Short BBRae OneShot! I am the Master of Innuendo! WOOT WOOT! Ahem, anywho, don't run at me with torches and pitchforks, cause I'm sure I've made it clear that lemons aren't my specialty. I tried to write in first person, just to broaden my horizons, so I hope it's ok. Thanks to all of my readers! Kisses!

I call to him through the darkness of the room. That is all it takes; one word, a phrase, anything to bring him to me. I am not one for seducing, but tonight I feel special. I feel different.

It is not difficult to get his attention, I realize. He is on the opposite end of the room, flipping through a novel he is determined to finish. The bright ceiling lamps from the hallway gives him an excellent source of light, though he does not need it anyway because of his cat-like eyes that are able to slice through the pitch black of even the darkest cavern.

But I, not having this special ability, rely solely on the hallway lights and the dimly lit candles surrounding the room to see. The shadows of the dark shade his beautiful face from my hungry eyes, though his bright, emerald orbs seem to radiate a yellowish glow as I watch them skim the page he is reading. He has become quite the avid reader in time, and I cannot help but think that I have had something to do with that.

Smiling to myself, I beckon to him again, this time more desperate than the last. I see his ears flick back, and he turns to me, his eyes still gleaming as he saves his page and puts down his novel. He knows what is coming, and he does not object.

He stands, and I take him in with heated eyes. The way his hair falls over his eyes drives me insane, as it does with every woman that talks to him. Over the years, he has gone through tremendous growth spurts that leave him taller than me and definitely more muscular. This catches the eye of many young women as we walk down the street, in turn making me hold onto him tighter. He tells me he will never leave me, and I believe him because I love him.

My mind snaps back to the present, and as he puts down his reading glasses and brushes his hands over his dark-wash jeans, he closes and locks the door, leaving us both in the light of the candles. I lick my lips as if I am a lion hunting a caribou, and I hear his sultry voice cut through the darkness of the room and to my awaiting ears. "Can I help you?" He asks as he leans over and kisses me.

I sense something running through his body as he gently guides me on my back, and I smile as I realize it is an emotion I have become quite familiar with over the past few years.

He is always in control during this whole procedure; while I am usually the one to initiate the idea, he is and always will be the dominant one. It is in his DNA structure, after all.

I feel his hands reach around my back, fingers touching my bare skin as he lifts my thin T-shirt off of my body, exposing my upper half to him. This is nothing new for him, yet he treats it like he is seeing me for the first time. His lips descend on the pale skin of my neck, and I sigh in ecstasy as I feel his fangs sink into me.

This is something we both love, not just for the sake of doing it, but because we love this togetherness, being closer than close to each other and loving every minute of it.

Clothes are thrown haphazardly across the room until we are left nude in front of each other. His fingers continue their ministrations on my skin, tracing the tender flesh of my hip and making me take in a sharp breath. He writes on my body with his fingers, but what he writes I cannot tell. Before I can ask him, he leans down and kisses away what he writes, as if erasing it and leaving a clean slate. He does this again on my chest, and then again on my stomach. Then, he smooths his hand down my right thigh, grasping my knee and hooking my leg around his waist as we continue on with what we are doing.

My eyes close tight as I feel myself losing grip, and I hold onto him tighter, afraid that if I do not, he will disappear into thin air. This is one of my worst fears.

He has told me before that he also fears that he will close his eyes one day, and when he opens them, I will be gone, but I assure him that that will never happen. Also, when I tell him my fear, he does not say anything, simply hugs me until my worries are gone, mere ghosts in the light of day.

A low growl brings me back to reality, and after a moment more, I am falling. We fall off the cliff together; our worlds explode in a burst of color. We come down from our emotional high, and he whispers in my ear as I close my eyes that he has written a novel all his own on me. When I ask him groggily if it would be a best seller, he tells me that it is written in love; only he and I can read it.