Page 61 of Even Vampires Bleed (Even Ever After #2)

Léandre

B y the time I’m done with cutting wood, I can’t feel my arms. I’m tired, and I need a damn shower.

I make my way to the house, and I’m surprised to see clothes on the ground next to the door. They’re covered in filth, and it makes me wonder if someone trespassed or if Cassiopé decided to roll in mud.

Well, as long as she didn’t get inside with all that mud, I don’t care.

I remove my shirt and drop it next to her clothes, walking in the direction of the bedroom.

The door isn’t fully closed, so I open it and enter.

I freeze with my hand on the handle.

Because right in front of me is Cassiopé, naked and in the shower, with one hand toying with her left nipple and the other actively rubbing her clit.

All I can hear is the water dripping down on her body and the moans—her moans.

They’re accompanied by heavy breathing, and as hers grows shallow, mine does, too.

I’m transfixed, mesmerized, and bewitched.

I know I should back away and go back the way I came, especially since she doesn’t seem to realize I’m here.

Her eyes are closed, and she must be close because she looks so focused and her hand reaches a speed I’m not sure I could match.

I wish I was a better man and would walk away.

But I’m stuck where I was when I opened that door, harder than ever, negotiating with my mind on what I need to do.

I should go.

But go away or go help her?

No, I’m not a creep—I can’t stay and look at her while she’s masturbating. That would be all wrong.

Except I’ve been here for a few minutes already.

I take a step back, my hand still on the handle.

“Léandre.”

I open my eyes and look at Cassiopé, panic taking hold of me.

I didn’t realize I closed my eyes, and that’s the exact moment she decides to open hers?

But no, Cassiopé’s eyes are still shut, and her head is tipped to the ceiling as she sags against the wall, with her hands on each side of the shower walls, giving me an unobstructed view of her cunt.

How am I going to sleep at night next to her now that I know how she looks—now that I want to taste her more than ever?

Wait.

Did she just moan my name?

I was so focused on the fact that she might have caught me when I heard my name that all I could think about was the relief of not being caught.

But now that I can think clearly, it hits me.

She’s been thinking about me while she came.

Me.

She doesn’t hate me.

Or at least she wants me.

She definitely wants me.

I back away and leave the door the way it is so as not to make it squeak.

It’s already a miracle that she didn’t hear me come in, so I’m not going to tempt fate now.

If she discovers that I’ve been drooling—yes, I’m sure I drooled—over her pleasuring herself, I might get back the silent treatment and that’s not something I want.

As silently as I can, I walk back outside and grab my shirt on the way out.

I can’t leave proof that I’ve been here.

I take a few steps into the forest. I don’t even reach the other clearing before I open my pants and get my cock out.

The image of her coming as she said my name is imprinted on my mind, and I replay it in a loop until I feel myself emptying onto the forest floor.

It was freaking fast and I’m not proud of it, but it feels like every day I wait, the faster I come.

I’m on edge, and I can’t think straight.

And I want to dive into some cunt like my life depends on it.

No.

That’s not true.

Just the idea of anyone else—even a nameless girl—doesn’t work for me and I get goosebumps on my arms and the back of my neck at the disgust that accompanies the thought.

No.

It can only be her.

My Firefly.