"Are you sure Uma Thurman doesn't mind?" I whisper as I mouth along his neck. He smells like rich guy cologne.
"Mfhh, no she said it's fine," he pants into my ear. I raise my head to look into his sad poet eyes. He's telling the truth.
I shrug. "Okay." Without warning, I sink my sharp fangs into the side of his neck. Hot, thick blood fills my mouth. I drink until I'm full, but it's not my favorite. (He also tastes like rich guy cologne).
Satiated, I lick my lips and get to work fucking him. He offers no resistance, face gradually turning pale. Blood is still gushing from his neck, staining his expensive movie star sheets. He's too weak from blood loss, so I guess I have to do all the work myself. I bite my lip in concentration but lowkey the fangs kinda hurt.
With a free hand I pop out my detachable fangs. His nightstand is covered in like magazines or something so I just put them in his hand, closing his fingers around them.
"Don't lose these, I got them on Amazon," I say sexily. He uses all of his fading strength to hold the slobbery fangs tightly in his fist.
With his weak sad boy voice he starts begging, saying "Please kill me, I want it, please." I don't like saying no to people so I promise him I will.
I fuck him harder, wanting him to at least die happy. There's not enough blood left in his body for him to physically get off but he seems to be enjoying himself so it's probably fine.
A smile spreads across his face and I take that as a sign to pull out. "Thank you," he whispers as the light leaves his eyes.
I pry the fangs from his dead hand and leave before anyone knows I was there. Does it count as murder if he reallyyyy wanted me to? Anyway, there's a lot of blood all over me so I head home for a shower.
