summary ➵ titus finally gets her alone, in his room. it’s time to show her how the undead do things
warnings ➵ 18+, age gap (duh), blood, dirty talk, oral (f!receiving), fingering, penetration, rough sex, slight dubcon
words ➵ 1465
other parts ➵ one , two
authors note ➵ this can be read as a standalone or a part of the ongoing series! it’s all just smut this chapter, so enjoy ya little freaks!
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His room is exactly how she pictured it, down to the colour scheme and the dark wooden furniture. A four-poster bed sits in the middle, dark blue silk with a cotton blend. An earthy, musky scent mixed with something spicer that Y/N has come to associate with him.
“Would you like to know what I have planned for you, Y/N?” He asks as he takes off his jacket, folding it over an accent chair. His steps are deliberated calculated as he stands behind her.
His fingers graze the curve of her spine as he unzips her dress. His breath against her neck as he whispers “first, i’m going to take my time with you”
Her eyes flutter shut, body relaxing at his tone of voice.
“I’m going to spread your legs open,” he lets the fabric of her dress fall to the ground, his hand moving to her hips as he pulls her closer to his chest. “Touch you, taste you until you’re shaking” he kisses just below her ear. “Until you’re begging for more”
His hand moves from her hips, fingers grazing at her stomach. Down, down, down under the waistline of her panties. She gasps when two of his rough fingers press down on her bundle of nerves. Her legs feel weak where she stands, his hand on her hip the only thing keeping her standing.
“Then, I’m going to fuck you” his fingers move in light circles, “nice and slow, just for you feel every inch of me stretching you open”
A whimper leaves her lips as she feels his teeth graze her pulse point.
“Then, once you’re nice and ready for me” he licks at her skin. “Im going to make this pussy scream”
His teeth pierce into his neck at the same time two fingers sink into her pussy. A breathy moan escapes her.
“Titus…” she breathes his name, her head becoming fuzzy as he drinks from her. He lifts his head before he takes too much.
“That’s it” he whispers in her ear, the metal smell of her blood on his mouth eloping her senses. “Good girl”
Her head falls back against his chest, the resting on her hip moves to her jaw, tilting it upwards. Her eyes half lidded as he forces her to look at him.
“You like that?” He breathes, “you like my fingers inside you?”
All Y/N can do is nod. Her thoughts only consumed by the pleasure building in her lower stomach.
A deep chuckle leaves Titus’s lips at her pliant demeanour.
“Get on the bed” he whispers.
When he removes his fingers, she sighs at the emptiness but doesn’t enough time to pout when he’s guiding her backwards. Her knees hit the mattress, and she shimmies up, letting her head fall back against the pillows. She’s never been on a bed this comfortable. Soft silk, cotton sheets, everything smells like him.
“Take them off, spread your legs for me” he instructs, nodding to her panties as he unbuttons his shirt. She does as he says. “Fuck” he groans at the sight, her spread out for him. “So fucking pretty like this for me”
The sound of his belt hitting the floor with a clunk sends a shiver down her spine. A gasp leaving her when he takes off his jeans, his cock springing against his stomach.
It was almost as long as his hand, the width of three of her fingers, a vein prominent down the slight curve of his shaft. His tip ragging red, leaking with need.
Titus lowers himself onto the bed, positioning his face between hers legs. His breath is hot against where she needs him, her chest rising and falling with anticipation.
Two of his fingers graze her folds, humming to himself as he collects her arousal. She squirms. “So sensitive already” he coos, “what am I going to do with you, hmm?”
His voice sounds condescending, but she has no time to retort as he pushes two fingers back inside her. They curl to a precision, hitting that soft spot deep inside her that her own fingers can never reach.
He groans at the noises she makes, at the way he her hips instinctively move against his hand.
Then he drags his tongue over her folds in one long, slow lick. “Taste even better than I fucking imagined”
His fingers pump in and out, as he continues to flick his tongue over in her clit with deliberate strokes, each one calculated to make her legs shake. When her hands reach into his hair, tugging gently, he hums in approval.
