Hot for a Vampire Slayer

W e bump into several sharp corners before finally finding a flat surface—which happens to be the tiled floor of his kitchen. I hold Lazlo’s palm against my mouth, latch tightly on to the wound he created for me, just for me , and take deep, thick gulps as I climb on top of him to straddle his lap.

It’s like he’s my own prey—one I’ve hunted down and subdued and captured. One I’ve decided to keep for myself.

From the way the amber of his irises disappears into dark pupils, he seems to have no objections to that, but to be certain that we’re on the same page, I roll my hips against him and watch him arch and groan like he’s in pain.

Yup. The very same.