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Daniel no longer felt the weight of Armand's body on him; it seemed that the vampire was as light as a feather or that the journalist was really hypnotized.
Hypnotized by the way Armand squeezed his shoulders, almost digging his long nails in, by the way his thin lips ran over Daniel's face, sometimes kissing, sometimes whispering things that came from so far away or whatever. Armand sucked his mouth and his tears like a man who was dying from being in the desert for forty days.
He sucked his blood too, because his thirst was immense, insatiable and tremendous.
Daniel's neck went back, making room for his voracious canines. Eyes fixed on the ceiling rolled back in pain and pleasure, and then the room spun, the pictures melted, the bed collapsed, the floor opened up and they went from Hell to Heaven in seconds.
When the vampire stopped drinking from him there were no words to be said, as they were both still recovering, but Daniel, who was an addicted son of a bitch, already wanted it all over again, and again and again.