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The rest of the human’s examination proceeds quietly and without incident. Bela swallows down the bitter tang of regret and watches, motionless, as Donna works.
She only moves when Donna tells her to, which isn’t often. Her face floods with warmth when Donna’s willowy fingers ghost across bleeding teeth marks and torn skin. Her fangs ache with every fresh cut, every gush of blood so red, red, red. It’s torture to watch, but she knows she’s earned it—so watch she does.
How could she be so foolish? So weak to her own desires?
A part of her has been wondering if the human is some sort of test. If it is, she’s not surprised it took Cassandra a matter of hours to fail it. She is, however, nothing short of mortified to have been next to do the same.
Mother will find out. Bela knows she will. When she does, she’ll never tell her what’s really going on—why the human has been permitted to live when so many others have not. That, Bela knows, will hurt more than any punishment she could mete out.
She is the eldest. She is her sisters’ keeper—a responsibility she has borne proudly since the days they first hatched. She is who Mother turns to when her own two hands—capable as they may be—are not enough.
Yet at her core, she is a vicious, insatiable thing. She likes to think she hides it well, but she knows Cassandra suspects it of her, and Mother is certainly not unawares. The human, however, is new. She is human. How does she know? How does she look at Bela and see what she’s trying so hard to hide? Why does she goad that awful beast hankering beneath her skin?
When the physical portion of the examination is finished, Donna tasks Angie with the human’s supervision before disappearing upstairs. Bela, though sour humiliation still roils within her, is quick to follow.
It will never cease to amaze her how fast Donna can move. By the time Bela’s in the main corridor, she’s turning the corner. When Bela turns the corner, she’s ducked into the elevator hall.
She catches up to her in the study, which just so happens to be one of Bela’s favorite places. It’s where Donna keeps her film projector—with its own screen!—and all her books.
Donna is standing, hunched over the desk when Bela enters. Her veil lies discarded on the vacant chair, revealing a glimpse of pale skin and midnight-black hair that Bela’s fingers ache to touch.
“Donna,” Bela begins, stepping forward, “I’m—”
“You lost control.” Donna’s voice is sonorous, but measured. It’s impossible to tell what she’s thinking.
Bela stops short. Donna’s so close—close enough to touch—but she hasn’t earned it. “I did.” The words taste like ash. “There’s no excuse.”
Donna turns to face her. Bela doesn’t dare move when familiar, callused fingers trail the length of her jaw. “How did she taste?”
Bela whimpers. Why are you doing this? she wants to ask. Can’t I be trusted to punish myself? Instead, she chokes out, “Good. D-Different, but good.” She leans down, pressing her forehead to Donna’s. “Donna, please, I—”
The pad of Donna’s thumb, pressed against her lips, makes her swallow her words. The brown of her eye is dark, so dark it’s almost black. “I don’t let go of things easily. I don’t let people leave. But you… You’ve broken my rules.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re not.” Her thumb parts Bela’s lips, forcing its way inside—not that Bela would ever dream of denying her. Donna purrs as Bela suckles at the intrusion, fangs grazing skin. “You come and go as you please, and never am I able to mark you in a way that lasts.”
Bela makes a tiny, agonized sound. Oh, how she wishes that weren’t true. She’d wear Donna’s marks proudly for all to see—if only they’d linger like the memory of her never fails to. Donna knows that, doesn’t she?
“But this?” Donna retracts her thumb, smearing Bela’s lips with evidence of her own need. “This desperation, this need—it’s all for me, isn’t it?” When Bela simply nods, the touch turns bruising. “Answer me.”
“A-All for you,” Bela stammers. She can’t look away. “No one else, I promise. I’m yours.”
Donna hums—a perfunctory sound. “We’ll see.” She retreats a step. “Undress.”
— —
Bela’s typical garb, on top of being quite comfortable, is also well-suited for private, intimate moments such as these. It’s never a chore to undress. Today, she accomplishes it in record time.
Once upon a time, she felt discomfort at being naked before Donna. Was she too slender? Too wan? Would she prefer it if Bela shaved? Were her breasts to Donna’s liking?
Overthinking came easily to Bela in all things. With proximity, it amplified tenfold. Donna always knew how to purge those nagging, pesky doubts from her mind. Through words alone, she was able to make Bela feel small and fragile, yet cherished beyond measure.
It is a testament to the trust Donna has garnered that Bela does not shy away from her now.
“Come here.”
Bela does. She sighs with relief when Donna’s hands settle above her hips. They’re close, close enough that Bela’s stiff nipples brush the thin wool of Donna’s dress on every inhale. Bela’s hands twitch at her sides, aching to touch.
She won’t. She can’t, not yet.
Donna’s in control. She knows what to do. That’s how this works. Bela strips herself bare and takes the plunge, trusting that Donna will pull her back before she drowns.
Familiar fingers drift down, down, down. Bela inhales sharply when they meet tender, arousal-slick flesh. She’s soaked. She has been since her first taste of the human’s blood.
“Just as I thought,” Donna remarks. Her fingers trace slow, lazy patterns against Bela’s most sensitive place, gathering stringy wetness with every pass. “You’re drenched, cara mia. It’s pathetic.”