“Harder,” he grunts, “pull my hair harder”
And she goes, the motion making him groan against her. The vibrations causing a moan to slip from her lips, her back arching.
Titus can feel that she’s close. The way her walls begin to clench around his fingers, the way her breathing shallows. He curls his digits even further, tongue swirling around her clit until she’s screaming his name.
Her first orgasm rushes over her, a blinding white light of pleasure that makes her toes curls. Her grip on his hair loosens as he lifts his head to look up her, eyes blown wide with untamed lust.
He slows his fingers, but doesn’t stop pumping them in and out of her. Every tremor, every whimper that leaves Y/N’s lips egging him on.
“You’re so beautiful when you cum” he breathes before kissing her inner thigh.
“Titus…” she whines, trying to pull away from the way his fingers still move with teasing strokes inside of her body. “Too much…”
He hushes her softly, his voice low against her skin. “Just relax,” he presses another kiss, “I’ve got you” Then, his teeth pierce into her flesh, a pained gasp from her lips.
Each bite leaves an imprint in the shape of his fangs, scattered up and down her thighs like a brand.
She cums another two times like that. Him feeding off her as his fingers continuing their ministrations inside her.
He lifts his head once he’s satisfied, face covered in her blood. He makes no attempt to wipe the mess, just moves to hover over her slack form. His fingers rise to her cheek, brushing lightly against her skin before tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
“Not done with you yet, sweetheart” he hums, his free hand pumping at his cock. “Think you can stay awake for me?”
With a dazed expression on her face, she nods.
There’s something unsettling in the curve of his smile as he leans in, pressing a kiss to her lips. Rough, claiming, all consuming. She can taste the metallic tang of her blood on his tongue, it makes her want to gag. But she has no to react before she feels the tight pressure of him pushing his cock inside her.
True to his word, he starts off slow. It feels less for her comfort and more for his pleasure. He groans, hands gripping her hips, fingernails leaving crescent shaped marks on her skin.
“So tight” his voice deep and breathy against her neck, “taking me so fucking well, like you were made for me”
One of his hand moves from her hip to her jaw, holding her eyes on his as she struggles to focus. “Keep your eyes on me,” he groans, his thrusts becoming slightly more aggressive. “Good girl. Just like that”
There’s a wild look in his eyes, the veins of his skin protruding. He makes no effort now to hide his fangs, sharp and ready to feed again. She should be scared, maybe deep down she is. But it’s hard to be when he feels this good, when he’s mastered her body in such a short period of time.
The sound of his bed hitting the wall mixed with the sounds of her whimpers, his grunts make a symphony of erotism that coils inside her bones. Her hands gripping the muscles of his biceps as he lowers his head to her neck.
A soft sounding moan leaves her lips when his teeth pierce her skin, leaving an identical mark to the one on the other side of her throat.
He feeds from her as his hips become erratic. She feels him everywhere, in her bones, in her veins. Her heart only beating for him as he takes what he needs from her.
Her final orgasm hits her with a silent scream, her vision around the edges blurring. The velvety walls of her pussy pulsate around his cock, sending him over the edge, spilling inside her.
His lips, his chin, down the line of his throat and onto his chest are marked with her blood. A deep crimson that contrasts like paint against his skin.
summary ➵ titus shows up again, this time with an opportunity she can't turn down
warnings ➵ 18+, age gap (duh), sexual tension, predator/prey dynamics
words ➵ 2672
other parts ➵ one , three
authors note ➵ part two is here! guys, i am beyond words at how grateful i am for the support on the first part. coming back to writing was a huge thing for me, and to be welcomed back with such support has meant everything to me. i really hope you like this part as much as the first! part three is already finished and ready to upload, so look out for that! i tagged everyone who commented, not just those who asked :) this has not been proofread!
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Morning light spills softly through the curtains. It's quiet, warm. Y/N slowly blinks awake, her head feeling heavy against the pillow. For a moment, everything feels just as it should be. She exhales, shifting slightly against the mattress. A dull ache lingers at the side of her neck, causing her to wince. Her fingers instinctively lift, brushing against her tender and sensitive skin.
