Page 60 of Even Vampires Bleed (Even Ever After #2)

Cassiopé

I ’m not good at pottery.

Needless to say, I tried to make multiple designs and none of them have met a level I could be proud of.

I’ve destroyed all of my confections so far, and this one seems to be on its way to destruction, too.

It’s my best work so far, and yet I wouldn’t even let anyone look at it.

My first try was a bowl. Its sides ended up falling because the clay was too wet.

My second was a mug, but it has a smashed handle in its side because it wouldn’t stay put.

This is my third attempt.

I’m trying to make a flower vase.

It’s too thin at the base, and I think it’s too thin at the top because no matter what I do, the upper part tries to collapse on itself. Now I don’t have an opening on top anymore.

I’m about to smash it on the wheel when a laugh bursts out of me.

It looks like a penis.

A very sad penis, but a penis, nonetheless .

Without stopping my laugh, I stop pushing on the pedal and add some clay.

Might as well embrace my weirdness and make a clay penis after all.

Weirdly, it takes me way less time to make my new sculpture and it might look a bit wonky, but I’m pretty proud of the result.

Not sure I would show it to anyone, though.

Maybe I should destroy that one, too.

Maybe I could cook it and make a dildo out of it.

I’d have to find the kind of varnish the fox used, and I didn’t see anything in the tiny house.

Stop it, Cassiopé, I tell myself.

I’m horny, but I still need to keep my common sense.

Cooking the damn thing and then making it waterproof would be a thing, yes.

But what happens if the thing breaks? Because I have seen how easily glasses and plates can be broken.

Now, imagine if that clay dick broke while using it?

It would be a nightmare.

It would send me directly to the hospital, but there’s no way to call an ambulance out here.

So only two choices would be open to me. Fly myself to the nearest hospital, or ask Léandre.

I shudder at the latter.

What would I tell him, anyway?

“I was so horny I fucked a clay dick while thinking about you.”

No, I don’t see this going very well.

But that could be worse.

He could ask to see and try to remove it.

I’m appalled that the thought has even grazed my mind.

That’s bad.

I still put the dick on the shelf inside the house and walk back to the house covered in clay.

I could walk to the well and get rid of most of the clay, but I won’t manage to get it all out. I suspect that I’ve not been the tidiest and maybe clay has slipped in places it shouldn’t have.

Namely, my bra.

At least it’s not in my panties.

When I arrive at the house, the house is empty. Léandre is still at the other clearing and that’s good because it means I won’t have to wait to take a shower.

I drop my clothes next to the house before even passing the threshold.

They’re covered with clay, and I don’t want to mess the house up more than it already is.

Having to clean it every week is already more than I’m used to. We have a staff in Notre Dame to take care of the cleaning, and I didn’t know how time consuming it would be before arriving here. Luckily, I’m not alone to do the cleaning,

I’m not getting clay all over the house, though.

So, that’s why my clothes stay at the door and I enter the house naked as the day I was born.

I make my way to the bedroom and turn on the water.

The water is blissfully warm—not like the well—and I relax when it starts hitting my shoulders.

I grab the soap and start to lather my skin, giving extra attention to my breasts, because my dumb ass let a ball of clay fall inside my cleavage earlier.

Except it has more effect on my body, and my nipples harden at the attention.

I rinse myself and bring the shower head closer to my skin to tease myself.

I start with my breasts, but soon drive the shower head down until the water pressure is perfectly angled so it hits my clit.

But it’s not enough and a few minutes later, I put the shower head back up and replace it with my fingers.

I make quick circles with my fingers and bring my other hand to my breast.

I imagine my new roommate on his knees in front of me.

Carefully, I raise a foot against the shower wall and imagine I just dropped it on Léandre’s shoulder as I keep rubbing myself.

I don’t turn off the water. I let it glide on my skin and trickle over my breast as my fingers reach a frantic rhythm and I feel all my muscles tense.

If only it could be his tongue instead of my fingers. If only he would grab me and feast on my pussy like a starving man.

I wish I could come on his lips and that’s with that last thought that my whole body reaches its top, and I’m free falling with my orgasm—with Léandre’s name on my tongue.