How to Discipline Your Vampire(38)

            William lay in my bed, his uniform tattered, his head bandaged.

            Groaning in “pain.”

            “What happened, Lieutenant?” I asked, approaching him. I sat by his side and clutched his fingers sympathetically.

            He looked absolutely delectable . . . and young. The uniform was fitted to his body perfectly, and I could see the outlines of all his muscles under the coarse uniform’s fabric, which was torn and singed in spots. He looked up at me, reverently.

            “Thank God you’re here—my angel,” he said quietly. “I’ve missed you so much.”

            “William, what happened out there?”

            “I don’t know—a grenade? I was knocked out, and—” he said, dropping off, head lolling to the side, floating in and out of consciousness.

            I put my hand on his smooth, graceful neck and pretended to take his pulse. “Don’t talk, William. Save your strength for me.”

            He smiled, wincing. “Anything for you.” His hand reached up to me, and softly stroked my hair.

            Then he cupped my cheek and drew me to him.

            Only then did it dawn on me that we had never kissed.

            “William,” I whispered as his hands guided my face toward his.

            “My angel,” he repeated, his breath tickling my nose.

            I leaned forward and pressed my lips to his. He moaned lightly and parted his mouth to me. Our lips slid against each other, dry at first. He felt like rose petals and tasted like cool mint.

            I felt his tongue breach my lips and I sucked on it gently. I leaned farther into his embrace and allowed him access deep into my mouth. It felt so good—now it was my turn to moan.

            I felt his body tense, and realized my poor officer needed more than my kisses.

            “Let me see your wounds, Lieutenant.”

            I began to unbutton the shirt of his dark-green uniform. He tensed, almost afraid.

            I opened his shirt and ran my hand down the most perfect chest I had ever seen. Muscular but not bulky. “You seem to have suffered no damage to your torso,” I said slowly. “But I need to make sure you don’t have any other wounds.” I tugged the sleeves down, and pulled the shirt off gingerly. He pretended to wince. I slinked my hands up and down his arms, turning his hands over, checking for injuries. In reality, I was absolutely worshipping his smooth complexion. His skin felt—it’s impossible to describe. William’s skin was silky, like slipping on a satin nightie. But I wanted him to slip me on.

            His expression was nearly terrified as I ran my hands all over his skin. “What’s your diagnosis?” he asked wearily.

            I smiled, saying, “I’m not done, Lieutenant. Not by a long shot.”

            When my fingers rested on his belt buckle, he finally relaxed into a smile. “I’m not worried. I know I’m in expert hands,” he said.

            I tightened my grip on the waistband of his pants. “You’re not really in my hands, yet. Trust me . . . ,” I said, leaning in, “you’ll know.”

            He threw his head back and watched me work. I unzipped his trousers and slid them around his ankles. First and foremost, I wanted to inspect his actual wound—his flogger-induced redness.

            “Oh my,” I said, “I think we finally have an injury.” I ran my hand over the skin, examining the pink patches on his thighs, expecting them to feel warmer to the touch.

            They weren’t. The spots were an odd shade of pink—nothing like I had ever seen on a sub. Then again, nothing about William was ordinary. I pressed my finger down hard, expecting him to wince or expecting the spot to further redden.