She lifts herself slowly out of bed, her bed. With no memory of how she got home, her head feels fuzzy. A mirror on the far-right wall of her bedroom, she examines her neck. Nothing. No marks, not even a bruise. When she presses down on it again, the pain is gone.
What happened last night?
She racks her brain for any discerning piece of information, trying to put together what occurred last night.
The gallery, she remembers the gallery. Titus was there, he had greeted her. Then, yes, he showed her a painting. A woman, gorgeous, seductive. Watching. But what happened after that? She remembers him close, the way his cologne smelled like spice and the earth, then…
She woke up here.
The rest of the day passes by slowly. It was difficult to focus, to think of anything but the missing pieces of the previous night. Half-formed conversations, abandoned tasks, unanswered text messages. She moves as if she’s slightly out of step with everything around her.
That night, at the dinner table that is built to seat ten people, Y/N sits with her parents as they discuss matters of work. She doesn’t bother listening, can’t seem to get the energy to even pretend. She keeps her gaze on her plate, mind elsewhere, until her mother snaps her out of her daze.
“Mr. Danforth seems very taken by you” It was a simple comment, but it caused Y/N to lift her head. “He called my office today,” She continues, noting her daughter’s confusion. “Said you made quite an impression” There’s a small pause. “He was very particular about your eye for detail. He was actually interested in seeing your own work”
Sleep doesn’t come easy that night. When it does, its shallow, restless. Slipping in and out of something that never quite settles around her.
Then there’s this…feeling. Like she’s being watched, a breath that feels too close. The faintest brush of something against her cheek.
She startles awake, sitting up right with her breath quick and uneven. Her eyes dart around her room, nothing but darkness and moonlight spilling from the window. The window she swore she shut before she went to sleep.
By the time her week begins to resemble something normal again, it’s almost easy to convince herself it was just a dream. And yet, something still settles wrong deep inside her. Like an itch she can’t scratch, a task forgot that needs remembering.
She finds herself reaching for something familiar, something comforting. The studio has always been that place for her. A space where she can turn her brain off, just for a short period of time and focus on nothing except her art in front of her.
Sunlight filters through the tall windows, catching on scattered paint jars and unfinished canvases. The familiar scent of oils and turpentine settles around her, grounding in a way nothing else has managed to all week.
With her headphones on, playing a recognisable pop song, she begins to paint. A brush stroke against canvas, she lets herself get lost in her art. For twenty minutes, its nothing but her and the canvas. A nudge to her left snaps her out of her rhythm. She takes off her headphones, letting them sit around her neck as she looks in the direction of the person who bumped her.
“Did you hear? Apparently, some gallery owner is coming in today” Sadie says as she puts down her tote bag and takes a seat. “He’s ‘looking for raw talent’” She does air quotes with her fingers.
Sadie’s comment sends a chill down Y/N’s spine, like a cold wind just blew past her.
She swallows the tightening feeling in her throat. “Do you know who?”
“Nah,” Sadie responds as she continues setting up her canvas, her brushes and paints. “Just some rich guy”
Sadie’s nonchalant comment settles in Y/N’s stomach, heavy and nauseating. What are the chances that it’s him? There’s plenty of rich guys in the city who own galleries, it’s an indication of a refined version of a midlife crisis purchase. God, her dad had been considering investing in one a few years back.
She shakes her head and puts her headphones back on, hopping the upbeat music of Sabrina Carpenter will block out the nerves that are making the brush in her hand tremble.
But it doesn’t work.
Her strokes grow uneven, messy. It’s as if she’s lacking the control she usually has. She exhales sharply, frustration as she drops the brush into the cup of water. The soft splash, the clink of wood against glass cuts through the quiet of the gallery. Sadie glances over with knitted brows. A silent what’s wrong with you?
She gives Sadie a blank stare. How is she supposed to explain everything she’s been experiencing the last week? When her mouth opens to say something, anything the familiar sound of the instructors’ voice echoes through the room.
