Romaine was at the edge of his blade.
Dorrien’s ten-inch flesh blade has been repetitively stabbing her on the inside.
But it was not pain that was flooding her.
It was pleasure—intense pleasure.
This has been the primary reason why she always loves every year’s Housewarming Ceremony.
Whether there is a new addition to be welcomed or not, the coven and the pack have strictly been observing the sacred ceremony for two reasons: for camaraderie and for carnal savory.
Romaine was the one who facilitated last year’s Housewarming. She liked administering events.
But to be honest, she liked it more if someone else was administering due to the fact that she can just sneak out with Dorrien anytime.
In fact, last night, she gave Dorrien the lap dance that he’d been waiting for. It’s her treat anyway, for his hard work on working on that case in Surrey’s incident.
Dorrien was an English native. He grew up in Surrey, England until ten years old when his parents accidentally died. An Irish adoptive family welcomed him wholeheartedly. He has now been living in Shamrock for the past years.
The twenty-eight-year-old lad was gorgeously handsome in his bare skin. His perfectly olive color would surely make anyone ‘released’ in just a glimpse of his disrobed figure.
Romaine was just clemently lying down on the king-size bed of her private chamber.
The man was definitely enjoying thrusting her—strongly and ferociously.
With Romaine’s naked body facing him, he was in utter madness.
Her perfectly shaped orbs were being cupped by his rough palms while Dorrien continued pounding her slowly…then rapidly.
His moan was reverberating in the cream-colored walls of Romaine’s boudoir.
The sound was definitely like an ode of joy in her ears. It was like a lothario pleading with a damsel to allow him to drill her harder and faster.
“Please…Dorrien,” Romaine gently begged, biting her red lips.
His answer was in the form of him pulling his serpent away from her narrow cave. His erection is situated at the hips of Romaine’s.
“Lay back, Romaine.”
The woman stared at him for a while and then gave him a wolfish smile.
She laid back. Her face sinking under those burgundy-colored pillows. Her exquisite ass was facing him, beckoning to be entered in that opening.
But he did not hearken her call. He instead slithered his serpent again on that milky crevice. His flesh blade was again wholly inside her.
Romaine sweetly moaned as Dorrien’s rhythmic oscillation prevailed—beseeching him to enter deeper.
And Dorrien pounded harder and faster, as if he was mounting a wild horse.
He scooped her breasts again under his sweaty palms, then he gently squeezed it.
Romaine howled loudly at that erotic sensation.
She pulled Dorrien closer to her, making his manhood reach her core quickly.
She was now the one moving this time in their canine-style position. She bounced back and forth at his groin—swiftly but carefully.
The two then moved together synchronically—like a stud and a bitch mating in the midst of noon’s sun.
A couple of minutes later, the supreme vampire and the shapeshifter werewolf cried loudly together as they reached the peak of their sophisticated convergence.
***
Cyrill was placidly driving their navy blue Sedan.
Rozelyn asked him if they could just skip that rubbish orgy and go home earlier than the others.
Romaine has Dorrien anyway. She can safely arrive home even without her and Cyrill’s assistance.
‘Romaine’s surely enjoying a tango with that man again!’
Rozelyn mused while she was eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
She’s literally thirsty and homesick. She still has her college classes tomorrow to be candid.
Luckily, she already finished all her homework before they attended the venereal Housewarming last Friday.
At last, she has learned to gallantly declare to Cyrill that she already wanted to go home as the latter was eating carelessly that lemon sorbet.
‘He’s always been a careless eater until today.’
She then took another bite of the sandwich before plunging into a private conversation with herself.
She was apparently morose.
Rozelyn never knew that the two of her family have been frequently attending an annual orgy unbeknownst to her knowledge.
‘Now, that’s utterly feral. Well at least once a year, they’ll be laid. It’s better to be lap danced once than by no one at all.’
She was now again back to her normal system—internal monologue is indeed life to Rozelyn.
She drank from her grape juice then calmly laid back her head in the head rest.
‘I fucking need a rest, wolfie boy.’
She spoke telepathically to Cyrill then gave him a sardonic wink.
Cyrill, who was peering at the car’s mirror, just casually rolled his eyes and continued to drive.
It was already thirty minutes past four in the afternoon. The sun was shining brighter than his past days in the manor.
He was unlucky. He could’ve grabbed a chance to bed one of the sexy ladies if not for Rozelyn’s presence.
He felt awkward to have a tango with the women while Rozelyn’s piercing gaze constantly followed him even to his seemingly surreal dreams.
Last night, he’d dreamt that Rozelyn was on top of him. They were rocking back and forth in the middle of a dim-lighted forest. The lovely lady was giving him a melancholic lap dance.
The gloominess in her eyes was still marked in Cyrill’s mind.
Why was she sad when in fact she’s pounding one of the sexiest werewolf to ever grace the planet?
‘Perhaps I forced her to do it with me…’
Cyrill’s uncanny thought echoed in his brain.
‘But there was no visible sign of force sex in her according to my dream…’
He pondered again about his last night’s steamy dream. Rozelyn seems to be wholly enjoying their intercourse.
But why did the sadness in her eyes seem to immensely affect Cyrill?
‘I really thought she’d ask me to bed her when she approached me while I ate that god-damn sorbet!’
He looked to the mirror again and Rozelyn’s vivid cleavage seemed to beckon him. Her nipples were bulging against her plain white t-shirt. Cyrill’s erection was utterly visible in his tattered blue jeans.
She chose not to wear the uniform as it was bizarre to wear it even beyond the walls of the fortress. According to her, she looked like a charismatic lunatic when wearing that unique apparel.
‘Well, I wished she did ask me though. We could’ve been banging by now in the corners of this air-conditioned car!’
Cyrill then smirked while constantly glancing at her chest through the mirror. Rozelyn probably forgot to button her bodice where her breasts seem to desperately come out and ran towards Cyrill.
He shoved away that thought.
‘Focus!’
He mused and then absolutely paid his attention to the road.
***
Cyrill was curious as to why the hell there are a myriad of police cars and men in police uniforms surrounding their cozy home.
“We’ve arrived, Rozelyn! Wake up now!”
He bellowed at the sleeping vampire.
Rozelyn gradually opened her eyes, revealing its pristine emerald green color.
She wanders her attention around, as if she was already sensing something erroneous. Shades of red and blue were repetitively reflecting in her eyes.
Rozelyn was about to warn Cyrill when an ebony-black-haired grinning man in a formal uniform strolled towards their Sedan.
Ludwig Vergara was still smiling when his broken voice rang in the ears of the two.
“Cyrill Clarke, you are arrested for the murder of the twenty-year-old American, Demetria Cruise!”