Renee Wilkerson

Writer

[daily-prompts]

The writer must have a good imagination to begin with, but the imagination has to be muscular, which means it must be exercised in a disciplined way, day in and day out, by writing, failing, succeeding and revising.

--Stephen King

[renee-wilkerson]

Bite Back - NSFW Excerpt

Alastair leans against the dresser, as if weak, but there’s a predatory gleam in his eyes as he draws them shamelessly down Joey’s body. “Either way, you’ve ruined my dinner. How do you plan to make it up to me?”

Joey sputters in disbelief, outrage still hot inside of him. “How do I plan to—you must be joking. I don’t owe you—”

“You’d make a nice replacement.”

“What?”

“You have a nice neck.” Alastair continues casually, lifting his free hand to point right at Joey, one finger toiling lazily through the air. “It’s pretty, right there, where it turns pink.”

“No part of me is pretty.” Joey all but growls, feeling an odd flush to his cheeks, which probably doesn’t help things. He isn’t going to accept those words from Alastair, drunk or not. More importantly, he isn’t going to let himself blush over a vampire.

“Mm.” Alastair hums and in a few broad steps crosses the room, coming to stop in front of Joey. Dark eyes roam Joey’s chest, trail down the line of his torso, and linger below the belt for a moment, before returning to his face with a startling certainty in them. “I disagree.”

Alastair reaches out and snipes the denim loop of Joey’s jeans, tugging gently. “I take these off, and I bet you’re pretty all over.”

“Alastair.” Joey says tightly, breath wound up. “Fuck are you doing?”

He can’t inhale correctly with Alastair this close. There’s a crushing heat spreading through his body, throbbing in his veins and—God help him—in his cock. It feels as if he’s being eaten alive simply by having Alastair so near, as if the hands beginning to wander between his legs could genuinely consume him.

“What you want. What I want.” Alastair lists carelessly, reaching for Joey’s belt. “You’re not subtle about it, when you get hard for me, you know? I’ve seen you pitching a tent across the room.”

“Screw you.” Joey bites out compulsively. “I don’t...”

“No?” Alastair tilts his head curiously, smoothly, sly as a cat.

Joey hears a soft clink, then feels the relief of his waistband loosening as Alastair unfastens his pants. Alastair slides his hand in slowly, his fingers slipping underneath the layers of clothing to encircle Joey’s cock. Joey refuses to look down as Alastair grips him. Of course, he’s hot and harder than metal.

Alastair’s smug smirk says it all. He’s caught.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he restrains himself from grinding into Alastair’s fist. “I was making out with someone else before. This isn’t—it’s not—it’s not for you.”

“Okay. Whatever you tell yourself, big boy.” Alastair’s light laughter tickles his throat, warm along the skin. His syrupy voice takes on a teasing tone. “And I do mean big boy.”

One long pull of Alastair’s hand brings a startled moan out of Joey. His groin gives a strong pulse, the head of his cock twitching, bringing notice to the fact that it’s already embarrassingly slick. “Shut up, stop it.”

Alastair stills his hand.

“Stop? Really?”

“No, no.” Joey grits out, fists balling at his sides, as he rocks forward and gives in. “Jesus. Don’t stop.”

“Beg me more.”

“No, you asshole.”