“Alright everyone!” She says, clapping her hands. She steps forward, drawing a few reluctant glances as conversations quiet and brushes pause mid-stroke. “I’d like to introduce you all to Titus Danforth”
Whispers scatter, comments thrown in every direction under people’s breaths. But she doesn’t hear any of it, the only thing she’s focused on is how is eyes meet hers immediately. Her breath hitches, the unsteady beat of her hear echoing in her ears. And the way he tilts his head, it’s almost as if he hears it too.
She scratches her neck, the same spot he…
No. That was a dream…right?
“He’s expressed interest in supporting emerging artists. He’s thinking of possibly even showcasing some of your work.” The instructor adds, but she’s barely registering anything as her gaze follows him around the room.
There’s something effortless in the way he carries himself, something she had pinned when they had first met. Like a man who knows how important he is, a man who knows he can command someone at the flick of his wrist. People straighten as he passes them, a comment here and there about their work. He notices every frown, every blush, every little reaction someone gives him. Everything until he’s standing behind her.
He leans in closer than he had with anyone else. His breath warm against her neck as he speaks. “Surely this isn’t your best work, Y/N” he whispers. He turns his head slightly as she tilts hers to meet his gaze. His voice drops, something quieter than only she can hear. “Did you get home alright the other night?”
Her lips part to answer when her instructors voice speaks from behind them. Titus straightens slowly, clearly not as affected as she is by his presence.
“Y/N is one of my most promising artists” Her instructor smiles. “She just tends to lack the self-confidence to agree with me”
Titus lets out a polite chuckle. And, without looking away from Y/N, he says “I’d love to see what else you’ve created. Do you mind showing me?”
Sadie, with a look of encouragement mixed with amusement gives her friend a nudge. Y/N scrambles to her feet, almost knocking her canvas over in the process. When she catches it, Titus reaches it for it as well, their hands brushing.
“Uhh, umm this way” She says, avoiding eye contact and brushing her hands against her apron.
He follows one step behind her to the back of the studio where a few pieces of her art hang on the wall. It quieter here, more private. Titus takes a moment to analyse each work, and Y/N finds herself itching for his approval.
“You’re inconsistent” he states clearly.
She turns to look at him properly. “Excuse me?”
He doesn’t look at her, just point to each one of her paintings. “In some, you can feel what you were trying to convey. The emotions you’ve put into every stroke. But others” he turns to her, “feel empty”
Their eyes hold for a moment. It’s as if he’s daring her to look away first. When she does, Titus hums and nods to himself.
“I’m glad you got home safe,” he says, plainly as they look up at her work. “I was worried considering how much wine you had”
She looks up at him confused. “Wine?” She doesn’t remember drinking anything that night. Not even a glass of water. But she was seemingly forgetting things a lot lately, and that would explain her not remembering getting home…
“Don’t worry, I didn’t let it slip in my email to your mother” he winks, and something stirs in her lower stomach. “Plus, I must admit I had a bit too many myself. Got a bit…” his fingers reach and graze her neck, “carried away”
Titus takes a step back, the distance between them returning as easily as it had disappeared. The instructor peers around the corner, a hopeful smile on her face. If Y/N didn’t know any better, she would have thought he heard her coming and put distance in purpose. “Well?” she asks.
He doesn’t answer right away, just allows his gaze to sweep across the studio. Then, “I’d be interested in showcasing a few of your artists”
Back in the main open space, Titus lists of the names of 6 people he wishes to have a part of his gallery. He speaks calmly, effortlessly as he nods to each person. Then lastly, his eyes land back on hers. “And Y/N”
A ripple of excitement moves through the room. Sadie lets out an excited sound beside her, grabbing her arm and shaking her gently. She wishes she could join in the enjoyment, a month ago she would have, but all she can focus on now is him. The way his eyes bore into hers, the way she can’t help but feel like this was all planned.
The week leading up to the gallery is a mixture of worries, restless nights, and excitement, anticipation.
This is a big deal, having her art showcased in such a way. She knows she’ll finally get the exposure she’s been wanting for years, and for once, her parents are proud to say that their daughter is an artist. But on the other hand, something settles uncomfortably in her stomach. Nerves, anxiety, that shaky feeling you get before a first date. The problem is, she doesn’t know if it’s from finally getting the opportunity to showcase her art, or if it’s about seeing him again.