Her words strike Bela like a bolt of electricity, making her clit twitch and her insides ache. In any other context, the sentiment would wound her deeply. Right now, it only intensifies her need. “Didn’t mean to,” she murmurs, feeling her eyes get hot with unshed tears. “Tried to stop.” She did, didn’t she?
“I know. Silly, brainless girl,” Donna soothes. Her tone oozes condescension. “Only knows how to think with her cunt, isn’t that right?”
“No,” Bela whispers. A hot tear streaks down her cheek.
“No?” Donna repeats, eyebrow raised. “You’re dripping onto my floor.”
Bela doesn’t dare look down, but she doesn’t have to. She knows Donna’s right. “I’m s-sorry.” She sniffles as another tear falls, then shivers when clever, slippery fingers find her clit. “O-Oh.”
“Needy thing. Was this what you wanted?”
“Yes, Donna. Need you so much.” Bela leans in until her lips graze the very tip of Donna’s nose. “It hurts.”
Donna gives another noncommittal hum. Her touch disappears. “On the desk.”
Bela bites back a whine and does as she says. She’s grateful for the hand that remains at her waist, guiding her into position with a firmness she revels in.
Her head is so fuzzy, and the need pulses inside of her like a living thing. She barely registers the sensation of bare skin meeting smooth cloth—a new addition after their last lust-fueled encounter in this room. Her legs are pliant under Donna’s touch, letting her spread them until cool air ghosts across swollen, sensitive skin.
When fingers, wet with evidence of her own desire, brush her lips, she doesn’t hesitate. Her lips part willfully around them, laving rough skin with her tongue and delighting in the groan she receives for her efforts.
“So eager,” Donna muses. She pulls her hand away, ignoring Bela’s pout, only to continue stroking, teasing the quivering mess between her thighs. “You’d do anything for me, wouldn’t you?”
“Anything,” Bela parrots immediately. Her head spins. “Anything you want.” Bela bites her lip, feeling herself clench around nothing. “Donna, please.”
“Oh? Does my pathetic, empty-headed doll need something?”
Bela chokes on air and nods furiously. “Need your fingers, please. Need them inside.”
“Oh, I suppose,” Donna relents, sinking the length of one finger in to the knuckle. Bela keens and clenches around her. “Can’t think without this tight hole filled, can you?”
“Fuck, fuck, thank you, thank you,” Bela rambles. The tears have dried, but now, they threaten to begin anew. Her insides feel molten. “Please—need more—please?”
Donna shushes her. “Hush now. You’ll take what I give you—nothing more, nothing less. Isn’t that right?”
Bela’s lower lip trembles, but she manages a nod. “I’m sorry,” she sniffles. “I’ll take what you give me. Promise.”
“Good doll.” Donna rewards her with a second finger, gradually adopting a steady rhythm that makes Bela’s walls contract and her toes curl. “Just let me play with you. You can do that, can’t you?”
“Y-Yes, yes, anything, yes,” Bela babbles. The sounds that reach her ears are utterly obscene. Donna’s fingers are reaching so deep, nudging that spot that elicits sobs with every thrust.
“You’re lucky we’re on a tight schedule.” Donna leans in until the heat of her breath mingles with Bela’s stuttering gasps. “Next time, I’ll make you work for it.”
Bela’s eyes snap to Donna’s face. “Does that mean—?”
“I want you to come all over my fingers.” With her other hand, Donna massages small, firm circles into Bela’s turgid clit. “You can do that for me, can’t you?”
Words are hard. Pleasure batters her on all sides. Donna’s angling her hand just right, making Bela’s insides gush and spasm. She’s rapidly approaching that cliff’s edge; all she can do is nod profusely and pray Donna won’t scorn her for it.
Donna’s gaze softens, like she knows what Bela’s thinking. “It’s okay,” she assures you. “I’m here.”
It doesn’t take long after that. Within minutes, Bela’s climax crashes through her, a tidal wave of sensation that makes her cling to Donna lest she be swept away. It’s overwhelming. It’s everything.
In the wake of it, her body racks itself with aftershocks, but Donna—strong, beautiful, caring Donna—is there. She is a lighthouse in the storm, prolonging her pleasure with shallow thrusts and endless praises that make Bela’s cunt pulse around her fingers.
Bela’s not sure how long it takes for her heart to stop thundering in her ears. Once it does, she’s pulling Donna into a kiss that’s desperate and messy, because she fears she’ll go insane if she waits a second longer.
Donna meets her with fervor, parting her lips and letting Bela chase the taste of her like the hungry, wanton creature she is. She doesn’t know how long they spend just kissing, open-mouthed and shameless, but it’s not enough. It never is.
Donna’s the first to pull away. “Good?” she asks.
Bela feels heavy and slow, like a fly trapped in amber. She manages a nod, feeling a smile curve her lips. “Good.”
Donna’s lips twitch. “I’m glad. Let’s get you cleaned up,” she says, punctuating the statement with a gentle kiss. “Then you can assist me in the laboratory.”
— —