(The Passions of Bryn is a loose series of vignettes about Bryn, a vampire tortured by the extreme pleasure of killing the men she loves. Previous installments: 1, 2, 3.)
The sheets hissed as Christopher shifted in his sleep.
Dull orange fire from the furnace shivered in the air over the radiators. His arm waved the covers aside.
In the glow of the bathroom nightlight, his bare chest rose and fell in a tranquil rhythm. Half of him lay exposed. Deep shadows carved his shape down to his thigh.
Bryn stepped from curtain of darkness in the corner. His steady breaths endured, unaware she was there.
Her sparkling eyes moved. They painted each phrase in the whispers of his body, beautiful as the music's perfection when she first saw him. She drank every color and bending line.
She moved closer.
His breath drawing in.
Warmth draining out.
A pale arm like sculpture extended. The shadow of a hand slashed across his chest.
She closed her eyes in the silence.
Bit by bit, she slowed. She began to match his dreamy cadence. Her separateness soaked into his body and dissolved.
The air in the room pulsed. She felt herself lifting free of the floor, free of the confines of her senses. Christopher sank deeper into the bed. His wrists and the palms of his hands fell open.
Bryn parted her lips. Her head drifted back, fanning her hair over her shoulders.
In the sensuous light, his face wrinkled, then he groaned with a gentle arch of his back.
Her arm swayed in a tiny ballet over him, then grew. His breath thickened. Each release was like a sigh. The shadow of her fingers slithered through the hair on his chest and wrapped around his roping neck muscles.
His movements danced with her. A sheen of sweat caught the light and poured her thoughts over him.
Her head nodded faster, stronger.
Christopher's stomach writhed.
His hips rolled in waves, lifting from the bed.
She felt his power growing, the strength of his possession. She opened herself and curled around him, layer after layer. The color of the room changed. The walls and floor twitched in the storms of gravity.
His light drew inward, intensifying, blinding.
She dove into the pounding immensity of his collapse. The pressure screamed beyond human recognition. His essence burned every corner of her consciousness.
The explosion detonated like a supernova.
The energy tore through her and beyond her. The shock wave rippled through the walls, through the neighborhood. Strangers gasped, clutching at their blankets, then shaking fists gradually released.
Christopher's eyes stood wide.
As he panted, the light in the bathroom flickered.
He laid in the stillness alone.