How to Discipline Your Vampire(68)

            “Did they really wear shorts this skimpy back then?” I spun around to give him a better view.

            “I swear, I would have enjoyed the seventies if you were around then, disco and all,” he said affectionately.

            “So, do you really own nursing homes, or is that a front for shady vampire business?” I asked.

            “No, I really own them.”

            “Why?”

            He sighed. “Because, I originally opened one to take care of my biological parents when they became too old to care for themselves. Their other child—my brother—died in his early thirties, so there was nobody to look after them. I never revealed myself to them, of course, since I was ashamed of my nature, but they graciously accepted spots in the first home of my franchise.”

            “Are they . . . gone?”

            William nodded. “Yes, they passed. I came to love the job of elder care, however. Had I not changed into a vampire, I would be in my eighties. So the folks at the home are really my contemporaries. We talk for hours—well, they talk and I listen and nod and smile. And enjoy the nostalgia.”

            “That’s intense. So you’re not, like, five hundred years old, then, I suppose. Lame.”

            “No, but my vampire parents are quite old. They lived through the Renaissance, and so when they raised me, they instilled me with the philosophy of art and aesthetics. They are the reason why I paint, sculpt, and compose,” he explained, then his expression darkened. “They also made me a monster.”

            “You are not a monster,” I said, running my fingers across his palm.

            “Just don’t offer me your blood again.”

            “You did great.”

            He recoiled. “Mistress, I’ve made mistakes before. I’ve slipped up.”

            I stroked his hair. “You won’t let down your Domme.”

            He gulped. “One Domme closed her eyes, leaned in to kiss me, and never opened her eyes again.”

            I fought the urge to gasp. “I’m sorry.”

            “She had the tiniest cut in her mouth,” he choked. “I—”

            “Shh. I know you won’t hurt me.”

            “I just don’t want to scare you away. I want you to keep me.”

            “William, things are going well, but let’s not rush anything. I’m starting to understand you, and our relationship is moving forward. Actually, startlingly forward,” I said, somewhat surprised at my own words. I didn’t want to hear more about the woman, the girl whom he had killed with a kiss. It hurt him too much. I wanted to help him heal. “Just keep doing what you’re doing and don’t worry about the future,” I encouraged him, and he smiled. It was so nice to see the effect I had on him. He hung on my every word and gesture. Other subs were attentive, but William—William was obsessed.

            And that was part of the reason why I wanted to bring him out that night. I wanted to show everyone who had ever rejected him, and everyone who couldn’t live up to my expectations, that we were happy and better off without them. We were enjoying each other, and we looked fucking hot together. Nyah-nyah.

            “Your hair kind of defies gravity right now,” I said, pointing out how his coif was now in a winged-out do. He looked like a seventies Ken doll. Paisley shirt, tight-ass mustard-colored bell-bottoms, and platforms to boot. He had to be six-five in them. He touched his hair and did a little Travolta move.

            “One more thing to add to your look,” I said, taking him by the chin and pulling his face toward mine. I took a brown leather collar from my purse and clasped it around his neck. He sighed happily.