At the bar an hour earlier, he said she was beautiful, that he wanted to photograph her. She assumed it was a line—and a tired one, at that—designed to get her back to his apartment and out of her clothes. At the time, his ruse made her laugh. He didn’t need to flatter her to get her to go home with him; she’d wanted to do that since the moment she saw him.
She’s been at his place for twenty minutes, posing as the shutter of his relic of a manual camera snaps away. He has yet to touch her, and she begins to wonder if she was wrong, if he was telling the truth when he said he wanted only to take her picture.
“Are you getting what you want?” she asks.
“Yes.” He looks up from behind his camera and smiles. “Unless you’d like to give me more.”
She unbuttons her blouse, exposing her bra. “Like this?”
He doesn’t react, so she takes it a bit further, hiking up her skirt and sliding a hand inside her panties.
“Yes,” he says. “Just like that. I want to take your picture as you come.”
As quickly as her humanity permits, she discards the rest of her clothing. Her hands squeeze her breasts and tweak her nipples, before one trails down her torso to her dripping sex. After a few frenzied strokes, she’s on the verge of orgasm, wondering why her prior experiences pale in comparison to what she is feeling now, when he hasn’t even touched her, and she doesn’t know who he is.
“What’s your name?”
He answers from behind his camera. “Edward.”
“Edward…” His name becomes a moan as her pleasure overwhelms her.
With unnatural speed, he is upon her, cradling her sweaty body in his arms for less than a second before lifting her hair from her neck and piercing her flesh with his teeth.
It is for this and this alone that he desires her. He takes his pleasure as he takes her life. Her blood gushes into him, rushing through his body and hardening his cock, bringing him ecstasy and sustenance in a single act.
They meet death together, and though his is little, hers is real.