Excerpt
Without warning or reason, Nicolai pushed Art back into the bookcase, and sank his fangs into Art’s neck. An instant of pain as his teeth pierced the skin, and then pleasure. Soft and gentle, slow rocking pleasure.
What the fuck?
Art froze in disbelief. He couldn't even process what was happening, let alone figure out how to respond to it.
What if he's trying to kill me?
After all, Art did refuse to abide and admitted that he would ruin Nicolai's reputation. What if the vampire's solution was to end him? His heart began to race at the thought. Nicolai groaned against his neck and began to suck harder. The pleasure intensified. His skin tingled.
His knees started to buckle. He had to do something. Energy formed in his palms, and grew. White lines of electric volts, which he slammed against Nicolai's chest in an attempt to shake him loose.
Not only did it fail to work. Nicolai was angry now. Claws dug into Art's arms as Nicolai held him steadfast, drinking so deeply all Art could do was close his eyes and endure.
Endure a pleasure so deep, it was almost shameful. His entire body pulsed. Life energy flowed from him into Nicolai. Every one of his senses was on fire. Nicolai's smell filled the air. He smelled of home, of the papers he insisted on surrounding himself by, the herbs and flowers that found their way into his potions, with a slight hint of ash. The ancient vampire smelled of magic.
Art tried not to think of the perfectly sculpted chest pressing against him. Part of him wished they were both topless, so he could feel that cold skin against his burning flesh.
Growing hard, he renewed his struggles to get free. Nicolai had just attacked him. There was no way Art would suffer the indignity of being aroused by it.
Nicolai released his grip allowing Art to push him back. Those dark eyes tore into Art, then quickly looked away. "You should go," was all he said before vanishing.
Art stood in the now empty room, staring into the darkness. He couldn't bring himself to believe any of that had just happened. It had to be some sort of fevered dream.
Without warning or reason, Nicolai pushed Art back into the bookcase, and sank his fangs into Art’s neck. An instant of pain as his teeth pierced the skin, and then pleasure. Soft and gentle, slow rocking pleasure.
What the fuck?
Art froze in disbelief. He couldn't even process what was happening, let alone figure out how to respond to it.
What if he's trying to kill me?
After all, Art did refuse to abide and admitted that he would ruin Nicolai's reputation. What if the vampire's solution was to end him? His heart began to race at the thought. Nicolai groaned against his neck and began to suck harder. The pleasure intensified. His skin tingled.
His knees started to buckle. He had to do something. Energy formed in his palms, and grew. White lines of electric volts, which he slammed against Nicolai's chest in an attempt to shake him loose.
Not only did it fail to work. Nicolai was angry now. Claws dug into Art's arms as Nicolai held him steadfast, drinking so deeply all Art could do was close his eyes and endure.
Endure a pleasure so deep, it was almost shameful. His entire body pulsed. Life energy flowed from him into Nicolai. Every one of his senses was on fire. Nicolai's smell filled the air. He smelled of home, of the papers he insisted on surrounding himself by, the herbs and flowers that found their way into his potions, with a slight hint of ash. The ancient vampire smelled of magic.
Art tried not to think of the perfectly sculpted chest pressing against him. Part of him wished they were both topless, so he could feel that cold skin against his burning flesh.
Growing hard, he renewed his struggles to get free. Nicolai had just attacked him. There was no way Art would suffer the indignity of being aroused by it.
Nicolai released his grip allowing Art to push him back. Those dark eyes tore into Art, then quickly looked away. "You should go," was all he said before vanishing.
Art stood in the now empty room, staring into the darkness. He couldn't bring himself to believe any of that had just happened. It had to be some sort of fevered dream.