Lance looked over at Yulia as she sat next to him on the sofa, smiling faintly at the romantic comedy that the girls had chosen for tonight’s film. He was impatient for it to end and his brother and wife to go to bad and leave him and Yulia alone. She had agreed to feed him again this evening, and he was already anticipating how good it was going to feel to press his lips to her skin and take her taste, her essence, into himself.
It had been an interesting few days since the disastrous end of their date, followed by their confessions of their sins, or perceived sins anyways. He had been pleased when she had told him that she was taking his advice and seeing a psychotherapist that specialised in rape trauma, not just because he wanted to be able to touch her (and he reall
