Page 12 of How to Bite Your Neighbor and Win a Wager
Vincent finished off the milk and dragged his feet back under him. He swayed, his nose pinching. His gaze jumped to Wesley’s nearly full bowl of ramen on the counter. “Well, I guess I’m the hot ramen champion then.”
“No contest.” Wes stood, opening the trash compartment to shove the empty milk container into the recycling, packing it down when it tried to pop back up.
“I get to bite you still, right? That doesn’t have to be my after-dinner choice, because you already agreed to it?”
Wes groaned. He considered trying to worm his way out of all he now owed Vincent, but he couldn’t risk breaking the vampire’s trust. And he maybe, kind of, almost wanted to be bitten. “No, you’re right, that’s only fair. You can bite me and one other thing.”
“One other thing?” Vincent sounded almost loopy. The way he looked at Wesley for just a moment, Wes felt like a kind of prey.
A very good kind of prey. Wes’s heart skipped over the rush of adrenaline that came with it, but he absolutely did not need that adrenaline, not when there were a hundred other ways to acquire it that didn’t involve telling a vampire that the vampire could doone other thingto him. Oh god, he’d said that, hadn’t he. No wonder Vincent was licking the edge of his puffy, reddened lips. “You can bite me,” Wesley clarified, “and you can also pick whatever else you want us to do tonight. You know, hobbies, games, whatever.”
None of which was going to include Vitalis-Barron.
Wesley’s chest revolted at the letdown, but the only way to deal with that emotion was the same way he’d been dealing with everything else: full steam ahead, preferably while focused on at least three different non-Vitalis-Barron things at once.
“Got it,” Vincent said.
Wes swore the vampire looked disappointed. He shivered, the feeling a lot less unpleasant than it should have been. “Why don’t we…?” He trailed off, not sure where he’d intended the sentence to go.
Vincent, shy and awkward Vincent, picked it up easily, with something almost like a smile. “Let’s go to the couch? I’ve only ever done this sitting down.”
It sounded almost teasing. Who knew eating the world’s spiciest ramen was such a vampiric confidence booster?
Wes shoved his thumbs into the loop of his jeans and shrugged, leading the way toward the living room. If Vincent could hear the pace of his heart right now… he didn’t want to think about that. Or about the way his stupid, useless brain kept bringing up their last bite and how wonderful Vincent’s mouth had felt on his neck. How this was going to be like that, except longer, and fully awake, and with Vincent sitting beside him. Or possibly straddling him. Oh fuck, there could be complications with straddling if this took too long, where too long meant almost any time at all with how his dick had decided it also wanted to be spicy today.
Wesley tried to avoid that option by lounging in his usual manner, one leg tucked crookedly under him and the other knee up as he propped his foot on the couch’s armrest. It had a dip in it now. Maybe he should stop doing that so much.
Vincent eyed the couch and sat down like he was prepared for it to either dump him out or possibly turn him into a gamer. He tugged at his jacket, then pulled it off entirely.
Wesley watched him.
“Sorry,” he muttered, pushing the hair out of his eyes and pulling a pillow into his lap. “I’m not used to being, you know, seen during this.”
“Performance anxiety?”
Vincent’s lips bunched. He kneaded his pillow with both hands.
“It’s alright, I don’t judge. I mean, you’re the only vamp who’s ever bitten me, so I don’t really have expectations here. Am I just making this worse? I’m just making this worse. Shutting up now.”
Vincent drew in a breath like he was preparing for war, and Wesley had to remind himself that this vampire drank blood from people on a regular basis without killing or turning them. He assumed. Maybe he should have clarified first.
But Vincent was already scooting until his thigh pressed against Wesley’s. He leaned a little crookedly toward Wesley’s neck, still gripping the pillow in one hand and the back of the couch in the other. Wes had just enough time to feel slighted that Vincent hadn’t grabbed onto him instead, when Vincent’s fangs pricked into his skin.
His neck erupted into burning.
His body instinctively jerked away from Vincent as he tumbled onto the floor. This time, he managed to press a hand to the wound before it began oozing. He gritted his teeth, the searing pain slowly fading.
Vincent stared at him in horror. “I’m so sorry—I’ve never—it normally doesn’t—fuck,” he stammered.
Laughter bubbled through Wesley, completely at odds with the stinging, each rack of his body making a little blood seep between his fingers when they slipped off the bite wound. But he couldn’t help it. He’d been dreaming about this, yearning for it despite how often he told himself that desire was ridiculous, and this was what he got: pain in place of pleasure. And it was, technically, all his own damn fault.
Vincent’s cheeks turned red against his pale face. “You’re still bleeding. Do you need me to… to…”
Wesley kept laughing silently, his chest trembling and his head tipping backwards on the carpet. “Don’t you dare touch me with that extra-hot mouth of yours!”
“My—” Vincent’s blush doubled. And then he groaned, dropping his head into his hands. “The hot sauce.”
“It still stings.”
