Page 49 of Even Vampires Bleed (Even Ever After #2)

Léandre

“ W here have you been sleeping?”

I’m assaulted by the question and I jump from the squatting position I had in front of the oven. I don’t trust that thing; it’s gonna burn my dinner.

From the way Cassiopé is looking at me—is that fury in her eyes?—I don’t think I should answer that question. Or maybe, no, I should scramble to tell her that I left her in the bed—alone.

But I’ve done nothing wrong. Quite the opposite.

So, I don’t cower, and I straighten to a standing position and look Cassiopé in the eye.

“Not in the bed, if this is why you’re asking,” I answer.

“That doesn’t answer my question,” she bites back. “Is there a second mattress that’s hidden and comes out of a wall? Or I don’t know, something I missed? ”

Well, shit, I didn’t even think to try the walls. The house looks so old—and old-fashioned—that I didn’t even think there could be hidden appliances.

“No, there is only one bed. At least that I know of,” I tell her.

“So, where have you been sleeping?” she asks again.

I don’t know why she’s so focused on knowing where I slept. It’s not like we can change anything about the sleeping arrangement.

Unless we find a hidden mattress—and I really doubt it’s a possibility with walls made of stones—there is nothing either of us can do.

“On the couch,” I finally answer with a sigh when I see that she won’t relent.

There is a glint in her eyes that makes me think she could dare me to do anything, and I’m pretty sure I would rise to the bet.

Cassiopé takes a look at the couch and then deflates. She can see exactly what it means for me to sleep on that.

I’m pretty sure that thing has seen better days, but there is also the obvious fact that it’s too small to sleep on.

“But how can you sleep on that?” she asks.

I shrug, but she doesn’t seem to see it and keeps talking.

“We could barely fit in there while sitting. Not that we’ve tried, but I’m pretty sure we would be squeezed together and that it would be uncomfortable. Aren’t you uncomfortable? Of course you are. It can’t be the best way to sleep. And look at those cushions. They’re all flat.”

I don’t tell her that her rambling is amusing. She usually tries to talk as little as she can to me, but now it’s like a dam broke, and she can’t stop herself anymore.

I also don’t tell her that there would be a way for us to sit together on that couch where we would be squeezed in another way, and I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t make any of us uncomfortable. Maybe if she could straddle my lap…

No.

Not going there.

She hasn’t shown any interest. I can’t start fantasizing about her in the middle of the day. Especially after a shower.

The house is too small, and I can’t think of any other place to get release that she wouldn’t stumble into.

But I can’t stop thinking about how she would feel right on top of me—how it would feel to have her sweet cunt wrapped around my cock and let her ride me.

Oh, hell, I’m getting hard again. I need to stop torturing myself.

This isn’t happening. Get your head straight.

I sit on the couch to hide the fact that in a matter of seconds, my shorts have started to tent over my growing hard on. I soon won’t be able to hide it anymore if I don’t do something drastic.

Think granny panties. Think mangled wings.

It starts to work, but then Cassiopé walks in my direction and sits on the armrest next to me. Her smell and the nasty thoughts that come with it envelop me, reversing all my success.

Why is her smell so freaking tantalizing?

It’s surely not the only thing that makes her attractive, but it’s the one thing I can’t seem to be able to shake away.

Maybe it’s because I slept in the smell of her for days when I came back to this new life. I don’t know, but it always awakens all my senses.

It was easier when she was confined to the room, though. Because now her smell trails after her and no matter where I go, I can smell it—I can smell her—and it’s driving me crazy.

I still don’t understand what her point is here.

“It’s not like I was going to sleep in the same bed you were,” I tell her with yet another shrug. “And it’s not like I would have made you sleep on the couch, either. You were in recovery. You needed all the sleep you could get.”

“But I’m awake now,” she says and pops her wings out, “and well.”

“I can see that,” I tell her not to take this bet.

Did I say that she could dare me to do anything and that I would rise to the bet? Yeah, this is one I’m not going to take .

Because I might have forgotten everything from my past life, but whoever I was in the past, there isn’t a single chance that I would trade the bed for the couch and make her sleep on this monstrosity that is the couch.

Even if she’s so small that there is a chance that she could actually fit on it.

No.

Not happening.

She narrows her eyes at me like she knows what I’m doing. She probably does if I’m honest with myself. I’m not really being subtle.

“You could take the bed…” she trails off.

Yeah, I saw that coming.

“Not happening. You keep the bed, I can manage with the couch,” I say.

I know this is the right thing to do, but hell if my neck doesn’t disagree with me.

“You’re hurting!” she exclaims, and I realize belatedly that I messed up.

You know when I said my neck disagreed with my mouth? Well, my mind probably did too, because I subconsciously rubbed the back of my neck with my hands when I thought that.

And it can’t be interpreted any other way.

How do I back-pedal now?

Did I just screw myself up on my own?

Shit.

“I’m okay,” I say, trying to put as much pep in my voice as I can.

And it’s true. I’m okay. I can live with a bit of pain in my neck, as long as we don’t stay here for weeks.

I can’t wait to get news from Notre Dame.

This waiting time is killing me.

Are you sure? You seem to very much enjoy your time with a certain bat-shifter… Some dark part of my mind teases me.

Okay, right. I might like spending time with her when she’s not outwardly shunning me out and avoiding me. Sue me.

But the pain in my neck is very real, too, and it would be nice if the next team could dump a mattress from the jet next time they visit.

“You’re not okay. I can see it,” Cassiopé says, and then she proceeds to drop her hands to my shoulders and starts massaging.

Did I say I was uncomfortable with my growing hard on earlier?

It was nothing compared to the pain I’m in now. Her hands are so soft and warm, but surprisingly strong against the muscles of my neck, and I’m frozen on my spot on the couch.

She climbs behind me and starts massaging some more and I can’t help the groan that escapes me.

I’m doing all I can to hide my very, very hard cock, but I can’t control the sounds that come out from me, it seems.

“I’ll survive,” I tell her, and really I’ll survive sleeping on the couch. I’m not sure I’ll survive if she keeps massaging me this way.

I’m saved by the sound of a ringing coming from the oven.

I almost forget that I’m the one who set it. All I can think is the fact that it’s a godsend, as I jump to my feet and crouch in front of the oven.

“Do you think it’s ready?” I ask Cassiopé.