A low, almost pained groan escaped Freya’s lips, her internal battle seemingly lost to the overwhelming call of her ancient nature. Her gaze returned to Myra’s neck, the pulse beneath the skin a hypnotic invitation. “I am hungry,” she confessed, her voice raw and edged with a desperate need. “Very hungry.”
Without further hesitation, Freya’s fangs found their mark, piercing the delicate skin on Myra’s neck once more. A sharp jolt ran through Myra’s body, a familiar sting that was now intertwined with a complex mix of emotions – a lingering trust, a touch of resignation, and the undeniable awareness of the act being performed.
A soft gasp escaped Myra’s lips, her hands clenching on the velvet sheets beneath her. Freya drank with a fervent intensity, a deep, greedy pull that spoke of a hunger long denied or perhaps simply intensified by the tantalizing aroma of fresh blood. The rhythmic pulse beneath Freya’s lips became the dominant sensation, a visceral reminder of the life being drawn from her.
As Freya fed, one of her hands, seemingly of its own volition, reached out and closed firmly over Myra’s breast. The grip was surprisingly hard, a possessive clench that startled Myra and added another yer of unexpected sensation to the act of feeding. A sharp intake of breath was Myra’s only outward reaction to the sudden, almost painful pressure. The combination of the forceful feeding and the possessive touch sent a confusing cascade of sensations through her, a blend of vulnerability, a strange undercurrent of arousal, and the stark reality of Freya’s predatory nature.
The frantic rhythm of Freya’s fed on her neck intensified, each greedy pull a stark reminder of her ancient hunger. Myra’s head was tilted back against the plush velvet, her eyes fluttering shut as she focused on the dual sensations: the insistent drawing of her blood from her neck and the firm, almost bruising grip on her breast. Freya’s lips moved against her skin with a primal urgency, her sharp canines creating a tight seal as she devoured the life force within. The coppery taste filled her mouth, a visceral satisfaction that seemed to momentarily eclipse everything else.
Her free hand, still firmly csping Myra’s breast, squeezed harder, the pressure bordering on painful. Myra gasped softly, an involuntary sound that was quickly masked by the rhythmic sounds of Freya’s feeding. The possessive touch was both invasive and strangely arousing, a bewildering combination that sent conflicting signals through Myra’s already overwhelmed senses. The coolness of Freya’s skin against her own created a stark contrast to the growing heat that the intimate contact was igniting within her.
Between deep draws, Freya’s tongue would flick out, tracing the edges of the wound on Myra’s neck, a gesture that was both cleansing and subtly sensual. The cool, smooth touch against the raw skin sent shivers down Myra’s spine, a stark counterpoint to the insistent pressure on her breast. It was a dance of contrasting sensations, a push and pull between vulnerability and a strange, burgeoning pleasure that Myra couldn't fully reconcile.
The sound of Freya’s swallows echoed in the small chamber, a stark reminder of the life being consumed. Myra’s head swam slightly, a lightheadedness creeping in as the flow of her blood continued. Yet, even in her weakened state, the simultaneous stimution of her breast created a confusing swirl of physical sensations, a burgeoning heat that spread from the point of contact, eclipsing some of the discomfort of the feeding.
Freya continued her ministrations, the fervent sucking at Myra’s neck and the possessive squeezing of her breast a primal symphony of need and burgeoning intimacy. Myra y beneath her, caught in a web of overwhelming sensations, a willing participant in an act that was both a sacrifice and a strange, unsettling form of connection with the ancient being who now held her captive in this intimate and consuming embrace.
Suddenly, as if a switch had flipped, Freya’s fervent feeding slowed, then stopped. She drew back from Myra’s neck, her breathing still slightly ragged, her crimson eyes now carrying a flicker of concern amidst the lingering haze of hunger. The possessive grip on Myra’s breast loosened, her hand gently retracting as Freya’s awareness of her surroundings sharpened.
“Myra,” Freya murmured, her voice now ced with a note of genuine worry. She gently wiped away a trickle of blood that still clung to Myra’s neck with the back of her hand, her touch surprisingly tender. “Are you… alright? I fear… I may have indulged myself more than intended.” Her gaze searched Myra’s pale face, looking for any signs of undue distress. The intensity of her hunger had momentarily blinded her to the potential impact on the mortal woman.
Myra blinked slowly, her senses still reeling from the potent combination of sensations. A wave of dizziness washed over her, and she swallowed hard, feeling the lingering ache in her neck and the throbbing warmth in her breast where Freya had held her.
“I… I think so,” Myra managed, her voice a little shaky. She reached a hand up to touch the bite marks on her neck, feeling the slight stickiness of the blood. “A little… lightheaded. And sore.” She looked at Freya, a complex mix of emotions in her emerald eyes – lingering arousal, a touch of vulnerability, but no real anger.
Freya’s brow furrowed with concern. “Forgive me, Myra. The scent of your blood… it was overwhelming. I allowed my hunger to… override my judgment. Are you feeling excessively weak? Do you need anything?” Her tone was genuinely contrite, a stark contrast to the primal intensity of moments before. The realization that she might have harmed Myra seemed to genuinely distress her.
