“Okay, I’ll accept that answer.”
I cross one leg over the other at my ankles. “Don’t act like you don’t stare at my cock when it’s out.” As it is right now, completely at full attention, even if I just came twice in the shower with her.
Her gaze, as if magnetized, draws downward. “It’s a godsdamn monster, it’s hard not to. I’m also afraid it’ll attack me if I take my eyes off of it.”
Throwing my head back, I bark out a laugh.
“Seriously, when was the last time you measured that thing? Could go into some record book somewhere.”
As she moves to me, I command, “Open that pretty mouth.” She eyes me quizzically. “Go on, humor me, little demon.”
When she’s standing before me, she opens up. “Stick out your tongue.” Without hesitation, she does as I say, and I slide my fingers in, moving them all the way back until my knuckles hit her teeth.
Her eyes widen, a slight line of drool falling from the corner of her lips.
“Measuring….” A bright red stains her cheeks as I feel the back of her tongue and find her gag reflex. I get it, some women aren’t born with one, but it’s so fucking hot hearing her choke on me.
I hum. “Eleven, possibly twelve, inches.” I honestly have no idea, but it’s fascinating to watch her pupils dilate as she tilts her head back, gulping in a deep breath of air. “You take me so well, so who cares?” Grabbing her around the waist, I tug her to me. “I’ll get the tape measure, and you can find out for yourself before drowning in my cum. How’s that, little demon?”
As she bites her lip, I’m digging my nails into her flesh, holding her tighter to me.
“Go get it, I’ll meet you in bed,” she coos.
A groan escapesmy raw throat. It hurts, but not nearly as much as the ache in my chest.
Deep down, I already know I won’t open my eyes to see my woman sleeping peacefully beside me. Part of me wants to stay under, lost in the recesses of my mind where she still exists, where the memory of her feels almost real. But I know I can’t. I have to wake up.
The surface beneath me is a mattress, but it’s hard and uncomfortable, like it’s laying directly on the floor.
As I force my eyes open, the sight of cold, unyielding stone walls surrounding me confirms my unease. A low, bitter growl of frustration rumbles from my throat.
I blink rapidly, trying to clear the fog clouding my vision, and slowly begin to take in my surroundings.
Three walls of rough-hewn stone, and on the fourth side… bars.
I’m in a cell. A prison. But not like any I’ve seen before. This looks ancient, like something out of a medieval dungeon.
Where the fuck am I?
“Don’t touch the bars.” A female voice comes over what I can only assume is an intercom. The static that echoes as she closes the line is indication enough.
“Where am I?” My voice is rough, scraping against my throat like sandpaper as I scan the room, searching for a camera.
It isn’t in the cell with me. My gaze shifts beyond the bars, and there it is—a blinking red light. Perched like an eye, watching me.
No answer comes, but it isn’t as though I expect one.
Where I am matters, but right now, how I feel matters more. I glance at my right arm and freeze.
It’s completely healed.
The tattoos that once decorated my skin are gone, leaving behind my naturally darker complexion, unmarked and foreign to me now. My legs, too, are fully restored—a realization made all the more vivid by my lack of pants. I’m left wearing only shorts, the rest of my body exposed.
Footsteps echo down the corridor, and every muscle in my body tenses instinctively.
I shouldn’t feel this good. That fact alone sets me on edge. My body feels… incredible, almost unnaturally so.
Curiosity churns with dread. How long has it been? Limbs take at least a week to regenerate for us Vampires—maybe even two. My unease deepens with every step approaching my cell.
