Page 5 of Bloody Temptations

Well, Godsdamn, who could look away?

My ill-timed sip of blood has me swallowing the too large mouthful awkwardly. But even as my eyes fill with tears and I put my glass on the table for safety, I don’t take my eyes off the bar.

Two offensively hot vampires are engaged in the most disgustingly ridiculous, erotic air guitar-slash-lip sync battle. It should not, in any universe, be hot, but it is. It’s so fucking hot. Maybe it’s their perfectly sculpted thick chests, or the teeny, tiny shorts that skim their perfect V lines and cup their round asses. Or their thick, toned thighs, and the way their muscles clench and flex under the flashing lights. Fuck me dead, even their white crew socks are upsettingly sexy.

I’m very uncomfortably aware of all the alcoholised-blood rushing towards my dick, leaving a fiery flush in its wake. I almost feel embarrassed looking at them, like I, with my painfully average body and utterly forgettable face, am not worthy of being in their presence.

“Hot, right?” Jesminda leans forward, her hair no longer slicked back in its sleek black bob, the heat and sizzling magic in the club affecting even her glamour spell. I nod dumbly, not able to get my tongue to cooperate.

“They have fan accounts and everything,” She adds, with a conspiratorial wink.

How did I not already know this? Even though I can a thousand-percent see why, it’s definitely information I don’t need to know. There is no way I won’t be looking the pair up to jerk off like a total loser.

The shorter one with the long, blonde curls jerks the brunette up by his hair. The brunette is taller by a couple of inches, but they make the difference work as they make out on the bar top—the image searing itself into my vision until the end of time.

I can’t tear my eyes off them, especially the taller one. He lets the blonde control the kiss with a fist in his hair, his back muscles flexing mesmerizingly as he rolls his hips in perfect sync with the music. It’s obvious he’s loving every second of the attention he’s getting.

I don’t think I’ve ever been so horny or jealous in my entire life.

The song ends and the vampires jump down from the bar. With the show over, and a new track starting, the club settles back into business as usual.

“Fuck! I missed it, didn't I?” Willan cries out, making his way back to us with epically terrible timing. He looks all kinds of confused and conflicted, his angular, hooded eyes narrowing at the now empty bar.

In frustration he undoes the top three buttons on his high-necked black frock-coat, tugging the collar away from his throat. From the pictures Bedeer has insisted on showing me at work, the fancy long coats seem to be his version of the capes and layers I’m used to seeing mages in. With the shining silver buttons and the black embroidery, it is just as dramatic.

Bedeer smacks him on the shoulder.

“There’s always next time!” He shouts at his friend who isn’t terribly comforted. “But for now, at least we can dance. Let’s go!”

Jesminda tries to pull me along too, but there is no way in this life, or my last one, I am going to embarrass myself attempting to dance. The group pushes just until it’s about to get awkward, before they give up—which is how I know they are cool. I really don’t mind sitting and watching.

Honestly, I’ve kind of already fulfilled my “getting out of my comfort zone” quota for the day by being here. Getting all weird and sweaty out there on the dance floor might be pushing things a little too far. Even if they do look like they are having the time of their life out there.

I begin to feel a little self conscious holding my empty glass, watching them like a creeper, but not quite enough to get over myself and join them. I wouldn’t even have to worry about being the biggest dork out there. Lusce and Jax seem to be doing their absolute best to embarrass Willan, who is craning his neck every which way trying to get a look over the crowd. Probably trying to catch sight of the hot vampires at the main bar. Can’t say I blame him.

“You gonna get out there, hot stuff?” The voice in my ear sends a shiver down my spine, making the muscles spasm painfully. I’m so spooked by the sudden intrusion I almost drop my glass, but the stranger's hand snaps out to catch it with startling speed. Their throaty chuckle follows the save. “You’d look good out there, shaking your stuff.”

I finally crack, snorting out an embarrassing laugh that makes my stomach tighten with a flare of panic.

“Laying it on a little thick there aren’t you?” My eye roll is heavy-handed. But not nearly as much as their corny come-ons.

It doesn’t stop the blush from heating my cheeks and the tips of my ears. There is another throaty chuckle, not as close anymore.

Turning on my stool, I almost fall off when I catch one of them—the hot vampire bartenders—smiling at me. He’s taller than I realised, his golden brown skin shining with sweat and what looks like glitter. I try not to stare at the hard planes of his chest and stomach, even though his dusky pink nipples are basically staring me in the face.

It’s even more spectacular this close. His chest, I mean. I can see every line of muscle under his skin and even… is that a scar on his stomach? The mess of raised lines on the right side of his abdomen are barely visible, but considering he’s a vampire he shouldn’t have them at all. Strange.

With one elbow on our high top table, he doesn’t look at all bothered about being half-naked. In fact, I think he enjoys it—especially when my traitorous eyes dip down to quickly check out just how tight those red shorts are.

Tight. The answer is tight. There are zero secrets there. They hide nothing. In fact, they kind of scream the answer. Fuck.

His smile is even wider when I snap my eyes back up to his, his left fang digging into his lower lip just slightly. I think his eyes are brown, nearly black, it’s hard to tell in the club lighting. But they have the telltale red ring around the iris and they are definitely laughing. At me or with me I’m not exactly sure yet.

My stomach does a few back flips under the intensity of his attention, the sounds of the club fading more and more the longer we hold eye contact. He shifts on his feet, leaning heavily against the table. Apparently, he has nothing better to do than stand there and stare at me all night.

“Don’t think I’m laying it on thick enough, actually.” He says eventually, raking his eyes over me again.

They leave a trail of scorching heat all over my skin that isn’t entirely to do with my blush and suddenly I don't know what to do with the butterflies currently exploding in my stomach.

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