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At his hesitation, the man spread his hands—surprisingly elegant, for how sturdy they’d felt on Eric’s body—in a placating gesture. “Or not. Relax, Doctor. I’ll just do my job, then.”

Why did it sound like an inside joke, the way he said it?

Eric closed his eyes, more tempted by the guy’s offer than he should be. He’d never had a “happy ending” before. Wasn’t that just, like…paying for sex? That was—

He’d never done that before, not ever.

No, he’d just finish out this massage, then go home and jerk off like the pervert he was.

He shut his eyes again as the masseur started again on his legs, seemingly determined to turn them into jelly by the end of the session.

Eric kept his eyes closed and his lips pressed tight, trying to contain the weird noises he’d been letting out before, refusing to look at the evidence of his own weakness.

But…his problem definitely wasn’t going away, his erection taunting him as the guy worked him over, kneading Eric’s thighs, then his calves, then his feet. At least he’d stopped talking to Eric in that sexy voice.

Eventually the man let go of his feet and moved up, presumably to work on Eric’s shoulders again. But as he did so, he brushed a finger along Eric’s side in one long, smooth glide, causing Eric’s eyes to shoot open and his hips to jerk up before he could stop them.

He was doing it on purpose now, right? Turning Eric on?

But the masseur’s face was impassive, professional as ever.

So Eric closed his eyes again as the masseur started kneading at his neck, standing over him at the head of the massage table.

And Eric couldn’t help it—he started imagining what it would be like, for those strong hands to lower the sheet slowly, to grasp his straining erection with that firm grip.

He bet the guy would be confident, still professional, almost cold.

And even so, it wouldn’t take long. Eric was already so turned on.

Just a few strokes of the masseur’s hand—maybe his thumb would play along the head.

Maybe if Eric was really good, stayed very still, the man would even bend over him and put his mouth on it—

His cock jerked again, and it took everything in him to keep his hips still.

Fuck. He had to stop thinking like this. He needed out of this room. He’d always known he was a horndog, but Jesus Christ, this was next level.

In a case of perfect timing, the masseur patted his shoulder. “All finished, Doctor.”

Thank all that was holy. Eric cleared his throat for what felt like the thousandth time. “Th-Thank you. That was amazing. And I’m sorr—”

“No apologies necessary. As I said, perfectly natural.”

Normally Eric would lie there on the table as Brenda left the room, feeling all newly peaceful and zen with that fucking flute music, but he found himself sitting up abruptly, before the guy even had a chance to lower the table back down, just so he could bunch the towel around his hips and protect what little was left of his modesty.

Too little, way too fucking late.

The room was small enough that the masseur was barely a foot away, staring at Eric with that impassive look. His eyes weren’t red at all. They were a light brown.

This was where Eric would normally try to turn on the charm.

The guy was attractive enough—even if he kind of reminded Eric of that one Bond villain, the one whose eye wept blood sometimes—and he clearly knew how to use his hands.

And he had actually shown some sort of genuine interest, which was more than Eric could say for anyone else recently.

But he felt weirdly unmoored, incapable of smarming his way through a pickup line.

“I’m sorry,” Eric said instead, feeling completely pathetic. “I never caught your name.”

“Does it matter?”

Eric’s stomach dropped with his words, and the man’s lips quirked at his obvious dismay. For all his reassurances about normalcy, he seemed to revel in Eric’s discomfort in that moment.

But before Eric could ask him to lower the massage table and let him get dressed, the masseur took a step toward him. “There is one thing you can do, Doctor. Straighten up for me.”

Eric straightened from his slouch, not sure where this was going. Was he going to get a lecture in bad posture?

But the man sidled even closer, an almost predatory look in his eyes. “Tilt your head. Show me your neck.” His words were commanding, but his tone was mild as ever.

Eric did as he asked, weird as the request was. Did the guy have some kind of neck fetish? It would really only be tit for tat if he did, considering how horned up Eric had been for the entire massage. He couldn’t begrudge the man a little neck ogling, could he?

