Isolde's lips remained sealed around Adam's neck, her throat working steadily as she swallowed mouthful after mouthful of his blood. The warm, electric taste flooded her senses, and with each pull, the hollow ache inside her eased further. She drank deeply, greedily, her small frame pressed against his chest, her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt.
Adam's head was beginning to swim. The lightheadedness had grown from a gentle fog to a persistent haze, and he could feel his pulse straining to keep up with the demand.
"Hey," he said, his voice rougher than he intended. "Isolde. That's enough. How long are you going to keep sucking?"
For a moment, she didn't respond. Her mouth remained fixed to his neck, her fangs still buried in the same wounds.
Adam's hand tightened in her hair softly.
"Isolde."
