Sickened by the other’s delight at his misery, Dimitri was powerless to change the rules. He couldn’t smite that smug look off Leopold’s face. Shackled and encaged in his own perplexing, Dimitri’s rage was sprawled out flat on the floor without anymore fight left in it. That’s it. He’d give up. He’d give in to the tingling pleasure climbing up his spine. And yet even though Dimitri’s mind was determined to raise the white flag, his body wouldn’t cease struggling.
He was biting his lip through to the blood, determined to keep the moans lodged in his throat. But they still came out like muffled groans as his back slid up and down church’s sheets. Dimitri was never the big fan of this place, though dimly, in the recess of his mind, the vampire could remember a time when he used to come and pray. Of course, that was when he was a human, before he ‘sold’ his soul to the devil for eternity. Life had a sick sense of humor, Dimitri concluded, arching against the other’s body.
The kiss surprised him, but he should have already realized that crushnik wasn’t one for timing. And because of the shock of the kiss, the vampire wasn’t quick enough to stop his voice from betraying him. Leopold was right. As soon as his brethren would find out that he tasted another vampire’s blood, he would be tortured and murderer, his pretty skin burned and scarred beyond recognition. He didn’t become crushnik’s slave only to die in the hands of his kin. Yet, it was so painful to loudly admit that Leopold was right and that Dimitri was enjoying this a bit too much. “Why me?” the vampire asked. “Why not a younger vampire?” he asked in a shaky voice, closing his eyes from the sight of that smug face.