Page 55 of Even Vampires Bleed (Even Ever After #2)

Léandre

Y ou won’t even know I’m here .

That’s what Cassiopé said. I don’t think she realizes how aware I am of where she is all the time. Except when she is in that bedroom with walls so thick I can’t hear her, I always know what she is doing or where she is.

It’s like I have a built-in radar for her that won’t let me forget she exists.

Even now, after she basically mauled my neck—she soothed it afterward, but still—I’m thinking about the feeling of her hand on my body.

And that damn hand actually left my neck minutes ago just to prove a point.

If I look at the bright side, I think I can now move most of my upper back normally. I’m not sure about the small of my back yet, though.

All I want to do now is beg Cassiopé to put her hands back on me and, for once, it’s not even in a sexual way.

“Let’s make another deal,” I tell her. “I’ll sleep in the bed tonight if you finish that massage that you started. Without that, I’m not moving.”

She mistakes that for me bargaining with her, maybe that’s how I wanted her to take it, because truly, I’m not sure I can get up right now. I don’t want her to know.

Who the hell cuts trees like it’s his job and then can’t get up on his own?

Me.

That’s me.

She looks at me like she’s trying to figure out my agenda, but I raise my hand in surrender.

“I’m not trying to trick you,” I tell her.

I sigh when I see that she still doesn’t believe me. I might as well tell her the truth.

“Look, it’s not a trick. I can’t move. I woke up this morning with my back stuck, and I haven’t been able to get up from the couch since.”

I shrug. The movement pulls at my back, and I don’t silence my hiss this time.

Her eyes soften, and before I know it, she’s sitting behind me.

Not on the back rest like last time. No, right behind me, and now my mind isn’t on her hands on skin. My mind can only focus on the tiny sleeping shorts plastered against me, because they are so wet, and even through my own boxer briefs, I can feel it.

Suddenly I’m too hot, and I feel like I can’t breathe.

But I’m also stuck in place and not just because of my painful back.

I’m stuck in place because all I want to do is stay like this forever, with her wrapped around me.

Plus, I’m pretty sure that I’ll come in my briefs if I move.

Cassiopé starts her massage from the top of my back and slowly—but not softly—she heads down.

It’s painful at first, but then it’s so fucking relieving. I can’t help myself—each time she finishes with one muscle knot, I groan or sigh.

“You’ve got magic fingers,” I tell her as I drop my elbows on my knees and my head between my hands so she can massage the small of my back—where it hurts the most.

I hiss when she puts her right thumb right where I feel the worst of the pain, but then she eases a bit. It doesn’t hurt as much now, and I truly believe there is some magic between her fingers.

“Mmm. It’s nothing magical,” she tells me, and I can feel the air coming out of her mouth tickling my shoulder right under my hair. “I had training for that. So really, it’s nothing.”

“I didn’t know,” I say.

I feel dumb for saying that, because obviously I didn’t know. She barely talked to me when we were in the Sacré Coeur, and it’s only been five days since we started to be friendly.

Maybe past me knew, but it stands to reason that I, on the other hand, wouldn’t know.

“Where did you learn?” I ask to avoid her answering my previous words.

“With humans. They have a school next to Notre Dame. As you might know, I don’t really fight. All I do is sneak out or read. I thought it would be interesting to be able to know what to do with my hands in another way. I’m bringing pleasure to the world with them instead of destroying things.”

It takes her a second to think through what she just said, and she freezes with her hands on my back.

“Oh god, I sound like a whore. Not that it’s not a respectable profession. Anyone can pick whatever they want to do. If it’s sex and they like it, all the better for them. I didn’t mean it like that. Well, now it’s getting worse. It’s getting worse, right? Oh god, please tell me to shut up.”

“Breathe,” I say instead.

I can’t stop myself from smiling. When I was in Notre Dame, everyone kept repeating that she’s the kind to rant easily, and I’m always amazed when I see it myself.

It’s cute.