Excerpt: The Glass Coffin

Rostislav woke with a groan, reluctantly dragging his eyes open and lifting a hand to block the sun—and was momentarily confused when there was no sun to block.

Then everything came rushing back on a wave of heat and a flush of mortification. He’d come to see Jesse with a question about a grimoire he was slowly decoding, and he’d finally stopped resisting temptation and fucked him.

He still couldn’t believe Jesse had fucked him. It wasn’t unheard of for vampires to bed their prey, but it was regarded as uncultured and low at best, taboo at worse.

Rostislav rubbed at his sore neck and climbed out of bed, completely unsurprised to find he was the only one there.

Stupid, he was so fucking stupid. Jesse had clearly been in the mood for some amusement, despite all his pretty words and skillful attentions.

Rostislav swallowed and scrubbed at his stinging eyes. Whatever. It was over. He’d succumbed, he’d had his fun, time to get on with life. At least Jesse would likely never tell anyone he’d decided to slum it for an evening.

He just wished…

Didn’t matter. No point in wishing for the impossible.

Rostislav hunted down his scattered clothes and pulled them back on, then vanished from the room, reappearing in his own apartment.

He immediately headed for the shower, though rather than soothing him as it normally would, it just brought back every moment of his night—the bruise on hips from when Jesse had fucked him like it was the last thing he’d ever do. The sore, red spots on his throat from where Jesse had fed. His aching thighs and sore hole. His sore arms and stiff back from the work involved with keeping pace with a ravenous vampire getting slightly carried away.

That had been the best part: Jesse so focused and engaged that he’d forgotten Rostislav was only human, and didn’t possess his levels of strength, endurance, and everything else.

Rostislav gave up, closed his eyes, and sank into the recent memories. How hot and teasing Jesse’s eyes had been from the moment of his arrival. The way he’d stood closer than usual, wearing clothes far more casual than he usually chose, since like all vampires Jesse believed in ‘formal’ and ‘super formal’. Seeing him in a t-shirt had nearly been Rostislav’s undoing.

Well, it had been his undoing, at least of his sanity.

Ugh. Maybe he should call Johnnie, see if he wanted to tag alone on his latest job. He could always count on Johnnie to be engaging and distracting, and to understand how Jesse felt, without judging or reprimanding him. No, Johnnie knew viscerally how those things felt, and avoided doing them assiduously.

Sighing, he closed off the memories, finished his shower, and went to get dressed. He had work to do; there would be more than enough time for self-flagellation later.

He’d finish getting ready, call Johnnie, and then find food, cause gods above he was starving.

And he wasn’t thinking about why.

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