Page 97 of Even Vampires Bleed
“I’ll survive,” I tell her, and really I’ll survive sleeping on the couch. I’m not sure I’ll survive if she keeps massaging me this way.
I’m saved by the sound of a ringing coming from the oven.
I almost forget that I’m the one who set it. All I can think is the fact that it’s a godsend, as I jump to my feet and crouch in front of the oven.
“Do you think it’s ready?” I ask Cassiopé.
49
Cassiopé
Idon’t even know how I ended up with my hands on his shoulders, massaging him.
It’s like my brain got short-circuited. One moment I was sitting next to him and the next my hands were untying the knots made of muscles of his back.
And out went my sanity.
I’d love to say that it’s because of the bloodlust that I’m acting this weirdly, but it might not be just that.
There is a reason I stayed away as far as I could from him.
It’s like my heart refuses to compute the fact that it’s not the same man I spent my days and nights with. My brain knows for sure, but my stupid heart keeps trying to take over, and that’s how I end up massaging him.
At least, my heart had enough sense to avoid straddling his hips, because if the way he jumped away when the oven alarm rang is any indication, my heart was in for disappointment.
I just need to steel myself and stop letting the idiot take over again.
Easier said than done, right?
I get up and crouch next to Léandre as I look through the opening of the oven’s door.
“Seems like it,” I say as I try to get up again.
Try is the key word here. Because all I do is lose my balance and bring Léandre with me as I grab anything—his shorts—to stay upright.
I monumentally fail, and we end up sprawled on the ground until I realize that I didn’t grab his shorts—or not just his shorts—and take my hand back as if I’ve been burned.
In my defense, it was very, very warm.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” I say as I push away from him and avoid looking him in the eye. I don’t want to see the indifference that is surely there.
Instead, I keep apologizing as if I’m a broken record and get a cloth to remove theHachis Parmentierout from the oven.
I drop it unceremoniously on the cooking plate, and then, when my face is finally schooled—it was all panic and blushing—I finally look at Léandre.
He’s still sitting on the ground, laughing silently.
“What?” I ask.
“You should have seen your face,” he tells me. “It was like you had never touched a cock and upon discovery, you decided it was the worst thing in the world.”
He’s laughing out loud now, and I don’t know how I should feel anymore.
Disinterested? I was ready for it. Amused? Not at all.
“It’s alright if it was the first time for you, Little Firefly,” he says with a cocky smile.
“I’ve touched penises before,” I bite back.
