a little, looking up at him with full eyes as he revealed your smallclothes and his hands lightly dipped in the rich and silky fabric.
“You can’t…” you started to protest and although everything in Daemon told him that he could have done anything to you.
Simply because he wanted it.
And yet, he just ushered you.
“I am not going to do anything, my sweet” and he gently patted onto your own mound, still covered by the fabric but the telltale wetness was gushing from him, having wet the bottom part of your smallclothes “… you are sweet, Saint There”.
It seemed like you had only realized it right now, although your eyes still shone in ignorance as embarrassment coated your cheeks.
“I can’t…”.
“It’s only natural” Daemon explained to you “… haven’t they taught you anything in the art of the bedroom”.
“Just that he… there’s need to be blood after… after the consummation to ensure my…pureness and… it needs to lay inside… for the seed to take”.
Oh poor little girl left so ignorant onto such an interesting topic!
“Wetness needs to happen dear girl, not only because it tells me that I have done a good job. That you enjoyed it” and taking the moment of relax you listened to him as an apt pupil, he pushed down with a swift move your panties “… but also… when you are wet it makes all… easier, better… more intense”.
And just like that he gently slipped a finger right through your folds, not dipping inside, simply separating your puffy folds due to the friction of the panties against your own core. You seemed to ignore the inappropriateness of such an action, in favor of rutting against his cold finger, lightly having him caress your pearl.
“Sweet sweet Saint Therese of mine” he spoke with a smile as he pushed his finger up, till he gently graced that pearl again, stroking its sides with his knuckles.
He’d have loved to coat also such a sensitive bud with wax, as he had done on your chest.
A masterpiece was cooling on your chest as the wax grew yellower and contrasted against the slight redness of your skin.
Had he scrubbed you clean he’d have known that those parts were extra-sensitive.
Maybe you’d have been able to cum with just his lips to your tits.
A thought for another night, as he knew that you’d have come again.
You had a reason to.
You mewled softly at his ministration, and he wished to be able to taste you instead of just touching you, but he knew that such a thing wouldn’t have been possible.
Not till he got his thirst in check.
He needed a human pet to drink form, so he wouldn’t have to rely on the expired blood.
This way he could have had you aside of dipping his finger inside of you, searching that spot, while his other hand went to play with the cooled wax on your chest.
You arched against the bed and Daemon couldn’t help but think about how easily it’d have all been to pierce his fangs into your neck and take your own blood. What had been his since the dawn of times.
And yet, there was no sure way to know whether he’d have killed you or turned you and if you had met your own demise by his hands – again – he wouldn’t have ever forgotten it.
So, he crooked his fingers and tightened his grip onto your bud, calling you his Saint Therese while you tried to stimulate your pearl by the friction that came from his palm and in a few moments, you felt that ecstasy and yet it was just a fraction of the pleasure – and pain – he could have brought you.
But he didn’t worry: you’d have more nights.
More lessons to attend.