Page 43 of Guardians for the Vamp
“I’m going to come,” Vara says.
“Me too,” I mumble, though the words aren’t legible against Vara’s clit.
When Thorne’s cock starts vibrating, I fall apart.
We all do.
Simultaneously.
The room seems to shake, and my vision blurs.
I hear a thud, and a heavy body covers me seconds before I pass out.
When I wake, the sun has set, and Vara’s UV shades are rising.
Wait.
I jolt upright and glance around the room.
Empty.
Did I… did I just have a sex dream about Thorne and Vara?
“You’re awake,” Thorne says, entering the room with a human behind him.
No. It was all too real.
“Oh. I… yes.”
He waves to the petite redhead next to him.
“I brought you dinner.”
I glance down at my body and realize someone has dressed me in pajamas: a light pink tank and matching shorts. They don’t fit, and I’m stretching out the material so I’m assuming they’re Vara’s clothes, though I can’t imagine her ever wearing these.
The human walks to the bed and sits down on the mattress next to me. She hands me her consent form that assures me she’s here willingly and was not under the influence of compulsion upon signing it. The form is infused with magic so if the human lies, the ink will turn red.
She’s eager. Her heart thunders in her chest, and she’s wet with lust.
Many humans sign up to be donors because they find pleasure in pain. There are also fang bangers who seek out vampires to fuck while being fed from, nothing shameful about it, but we do step in if they become too forceful orneedy and become addicted, which could make them ill from donating too much.
Thorne stands at the door, arms crossed, watching. I suddenly feel self-conscious about feeding in front of him, even though I feed in front of other vampires and supernatural beings all the time.
The human is shivering with anticipation, and my throat aches with hunger.
Fine. Guess I have an audience.
I angle my head and lock eyes with Thorne over her shoulder. He shifts on his feet as I extract my fangs. His pupils dilate, and he sucks in a breath when I sink them into the donor’s neck. He steps forward but stops, realizing this isn’t an invitation to join.
It takes only a few minutes for my thirst to be satisfied. I clean the donor’s wound, and Thorne sends her away.
“There’s a change of clothes on the dresser.” He points to the stack. “I called your assistant, and she brought them over.”
“What happened to us?” I ask, standing. I grab the clothes and head to the en suite bathroom. It’s massive with a shower that could probably fit five people inside. There’s a jacuzzi tub, a counter with three sinks—how convenient for three mates—and a separate room for the toilet.
“We all passed out,” Thorne says, following me.
“Obviously, chatterbox.” I roll my eyes, which causes the corner of Thorne’s lip to turn up. “Care to elaborate?”
