Christopher sipped from his crystal glass of blood and leaned back against his long Chesterfield couch, the rounded back cushioning his head as he let out a long breath. He'd chosen blood donated by a yoga master to try and drink up a little calm, but it wasn't working.
He set his glass down before his grip threatened to shatter the antique and closed his eyes, willing himself to think about anything but Alice. Or the way the light hit her hair. Or the way the smell of her intense longing had so perfectly mirrored his own that it had taken centuries of self-control to not pull her to him and kiss her until her knees shook.
The world will benefit from her as a vampire, he told his c**k, which was already half-hard at the mere memory of her. That growing part of him was hoping she'd turn d
