No Child of His

by p q laertes

Her eyes -- it's like looking into a cold mirror. Little fangs like kitten teeth extend for him. Their passage down the inside of his forearm, following the blue shadow of the vein, makes him shiver, and then wake.


The woman in LaCroix's bed was a friend of Urs', and came to him for all the same reasons. She sleeps as the very young do, fitfully breathing, moving sometimes in twitches and starts.

He wakes her with his bite under her jaw, his powerful fingers between her thighs, and gives her pleasure uncomplicated and complete. She is no child of his.

No Child of His 1998 by p q laertes
pqlaertes yahoo com
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