really hungry or he was trying to win points with me. He got another plateful and sat down, getting his shirt dirty with sauce now. His gray shirt would need some intimate time with a washer soon. There was nothing to be done for it now. He might as well finish his m eal and get the shirt as dirty as it could get.
In the course of eating I noticed his fangs lengthening. It was the first time I’d seen them at all. I ate and stared until he caught me, then he looked embarrassed. “I’m afraid my table manners are off. Ifan always says…”
“I’m looking at your fangs,” I interrupted. I didn’t care about his table manners. He was hungry and hungry men make messes. But his fangs… “I’ve never seen them come out before.”
Robert covered his mouth with a napkin and started cleaning up. Something told me he was embarrassed for a different reason now. Weird. “You don’t have to cover them up. They don’t bother me none.”
He finished cleaning his mouth (not doing a very good job) and put down the napkin. The tips of his fangs were just over his lower lip, mismatched with the troubled look on his face. “They come out when I’m feeling satisfied,” he explained.
I bit my lip and didn’t say anything. Something about that statement wasn’t right. For one, I didn’t believe him. For two, he hadn’t been sure if he was hungry when we were in the car, and he was obviously starving. We finished eating and I enticed him with ice cream and cake. He ate his dessert with as much enthusiasm as he ate his dinner, his fangs running out completely. I wanted to touch them, but instead made myself focus on my own dessert.
I started cleaning up with his help, teaming up to tackle the dishes and the pots and pans. “I hope you liked dinner,” I said.
“I liked it very much. I would like to return the favor but I’m not a very good cook. Perhaps you wouldn’t mind teaching me…” he suggested and smiled. His mouth was still dirty with all kinds of stuff.
“I’ll teach you. It’s easy,” I said as I moistened a paper towel with water. I motioned for him to get closer and wiped his face and lips. “Your whole face is full of tomato sauce and ice cream,” I giggled and turned away to throw out the dirty paper towel.
“Touch me again,” he said in the softest voice. I turned around to make sure Robert had spoken or if I had imagined it. He was staring at me intently, but not in a seductive way. He looked almost scared. “Please.”
I quarreled with my common sense for a split second before I offered my hand and pulled him to my small living room. I sat on my flowery couch and patted my lap. I w asn’t expecting him to sit on my lap, but he caught on quick. He sat and reclined at the same time that I put a toss pillow on my lap for his head.
“You can take off your shoes and get comfortable,” I said, already caressing his hair. He looked up, his eyes hooded, and studied me for a moment. The whole time I tried to keep my hormones in check. His head was really close to where they would manifest.
Robe rt closed his eyes and turned to his side, snuggling deeper into the couch. I sent him a soft jolt, the kind I knew he liked, and heard his sigh. I continued caressing his hair, enjoying this simple pleasure. After a minute or so he stopped moving altogether: no breathing, no twitching. His body relaxed completely and I wondered if he had fallen asleep.
“Robert?” I said very softly. If he was awake he would answer, but he didn’t. This was a problem. How tired was he that he had fallen asleep the moment he closed his eyes? How tired was he that he would sleep into the morning? He would burn in my living room unless I did something.
I closed all the blinds and doubled them with the curtains. I knew this wouldn’t keep out the sun completely, so I got several quilts from my upstairs linen closet.
In the course of eating I noticed his fangs lengthening. It was the first time I’d seen them at all. I ate and stared until he caught me, then he looked embarrassed. “I’m afraid my table manners are off. Ifan always says…”
“I’m looking at your fangs,” I interrupted. I didn’t care about his table manners. He was hungry and hungry men make messes. But his fangs… “I’ve never seen them come out before.”
Robert covered his mouth with a napkin and started cleaning up. Something told me he was embarrassed for a different reason now. Weird. “You don’t have to cover them up. They don’t bother me none.”
He finished cleaning his mouth (not doing a very good job) and put down the napkin. The tips of his fangs were just over his lower lip, mismatched with the troubled look on his face. “They come out when I’m feeling satisfied,” he explained.
I bit my lip and didn’t say anything. Something about that statement wasn’t right. For one, I didn’t believe him. For two, he hadn’t been sure if he was hungry when we were in the car, and he was obviously starving. We finished eating and I enticed him with ice cream and cake. He ate his dessert with as much enthusiasm as he ate his dinner, his fangs running out completely. I wanted to touch them, but instead made myself focus on my own dessert.
I started cleaning up with his help, teaming up to tackle the dishes and the pots and pans. “I hope you liked dinner,” I said.
“I liked it very much. I would like to return the favor but I’m not a very good cook. Perhaps you wouldn’t mind teaching me…” he suggested and smiled. His mouth was still dirty with all kinds of stuff.
“I’ll teach you. It’s easy,” I said as I moistened a paper towel with water. I motioned for him to get closer and wiped his face and lips. “Your whole face is full of tomato sauce and ice cream,” I giggled and turned away to throw out the dirty paper towel.
“Touch me again,” he said in the softest voice. I turned around to make sure Robert had spoken or if I had imagined it. He was staring at me intently, but not in a seductive way. He looked almost scared. “Please.”
I quarreled with my common sense for a split second before I offered my hand and pulled him to my small living room. I sat on my flowery couch and patted my lap. I w asn’t expecting him to sit on my lap, but he caught on quick. He sat and reclined at the same time that I put a toss pillow on my lap for his head.
“You can take off your shoes and get comfortable,” I said, already caressing his hair. He looked up, his eyes hooded, and studied me for a moment. The whole time I tried to keep my hormones in check. His head was really close to where they would manifest.
Robe rt closed his eyes and turned to his side, snuggling deeper into the couch. I sent him a soft jolt, the kind I knew he liked, and heard his sigh. I continued caressing his hair, enjoying this simple pleasure. After a minute or so he stopped moving altogether: no breathing, no twitching. His body relaxed completely and I wondered if he had fallen asleep.
“Robert?” I said very softly. If he was awake he would answer, but he didn’t. This was a problem. How tired was he that he had fallen asleep the moment he closed his eyes? How tired was he that he would sleep into the morning? He would burn in my living room unless I did something.
I closed all the blinds and doubled them with the curtains. I knew this wouldn’t keep out the sun completely, so I got several quilts from my upstairs linen closet.
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