Page 11 of Even Vampires Bleed
Which really surprised me, if I’m honest, because with all the alcohol he drank—and we’re talking about almost two liters—there should have been no way for him to get a hard on.
And yet, that was all I could feel when I finally fell asleep with my pussy throbbing, because my mind couldn’t stop imagining him deep inside of me.
I probably had the same dreams as him.
Why?
Because I just woke up with wet panties and that same hard on against my butt, and all I want to do now is to rub myself against him so he can satisfy the craving in my blood.
Am I moving, though?
No. There is no way in hell I’m getting out of that bed with the way Léandre is holding me to him.
Because, yeah, the hard on against my ass might be the thing I thought was the most preoccupying when I woke up, but it gets worse.
What would you ask me? What could be worse?
Well, let’s start with his left hand. His left arm is on top of me and his hand is holding me against him. Not really a problem, right? Wrong, because that hand is directly against my skin, which means at some point during the night, Léandre slipped his hand under my shirt. So, where is the problem again? The whole problem resides in his pinky. His damned pinky that slipped right under the waistband of my shorts. I can feel that single digit as if he’s branding me with it, and I barely can breathe.
But that’s still not the worst part. The worst part is his right hand. Somehow, this hand has found a way under me, and then under my shirt, too, and is now cradling my left boob like it’s a cuddly toy he can’t sleep without.
Am I burning? Obviously I am, but it’s like I can’t do anything.
Liar.
I should hate myself because I’m the one conscious of what is happening, and yet I refuse to move and break contact with his skin.
I gulp.
I’m really shameless.
“I can hear your heartbeat, Little Luciole.”
Léandre’s voice comes gravely and caresses my skin as much as his hands.
I’m trying to think what I could answer when he talks again.
“Are my hands so troublesome that I need to remove them?” he asks with a hint of teasing in his voice.
I should answer. I know I should and yet it’s like I swallowed my tongue because I don’t know what to say anymore.
He’s not drunk. And he probably remembers most of yesterday since he knew who was in his bed, and he keeps using the same nickname he gave me yesterday. I have no idea how he came up with it, but since it proves he wants me right now, I’m not going to question it.
“I know you’re awake, Little Luciole,” he says as I feel his pinky softly stroking the skin under my shorts, “Tell me you don’t want any of this, and I’ll remove my hands.”
I hear it in his voice. It would be hard for him to do as he says, but he would.
We shouldn’t be doing this. I don’t even know what time it is. Seeing the light through his window, I know it’s day already, but how long does Léandre still have before the microchip goes off?
“We shouldn’t,” I whisper.
“You keep saying that, Little Luciole, but you still haven’t told me why,” he whispers against my neck. I can feel him breathing right behind me, and the air released from his mouth is teasing the back of my ear. “I like you. You like me. What more should there be?”
“Because my heart might not survive if I get attached, and then you’re not here anymore.” It’s barely out of my mouth, and I already regret saying that out loud. Still, I’m not going to retract my words.
“You think you can fall in love with me with just a morning of wild sex?” Léandre asks in a cheerful voice. I can hear the cockiness in his voice, and it makes me smile before it falls flat.
“I don’t think I’m that good,” he adds. “Well, in theory, I know what to do…”
