Page 98 of Even Vampires Bleed
And this, ladies and gentlemen, is how you make yourself ridiculous.
Why did I say penis in the first place when he was obviously being dirty on purpose? And why did I sound like a petulant child?
Except… It’s probably better to sound like a petulant child than to tell him that his is one of those penises I’ve touched—and enjoyed—in the past.
“Cock,” he says. “This is a cock. Penis sounds so clinical.” He shakes his head before adding, “Really, if you never touched one, and you are very nice and promise not to squish it, I’ll let you touch it again.”
He adds a wink at the end and gets up to set the table with plates and cutlery, as if he didn’t just shake my world in the douchiest way.
Except all I can hear in what he just said is the fact that he might not be against my hands being on him.
Cassiopé, you’re stranded in the middle of the forest, with no one around for kilometers. You’re his best bet at getting some. Of course, he’s going to want you to touch him. Duh.
I can’t start imagining that he wants my hands on him, or I might not recover.
I don’t answer his taunting and grab glasses and fill a reusable water bottle from the sink to put on the table near the plates instead.
Then I bring back theHachisand put a heavy quantity on his plate. After the show I was privy today in the clearing, I have no doubt he needs the calories.
“I hope you’ll like it,” I say as I serve myself and then sit.
The rest of the meal continues mostly in silence, cut by Léandre’s groans of pleasure—yes, I know those—so I have no doubt he liked my food.
After everything is finished—and by that I mean Léandre took seconds and went to the point that he almost licked the cooking container—Léandre gets up, piles up the dishes and goes to the sink.
Because you guessed it… there is no dishwasher in this tiny hole in the forest.
“You cooked, I’ll clean,” he says. I want to argue because, really, we cooked together, but by the way he’s looking at me, I know he won’t change his mind. So, instead I go in the room, take out my bed sheets and proceed to bring them back to the living room.
50
Cassiopé
“What are you doing?” Léandre asks, and I can hear the alarm in his tone.
“Isn’t it obvious?” I ask snarkily.
We both know the answer to the other’s question, so I don’t bother waiting for an answer, but what comes next surprises me.
Léandre drops all the dishes inside the sink, and faster than I thought a bird could be, he snatches me from the ground with my bedsheets, and before I know it, I’m inside the bedroom, bouncing on the bed.
“We agreed,” I tell him.
“I agreed to nothing,” Léandre says with amusement.
“Well, you’re hurting from sleeping on the couch…” I say.
“It’s bearable, and there is no chance I’d make you sleep on the couch. You might say whatever you want about your wings, but you’re still in recovery. Don’t think I don’t know where this loss of balance came earlier,” he tells me with narrowed eyes.
“Oh,” is all I manage.
I know, not very witty, right?
He might be right, though. It hadn’t crossed my mind that it could be because of that. Not that I think it’s the only reason… but I’m not usually known to be clumsy.
“So, you’re staying here,” Léandre says, and he sounds final—like I have no say in this.
“I’m staying here until I’m completely recovered,” I agree with him, “but then we switch positions, and you’ll be the one sleeping in the bed.”
