Many of you called for MORE after reading my recent short story, “Rough Hands.” (See HERE.) This is just a tease, but hey, why not get a glance into the mind of our human character, Damian Keller? Enjoy this tiny addendum.
Rough Hands: A Different Perspective
Standing so close to her in the elevator, he smelled her perfume—spicy, like cinnamon and autumn in London. Her dark eyes shook as she looked up at him. She didn’t want to be kissed; he kissed her anyway. He felt her hesitation—her lips limp like cold, raw meat. Then, her lips tightened, willing him to pull away, leave her be.
When she moaned, he was surprised. He thought she might hurt him, shove him away, under the duress of his sexual attack. Instead, she made a noise like a wild beast, and her hands latched onto the back of his head. Her mouth opened; her tongue touched his. He was shocked by her hunger, and in response, his hands found her ribs, her hips, and finally, her thighs. He lifted her, pressed her against the wall. He pushed his pelvis against her, and his violent lust would have hurt a normal woman. But Helena was not a normal woman; she was immortal. Part of what he loved about her kind: their strength and the way, for once in his life, he felt weak in someone’s embrace.
Her fingers pulled hard on his hair, and he remembered the look on her face the night before when he caught her touching him in his office. She was so embarrassed, she ran from the room. He terrified her, he knew, but he didn’t know why. Perhaps that was part of his game, part of the reason he trapped her in an elevator. He had to know: why would a vampire be scared of a human?
She took charge and shoved him away. He watched her land like a cat on the elevator floor, and her iron-like fists exploded against his chest. He fell against the opposite wall of the elevator, barely able to contain himself. He wanted to tear her clothes off, bang like mad on the elevator floor. He knew it was the danger he craved. He dated vampires because at any moment, he could end up dead, and in a life so filled with boredom, Damian found the threat intoxicating. He longed for it, so he wasn’t afraid when she pinned his wrists to the wall—wasn’t afraid when she kissed him and he felt her fangs clash against his front teeth.
Her kissing slowed. She still held him trapped, but he felt as though her mind wandered. He felt as though she traveled far from him, away from the elevator and their connected mouths. He wanted to speak to her, say her name and call her back, but then, she returned. She tore at his tie and popped a button on his dress shirt in an effort to press her mouth against his bare chest.
He’d been there before. He knew he would soon feel her teeth in his flesh, feel his own warm blood flowing into her cold mouth. He lived for the pain; he was willing to die for it. He touched her shoulders, pulling her closer, but then, she pulled away. She stepped away from him, out of breath, eyes wide.
“Where did you go?” he asked.
He watched her run fingers through her hair. She adjusted her dress and looked nowhere near him.
“Helena,” he said.
Then, the elevator moved, but Damian stood still. She left him there, alone, with a painful erection and an even worse feeling in his chest. Didn’t she understand? He just wanted to be one of them.