Not mine ...
It wasn’t like he was expecting a kiss. Or a touch that wasn’t brutal and bruising. It wasn’t like he was waiting at all.
Long arms wrapped around him. The solid, immobile pressure of the body pressed against his hips and thighs. Feet kicked his apart. Hands tore his shirt off and pulled his silk suit pants down to puddle at his ankles.
Lindsey braced himself against the counter in his bathroom and stared into the mirror. Watching as he was manipulated and moved and stripped. Watching as his own mouth fell open and he heard the air expelled from his lungs in a hiss between his teeth.
He felt long fingers curl over his dick. The scratch of a thumbnail over the swollen head, a hand gripped tight with such familiarity that it could be his. Except it wasn’t.
The slick cock stuttered in and out of him. Lindsey’s knuckles as white as the marble he held. He pushed back, refused to look. His glare concentrated on nothing and no one and he whispered as his orgasm bared his stained soul to the vampire that already owned his body.
“Not there, you’re not there, Angel … not here …”