The gallery is more alive than the last. The excitement of young artists showcasing their work, proud family and friends mix about the space. She says hello to the other people from her studio who Titus had picked, all sharing in the same enjoyment of such an honour. She grabs a glass of wine from a passing tray, needing something to keep her hands steady, to keep her nerves in check.
She watches as parents hug their kids, whispering praises to them. She feels a sense of longing. Her own parents absent due to a work-related trip. “We wish we could go, honey” her father had said before they left, “make sure send us pictures”
So here she was, standing in a short crimson dress that flowed to just above her knee. In heels that hurt to wear as she fought back tears with a glass of wine. That’s when she spots him. Across the room, talking with people who looked just as important as he did.
He looks over in her direction, tilting his whiskey to her as he smiled. She felt her stomach flip, her face warm as she took a big sip from her glass. Titus excuses himself and walks over to her. The people around him instinctively move out of his way.
“You look lovely tonight, Y/N” he smiles, taking in the colour of her dress against her skin. But just as easily as he lets the compliment slip from his tongue, he moves the conversation on. “I haven’t seen your parents, are they with you tonight?” he asks as he looks around the room.
Y/N takes another sip of her wine. “They’re on a business trip, something they couldn’t get out of”
“That’s a shame” his eyes are back on her.
“I’m used to it” she brushes him off, her wine now gone. He furrows his brows, eyeing her empty glass.
“And is drinking going to help you feel better?” he asks, almost sounding concerned.
She laughs, shaking her head. “Probably not”
“Here,” He takes the glass off her, and places it on a moving tray behind him without looking. “walk with me” he offers her his arm. There’s a moment of hesitantly before she accepts it. His hand settles over hers.
The noise of the gallery fades as he guides her through it. Not entirely but enough that everything feels quieter, more intimate. He leads her toward a more secluded part of the space, where the lighting is softer, the crowd thinner. Memoires from a few weeks ago cross her mind, a sense of déjà vu.
“You’ve done well,” he says after a moment, his voice low enough that it doesn’t carry.
She lets out a small breath, almost a laugh. “That’s not what you said in the studio.”
The corner of his mouth lifts slightly. “I didn’t say you weren’t good,” he replies. He stops and looks at her “I said you’re inconsistent”
Her gaze flicks up to him. “Then why pick me for the showing tonight?”
He hums, as if considering her question. “Because I have faith in your abilities” his sincerity making her heat skip a beat. “Because someone needs to make sure you know how brilliant you are”
Her breath hitches. And suddenly, he feels too close. Or maybe it’s her that’s too close to him. “Titus…” Her words die on her tongue as her gaze drops, just briefly to his lips then back to his eyes.
He notices, she knows he does. But he doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything.
Then, she’s pressing her lips to his. A moment passes, two where everything else seems to disappear around. The chatter, the music, the whole room seems to be gone in a blink of an eye. It’s only when she inhales, that reality crashes back down around her.
She pulls a way, a look of panic on her face. “I-“ her breath is uneven, her thoughts racing to catch up with what just happened. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I just…” She goes to take a step back, to put distance between them, but his hand catches her hip.
“Don’t apologise” His voice is quiet, soothing. And before she can try and step back again, he closes the distance. This time, he’s kissing her. Slow at first, as if trying to map out the feel of her lips against hers. Then his tongue breaches into her mouth, and she lets herself melt into his touch.
When they part again, that’s when she sees it. Something sharp, catching the light above them. He makes no effort to hide, instead watches as the realisation washes over her face. Her eyes go wide with fear, panic and fear.
“What…What are you?” she stutters
He brushes hair out of her face, finger grazing gently against her skin. “Oh, sweetheart” he says condescendingly, “you already know the answer to that”
He waits a moment, to see if she’ll run, to see if she’ll make an attempt at escape. She should step back; she knows she should leave. When she doesn’t, he offers his arm once more.
“Come with me,” he says quietly.
There’s a hint of hesitation before she nods, allowing him to lead the way.
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