Lifting up on my elbows so he can put one of the towels over the pillow, I inform, “Did you know high heels were originally for men only? Besides the added height, it was believed it made men’s calves more attractive.”
“I didn’t know that,” he humors me while helping with the wig as I lie back down. “I’ll remember that if I feel my calves are having a fat day.”
I giggle and he smiles down at me, his fake fangs still on display.
“You going to do something about those?” I question, tapping on my own incisors. “Why are you wearing fake ones anyway when you have real fangs?”
Nolan pops off the fangs in question, placing them on his nightstand, along with the wig on his head. While running a hand over his short blonde hair, he answers, “One, mine don’t look anything like movie vampire teeth, and two, the real ones are very sharp.”
He runs his tongue along his teeth, looking at my exposed neck with clear hunger, and I wonder if there’s a third reason he’s not sharing. It’s like he has to actively force his gaze away before he stands, turning his back to me. With careful movements, he takes off his dress coat and hangs it over the banister. He releases a careful breath and turns toward me, his normal always slightly amused Nolan face back on.
“Just gonna stand there or are we going to get this over with before people start search parties looking for you?” I huff in an attempt to shake this tension that keeps rising between us. Tucking my hands under my butt, I assure, “Look, my hands are underneath me so there won’t be any rogue lady-handling.”
He snorts and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, not what I was worried about. Also, lady-handling?”
“What? I’m a girl, so man-handling isn’t the right word,” I decree.
Nolan climbs on the bed next to me, and while draping the second towel over my chest, comments, “I’m pretty sure that’s not a word.”
“Is now,” I reply snootily, shifting my gaze to the ceiling and not on his bare chest. “Shakespeare made up words all the time.”
“Uh huh,” he hums in a distracted way.
After a long moment of him not doing anything, I peek at his face. He’s doing that angling his head different directions thing like he’s trying to figure what’s the best approach to biting me.
“Nolan,” I groan because the anticipation is getting ridiculous. “Do it already.”
He kind of laugh chokes, gasping, “Can’t say anyone’s said that to me… at least in that tone.”
“You see this,” I say pointing at my face. “This is me rolling my eyes so hard I can practically see grey matter.”
“Alight. Alright,” he chuckles, lying down beside me. “You appear to get quite testy when your feet hurt.”
“Yeah, it’s my feet that’s the problem,” I mutter.
With gentle fingers on my chin, he encourages me to look at him and searches my face. I narrow my eyes, then flick my tongue out at him lizard style.
He barks out another laugh, dipping his head next to mine, and mumbles, “I take it that means you’re ready.”
I don’t dignify that with a response, instead angling my chin up in what I think makes my neck look appetizing.
Nolan leans over me, bracing himself up on one elbow while his other hand rests on the other side of me, his chest brushing against mine. As his tongue slowly runs up my neck, my heart tries to leap out of my chest in response. I squeeze my eyes shut, attempting to think about anything boring.Math. Math is boring, right?
There’s no warning or hesitation when his teeth sink into my flesh, and the air whooshes out of my chest with an embarrassing half sigh/ half moan. The familiar sensation of warm pleasure slips along my veins, and instantly my body relaxes into the bed. My fingers tingle with the desire to touch him, and I grip the maroon blanket below me to keep from acting on the impulse. I feel safe in his arms. It’s his turn to know he’s safe in mine… metaphorically.
He releases a throaty groan against my skin, which really isn’t helpful, as he feeds from me. With his teeth embedded in my neck, his mouth creates a gentle suction, lapping up most of the blood that drips from my flesh. The sensation and noises seem a lot like he’s kissing my neck, which is also not helping.
Despite our deal, the darker truth is I still want him to kiss me again. Over the past two weeks, the ache dulled to the back of my mind, buried under other things… and other interactions. But now, lying on his bed with his body hovering over me, the want is stronger than ever. I lick my lips, my breathing turning into little gasps. Trying not to think about the way his tongue undulates against my neck… and what it felt like inside my mouth, I go back to math.
What was that problem on the board Mr. Harris was seething over?I can only recall Donovan being all smirky about it once he finished another long-winded explanation. Unfortunately, this line of thought quickly works its way to that time in the gym and Donovan’s ‘hug’. His big hands running down my arms, holding my hips, slipping up and down my spine…
And that’s enough about math.
I bite my lip hard to keep from moaning, and though I’ve fisted the comforter in both hands, I can’t stop from arching my back to get closer to him. There’s a masculine purr in answer, and he presses back down into me, dropping from his hands to both elbows and hooking one leg over mine.
A sigh that sounds a lot like, “yes,” escapes from my mouth, and my bare thighs tighten around him, sliding back and forth against his black leather pants. The feel of his weight on top of me helps with the growing need to touch him, but it also turns out more than just my hands can get me in trouble. All it takes a subtle shift of my hips, and I’m pressing into his growing erection, encouraging something that is the exact opposite of what I want… or will want… later. Right now, I want him to touch me like before and more.
I will not jump him... again. I will not jump him again.
