I want the K (lay it on me satan)
He’d been weak when she’d found him, impossibly so. Hayley didn’t know what they’d done, but she’d barely managed to get him to someplace resembling safety. They were both in some back alley, filled with dark street corners and silent stars. Elijah was pale, bent forward as if in physical pain, hands pressed on either side of her head against the wall, taking in deep breaths, as if on the brink of nausea.
It had taken her a while–with several no’s on his part–to convince him to feed on her, to use her blood as strength. With a resigned sigh, as if he was doing her a favor, Elijah lowered his head to her throat, keeping still for a minute. Hayley waited, pulse racing, when Elijah bit. To any passing strangers, it would have looked banal enough. A woman pressed up against the wall, a man with his head buried in the column of her neck. No one would think that maybe the man was draining the woman of willingly offered blood to regain his strength.
When he pulled away, sated, Elijah didn’t immediately back away, offer apologies or anything. Instead, he ducked his head lower still, pressing his lips against her collarbone, the exposed skin there, sensitive with the cold. Hayley’s breath stopped, and she didn’t push him away. She just…waited.
