When I went downstairs, I was met with the sight of Cullen drinking blood straight out of a mug…my mug.
I stared at him, mouth agape.
“That’s my favorite mug!” I exclaimed turning his attention to where I stood.
“Ah…Light, come join me,” he said and then gestures me forward with his finger. I glared at him but nonetheless walked to where he stood, by the kitchen counter.
He was still in only his boxers, his hair down and his glorious chest and biceps exposed just so I could see them and I had to admit that it was a great view.
Then his mug came into view and I fought the urge to gag just watching him drink it.
“Hmm...” He groans softly after taking a sip “Would you like some?”
His red eyes bored into mine like he wanted to burn a hole through my face. Why does he always have to look
