Sakriledge

Sakrilege.

The name of the club is a blinding white slash of letters over the door. Spanning nearly a block, the building has all the attractiveness of an industrial factory without the offending smoke stash. But just inside, beyond the lithe press of the crowd and the towering bouncers, is another world entirely.

Through a hallway steeped in deep gray, the crimson carpet spills into a large chamber with a glossy black dance floor. White and black and reds clash together in shredded tapestries on the walls; the chandeliers are macabre creations forged from shards of broken glass. Square marble tables surround the center floor while cozy black leather booths hug the walls like circular niches. The D.J. occupies one corner while another houses one of the best-stocked bars this side of Philadelphia.

I glide in, warming already to the press of the bodies on the dance floor and the thrilling beat of electronica. Black leather sheathes my hips over ripped thigh-high stockings. Amble curves threaten to spill from a corset endowed with a single zipper down the front. My hair is a dark mass of curls that caresses the middle of my back.

I don't look like a killer.

Not me with the vibrant jade eyes and creamy mocha skin, stepping onto the dance floor with knee-high boots. I slither through the crowd, feeling anonymous hands reaching for my breasts, my ass, and my thighs. I sigh as fingers twine beneath my skirt to caress my bare skin.

There is PVC and vinyl. Leather and chains. Piercings and tattoos. The glitter of a hundred freaks spiraling towards the dark pyres churching within us all.

I don't move like a killer.

Not tonight when the music is pumping through my veins like some glorious black poison, speeding down my arteries with the juice of the pill I took moments before. My hips sway and my arms move on their own volition. I give myself over to the feeling and let go fully. Forgetting everything but this.

Somewhere during the fourth song an arm snakes around my waist. I am not surprised to find a familiar whisper in my ear.

"Enid, you've been away too long."

I turn to face the man behind me. He towers over me, thin yet so powerful, his eyes obsidian mirrors of what are assumed to be sclera contacts. But they are real.

"Then show me what I've missed, Kale."

He takes my hand and leads me off the dance floor. We find the narrow staircase near the bar and ascend to the upper level. I follow him through an arched doorway to a narrow balcony that we have all to ourselves. Below us, we see the mesh of people dancing. I spy couples dueling tongues at the tables while long-legged waitresses showcase their assets as they serve them.

From where we are, other people in the balconies across the room can see us. It adds fuel to our fire. We have come here with one purpose: to feel and be known.

Kale slams me against the wall beside the doorway. His mouth meshes with mine as my hands reach up to snare his spiky white-blond hair. Calloused hands run over my body, sliding underneath my skirt to find me bare and waiting for his caress.

He moans against my lips as his fingers glide into my folds, raking over my swollen clit. I gasp against him. Slide my own hands into the back of his pants to fondle his ass. His tongue probes the curve of my neck as his hand moves within my satin walls already slick with need. My pulse leaps.

I unfasten his belt and his pants, jerking down the zipper as his fingers send electric shivers through my body. I wrap my fingers around his dick and say his name. His breath catches and he murmurs in the Old Language, exotic words born before humanity ever knew its own shadow.

I feel the rush of air when he moves me to the black leather couch near the door, pushing me back on the cushions with his mouth fastened at my breast.

I hear the cheers of the people across from us and open my eyes. A crowd has gathered to watch us fuck, some of them already touching each other in their own excitement.

The awareness of being watched brings an edge to my pleasure; I have to restraint myself from cumming. And then restraint is tossed away as his mouth finds my clit, rubbing against it, suckling it until my screams are louder than the music and the frenzy of an orgy beginning on the balcony across from us.

I cum in a flood, his fingers deep inside me, his mouth devouring my pussy lips, one hand kneading my breasts. I am gasping, sinking beneath the waves of eroticism, eyes open to see the redhead get fucked in the ass as her arms brace the railing. There are whistles from the dance floor, hoots and hollers, urging us on in our exploits, desiring even more.

In one move, Kane hoists my legs up around his hips and catapults himself inside, fucking me to the rhythm of the music down below. I cry out, full of him, clamping myself around his ridges while my hips dance to a rhythm of their own.

My legs are hoisted up until my knees are bent over his shoulders, causing him to drive in so deeply I can barely stand it. He moves like a piston, rough and sure, snatching growls out of my throat.

My irises change from green to molten silver and the whites to an all-encompassing black. The glorious feeling of his sliding inside my nakedness as I watch the others watch us as we watch them. I see a leather clad woman drop to her knees in front of a well-endowed man, take him into her throat. Two women fondle each other in a corner beyond the red-head's moans. And the rest of them watch it all. Watching, watching, watch.

Deeper.

Harder.

Faster.

He unzips my corset, spilling my breasts fully into his hands. He kneads them as he takes me over the edge. Before I can tumble off the cliff of my own climax, his mouth clamps over my neck and feel the erotic pain of his teeth as they sink into my jugular.

I cry out and am greeted a chorus of aroused cheers from across the room.

We are animals, exploring feeling only. Thoughts have ceased to exist. Everything has. There is only the wet sound of our fucking, the hisses and cries of our ecstasy and the press of the cushions against my back that keeps me glued to the moment.

He drives into me one last time and we both climax, shuddering in each other's arms. Eyes shut. Barely breathing. Convulsing, throbbing, pulsing to the beat of our immortal hearts and the scent of my freshly spilled blood.

Then it is over.

He withdraws, bringing in his fingers to caress my sensitive flesh one more time. My neck has already healed. There is only the tell-tale smear of crimson to bear witness to what has taken place.

These we lick from each other tenderly as he refastens his clothing.

"Good to have you back," he whispers to me.

"Temporary until I am sent out into the field again."

"As expected in these times. I'll see you again."

With that, he is gone. I am alone.

No, I don't look like a killer tonight. Much less something that is no longer human.

Yet I am both.

Though for tonight, I forget my obligations and my employers. The game I am playing and the coming days ahead. All too soon, such things will be impossible. All too soon.