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“God, yes,” I moan when I can breathe through the spasms starting to curl my toes and pulsate in my middle. “God, yes, I want you. I want this. Lazarus...”

“My name. Louder. More often,” he pants, his fingers flying south as he sits back. One of his hands goes between his legs, and one is between mine, working my clit as he hammers himself, the only man I’ve ever seen try to literally “beat” himself off.

“Stop,” I hiss, kicking at his arm.

He stops.

Instantly.

“Not me!” I hiss, guiding his wrist back to rekindle the delicious motion that’s sending me to the brink. “You. You don’t... have to be so hard.”

“I have less sensitive nerves, maybe. That felt fine,” he hisses back, but his hand obeys and stays gripping his thick, gray cock without pumping it.

“When it’s in me, all I’ll need to do is squeeze, baby,” I encourage.

“Ohh, Victoria...”

I crest to orgasm on his fingers, and I know that I could ride that wave much longer if I wanted to. But I have other business.

“Stand up,” I shudder out, sitting up.

Again, instant obedience.

Because he likes you. Trusts you—some. That’s all going to end when he finds out the truth, you idiot.

SO DON’T LET HIM.

I line my mouth up with Lazarus’ cock as he stands next to the bed, eyes half-closed, fist starting to slide again. I guide his long length into my mouth, waiting and wincing, expecting it to taste... Well, not like it does, even though when I kiss him, when I’m near him, there’s nothing but the taste of coffee and menthol. I’m a former smoker myself, and I kinda like it.

Right now, it’s the texture that teases my tongue. So heavy, so perfect and smooth. No scars here, thank God, even though I can see several low on his abdomen, heading down his thigh as it peeks through his worn work pants.

I close my eyes and inhale the scent of him: smoke, oil, and a hint of gasoline because he was just at the shop a little while ago. A trace of something else. Magic? I don’t know. I keep going back for more, nice and slow, steady. Building up faster and faster until I hear his breathing hitch and his hands slam onto the sides of my head.

“Fuck, Vic!” he hisses, body bowing, back curving as he erupts in my mouth and down my bare chest. “Oh, God... Baby, that was so good,” he moans, stepping back and looking at the mess he’s made of me.

I swallow, surprised that his cum is sort of tasteless, and it’s not thick and white, but thin and almost clear. Maybe that’s something to do with not being a “human.”

But what we just shared is very human, the ultimate act of humanity and intimacy.

“You’re mine, too, aren’t you?” I ask, licking a single bead off his tip.

His expression stiffens, then turns into a smirk that sends a jolt straight to my pussy. “Got a little studded collar to remind ‘em that I’m a bad dog, the kind who bites. I guess we could put a little bell on it. Prove that I have a new owner.”

“No owners. Just that you found someone who likes your bite,” I purr, rising and letting myself fall against him. “Wanna stay for round two?”

“I don’t think Manny’s bed would survive round two—which means you wouldn’t either,” he pants, then wipes my chin with his thumb. Licks it. Pouts. “You taste delicious. I taste like nothing.”

“I think you’re refreshing. In so many ways.” I reach for my towel, unease and a guilty conscience prickling me.

“Did I... Was that good? I’ve done things before—but not like that.” He looks almost shy. Nervous, the swagger of the bad dog waiting to be collared turning into a timid little kitten.

I know he still has fangs and claws, but he didn’t use them on me.

“It was amazing. The best I’ve ever had.”

“Oh, shit. That’s not good. Because we didn’t even... There wasn’t... It could be a lot better. If you want us to try again? When you’re better! All better,” he babbles, hastily tucking himself into his pants as his eyes flit to mine and back.

My prickling conscience turns into a full-on stab.