She waited impatiently for the sun to set, because until it did he would not come to her. He might arrive a minute after, but never a minute before, or the minute of the sunset. Even though she knew he could not, knew why he could not, it did nothing to curb her impatience and served only to heighten her anticipation. Especially for this evening.
Her last sunset.
She shivered slightly, from fear, anticipation--desire. Tonight would be the night that he took her, in every way possible. He had promised. And Jack had yet to break a promise. Come the dawn, she would be changed, she would be one with Jack.
But before that was the night. And Jack had promised her a night to remember.
She sat in front of her mirror, turning her head first to the left, then to the right, wondering which side he would prefer to drink from. She was vain enough, and still human enough, to want Jack's marks to show as little as possible. Enough to make people stop and wonder, but not enough to cause either of them extreme undue interest. Her hair slid across her shoulders, liquid fire across the pale perfection of her skin. She was proud of her skin, its color, its smoothness--what one enamored man called breathing silk.
Her skin was the first thing Jack had noticed about her, he'd said one evening as they sipped wine and listened to a local jazz band. His finger trailing over her hand, just his finger, had made her nerves jump and tingle, and even though she'd sworn that she'd hidden her reaction, he smiled, slowly, as if he'd felt those nerves jump. He didn't mention it, only shifted the conversation smoothly into another area of interest.
Her blue eyes shone like gems in the pale oval of her face, that fire bright hair framing her high cheekbones, the generous shape of her mouth. She debated pulling her hair up and back, to leave the long line of her neck exposed. In the end, she left it down, a hint at virginity. Not that she was a virgin--not for years. But tonight would be like losing that virginity again.
He had promised.
Looking at the clock now, noting the time, she hurried through her makeup, a brush here, a dab there. Only enough to enhance that overly dramatic beauty. Standing, she examined herself in the mirror, twisting and turning, examining, looking for any slight imperfections. How she was tonight would be the way she was for eternity, so any blemishes, any bruises, would remain. She'd been overly careful the last two weeks, fretting over every bump, every brush against any surface. Her obsession had paid off, for her skin was without any visible marks. And except for the marks he would put on her tonight, so it would remain for eternity.
Satisfied at her appearance, she turned back to the bed, the outfit she'd searched for, labored over, spent precious pennies on. It had been almost impossible to decide what to wear on this night of nights, and then even more impossible to find. The only thing that had made her search easier had been the simple fact that tonight, her last night of her old life, was that it was Halloween. You could find almost anything in the stores before Halloween. Especially if that store was in New Orleans.
The red chemise slid over her skin, silk over silk, lending a faint cast of pink to her skin. It was difficult to lace up the leather corset, but she twisted and contorted her arms until she managed to do so, pulling the laces so tight that it was a struggle to breathe. Her skirt, if one could call a scrap of material barely covering her ass a skirt, was leather as well, and felt as soft on her skin as air. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she pulled on fishnet stockings, their itchiness a sharp contrast to the rest of her outfit. Finally, she pulled on her black leather boots, the ones that rose to her knees, laced up and four inches in height.
Standing again, she smoothed her skirt down, walking towards the mirror, admiring her reflection. This, her final night as human, would be her most fantastic night.
Jack had promised.
********
She knew the moment the sun set. She felt it in her bones. A split second later, there was a knocking on her door. Though she wanted to run to answer it, she forced herself to walk. He would know how anxious she was either way, but at least she would have the satisfaction of being outwardly composed. Pausing before opening the door, she drew a deep breath, held it for a moment before exhaling. Wetting her lips, she opened the door.
"You kept me waiting, ma cour sang. One would almost think that you were not anxious for the night to begin." A smile turned the corners of his full lips up, but only slightly. She had never seen Jack smile fully, only those little lips quirks. When she had asked once if he ever smiled, he'd answered that he did so one night a year. Halloween.
Tonight, she would see Jack smile. Tonight, she would see all of Jack.
Lowering her eyes, she stepped forward until the long line of their bodies was almost touching. Almost, but not quite. Jack had reprimanded her once for being too forward. Once had been enough. After three months, she knew where Jack's limits were, and not to push them. Until he allowed it, her hands were to be kept to herself.
Normally, he made her wait. But not tonight.
"Touch me, ma cour sang. We will not stand on ceremony tonight, not this momentous night." The smile that had never spread to his lips shone through his dark blue eyes, hypnotizing her as easily as the first night she'd met him. His fingers trailed lightly up and down her bare arm, making the fine hairs there stand on end.
Eagerly, she rose up on her toes to press her lips to his, the chill in his shooting through every fiber of her body. That was one of the things she would miss, when she was changed. The difference in their body temperatures, his so cold it always made her seem on fire. And tonight, when she was already so eager she could feel the wetness on her thighs, her senses heightened to an almost unbearable degree already, the mere act of sliding her tongue into his mouth, running it around his razor sharp canines, was enough to trigger a small orgasm.
He swallowed her breathy gasps easily, holding her up against him with one fine-boned hand pressed into the small of her back. When the tremors had stilled, and she had gone almost boneless in his half-embrace, he lifted his head from hers, turning until his mouth pressed against her ear.
"Oh, the fun we shall have tonight, ma cour sang. Oh, the fun."
**********
Fun for him, perhaps. For her, torture. He allowed her only two drinks. "A clear head will make it that much more memorable, ma cour sang." After hours of dancing to the pulsing music at one club, then another, then another, her skin was slick with sweat, flushed. Her nipples were almost painfully tight, and she could feel her juices on her thighs, knew that they glistened in the colored, flashing lights.
His hands rested lightly on her hips, guiding her movements. Sometimes he would pull her back against him, letting her feel his hardness against her ass. Or he would push her forward, her skirt sliding up dangerously high, as one or two fingers teased her naked pussy. Still other times he would hold her away from him, no further than a few inches, his hands gliding up from her hips to cup her breasts, molding the silk to her sweat covered torso.
Fun, for him. Torture for her.
When they stepped outside after midnight, she was sure that at last he would lead her back to his town home, at last he would fulfill his promise. But instead he turned them the opposite direction, led them back up Bourbon Street. Her eyes widened, but she held her tongue when he led them into one of the sleazier strip clubs. It was packed, as every place they had been that night had been, and it was a moment before a table could be found for them.
The waitress, dressed unimaginatively as a debauched nun, was late in making her way to them. "Drinks?"
"Water, for both of us."
