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sound of pleasure as my head went back and my blurred vision tried to focus on the ceiling.
    I could feel my cock getting even larger as my blood pumped into it, growing long and hard and strong with every beat of my heart, an urgent need for release radiating from my balls, which were beginning to ache.
    And still his thumb rubbed over the head.
    I almost whimpered.
    I’d never felt such pleasure before. I’d never felt anything like this before. This was better than getting fucked, getting my cock sucked, or fucking someone. My years with Jean-Paul and his fraternity had taught me sexual delights I’d never dreamed possible, even in my wildest dreams and fantasies back when I was in my fraternity closet back at Ole Miss looking at gay porn on my laptop late at night in my room. They taught me positions and activities that made my eyes roll back into my head and forced animalistic howls to escape from my throat as they drove me nearly insane with the unimaginable pleasures they’d spent centuries seeking out, learning, and perfecting. Almost every night it had been something new as they initiated me into the world of vampiric desire and pleasure, each night instructing me in a carnal knowledge that left me spent and exhausted and panting on the bed or the floor or the mat or hanging from whatever device I’d been attached to.
    But all of those nights combined were nothing compared to how this felt.
    I wanted Jared to keep sucking my blood forever and to never, ever be sated. I wanted his need for my blood to be as powerful as my need for him to take it from me. I wanted him to never remove his mouth from my arm—to always be there on his knees before me in supplication, need, and desire, as my blood changed his into something else, transformed his beautiful body, turned him from being merely human into something ever so much more than he ever dreamed possible.
    I felt like I was transforming from a vampire into a god, because I was feeling the joy of creation.
    This must be what God had felt like when he created life, the universe, the planets, the sun and the moon and paradise, the animals and birds and trees and plants. How had God stopped, if the story I’d been taught from childhood, had been drilled into my head, was in fact the truth?
    If this was creation, the rush God must have felt on each of those six days must have made him drunk.
    No wonder he’d rested on the seventh day, collapsing onto his couch, spent and exhausted and panting from the exquisite pleasure and pain of creation.
    Had it been like this for Jean-Paul when he created me, when he took me from my old human life and made me what I am now?
    Dear God.
    There was no drug or intoxicant that compared to this.
    During my years with Jean-Paul, I had tried everything he’d given to me—Ecstasy, cocaine, marijuana, crystal meth—stimulants whose addictive properties we vampires were immune to, but these drugs still altered our states of consciousness. Jean-Paul claimed we felt them even more intensely than humans could, as we experienced everything with a much higher degree of intensity than they did—which made me pity them all the more. Wasn’t it sad enough their bodies aged, withered, and died, but they couldn’t even experience pleasure as intensely as a vampire?
    It hardly seemed fair. . . .
    Ecstasy was my favorite of them all, of course—the joy of warmth glowing from within, of feeling beautiful and wanting to touch and be touched, of feeling music wash over my body and get inside my very soul until I was one with the beat, with the lyrics, with the emotion, of dancing in a crowd of incredibly beautiful men until the sun came up, of feeling like the night could, should, would, last forever.
    But this . . . this was better than Ecstasy.
    This was a pleasure I would never tire of, a pleasure I wanted to go on forever.
    This pleasure was seductive, addictive.
    Both of his strong hands came up,