Chapter Sixty-five

 ♦Cyril's POV♦

I'm burning, it's spreading from the tip of my tongue right down the path of the blood I drank and down to the tips of my hands and ends of my toes.

I feel boneless and energized at the same time, moans boiling out of my throat, why do I keep doing this to myself?

My legs are still thrown over Neruda and I open my eyes to see how he's doing, my vision is hazy and red tinted and my entire body is oversensitive, the gentle brushing of the soft silk covers feeling like it's sandpaper.

Neruda has his head thrown back, his eyes tightly shut and I wince at my major flop, there was no way he would decide to let me drink from him again and wasn't that a good thing?

Blood drinking is supposed to be pleasurable for Vampires, at least that's what everyone keeps saying to me it's just a bone deep relief from the thirst but not this time. It's no wonder modern Vampires prefer to drink from a bag or cup, biting is just too intimate.