The masseur leaned in, and that bergamot smell Eric had been drooling over the past hour intensified.

Had it been him this whole time, and not incense or essential oils at all?

He didn’t even have time to process that before the tip of the man’s nose was brushing against his skin.

Eric shivered. He was still hard as hell, and his erection didn’t seem like it was going to let up anytime soon.

He tilted his head back to steal a glance at the guy. Maybe he didn’t need to make a move at all. Maybe he could just lean forward the slightest bit, and then they’d be, like, kissing, right? And if the professional part of this interaction was over, what could it hurt?

Except—

“Holy shit.” Eric immediately startled back, falling onto his hands on the massage table. “What the—”

The masseur’s eyes weren’t brown anymore. And they weren’t fucking red either. They were black, all black.

But the other man just met his eyes like nothing was wrong, blinking slowly at him. “You’re not afraid,” he told Eric, calm and clear.

“What’s going on with your—?”

“Shh.” The masseur leaned in again and pressed a soft kiss to Eric’s neck.

Eric let out a breath. Okay, that was…okay. That was nice, even. Maybe the guy had some kind of neurological condition, and when he was turned on, his pupils just, like…took over his whole eyeballs. That could be a thing, right? ( No, idiot, that’s definitely not a thing .)

Another kiss. Eric relaxed a fraction more. But then there was a sharp, stabbing bite of pain at Eric’s neck.

He leaned back hard, tearing away from the source of it. “What the fuck?”

Um. Okay. It wasn’t just the eyes now. Fangs. Those were fangs peeping out between the man’s soft pink lips. And that was definitely Eric’s blood dripping off a pair of goddamn fangs.

What the fuck was happening?

The masseur smiled at him, his lengthy incisors bright red. “Just a little taste,” he murmured. He licked a drop of blood off his lips. “You’re not afraid,” he told Eric again.

What. The. Fuck. “I am afraid,” Eric countered, and it came out weirdly petulant, almost bordering on shrill.

He was afraid. Sort of. Mostly he was confused as all hell and worried he’d had some kind of stroke, or maybe he’d fallen asleep on the massage table and was now dreaming some weird, sexual vampire fantasy.

Confusion passed over the man’s face, followed quickly by irritation. “Why—?”

And really, why was a good fucking question.

Like, why was Eric sitting still, studying the man’s expressions?

If he wasn’t dreaming, then he needed to get the fuck out of here.

He scrambled to get off the table—it was still raised high off the floor, making the action harder than it should be—but a strong pair of hands gripped his shoulders.

The masseur made Eric meet his eyes again. “You’re not afraid,” he repeated.

“Get the fuck off me.”

“I—” The guy seemed at war with himself, leaning in toward Eric one moment and moving back harshly the next. Eric tried to shake out of his grip, and the man fucking growled at him.

Eric wriggled with more purpose. “Did you just growl like a fucking jungle cat?”

“Ours,” the masseur bit out in response.

Eric paused in his struggles, thrown off by the odd statement. “Excuse me?”

“Ours,” he repeated, his voice no longer refined but harsh and guttural. “ MINE. ”

The man tugged him closer, Eric’s scalp stinging as he gripped his hair.

Eric couldn’t be sure, but he thought he heard a whispered, “Forgive me,” before that sharp biting pain ran through him again.

It didn’t last long though. The pain. Pleasure followed in a rush after, lighting up Eric’s nerve endings like a goddamn Christmas tree.

Was Eric really so fucked up that even being bitten by a weird, demonic massage therapist turned him on? Maybe he needed to make a therapy appointment next.

And then the man was drinking his blood, Eric was pretty sure, judging by the gulping sounds and the fact that he was losing both strength and consciousness fast.

His last thought before something warm was dribbled into his mouth and his veins caught on what felt like actual, literal fire was, This massage wasn’t as relaxing as I thought it would be.