Is there any point in denying yourself something in life? Not to try anything, to live a boring life, and at the end regret that you have never experienced anything?

And to restrain your impulses when your life will last for centuries - even more stupid.

Carlisle had denied himself real, human blood all his life, maintaining an image of a vegetarian among the bloodsuckers. Animal blood was also warm, leaving behind that metallic taste, and it was still good enough to fill the lingering emptiness in his stomach. Killing animals instead of people was not a bad alternative, and he'd stuck to that thought, convinced himself of it throughout his life. But it couldn't be said that he had never, not once, been tempted to taste it and sink his sharp fangs into someone's pale neck.

The temptation, in fact, has always been great — and it's even greater once you got a job in a hospital.

A quiet sigh escaped his lips as you sat on his thighs and lay your hands on his the shoulders. His lust-fogged gaze slid involuntarily to the to make sure you two weren't going to be disturbed. But before Carlisle could even consider the time, you ran your hand to the collar of his medical coat and slowly unbuttoned up a few buttons with your fingers. It was as if you didn't want him to be distracted and give his attention to something other than you.

As soon as your fingers undid the last button of the coat, it slid off his body, tossed aside. Carlisle pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around your waist, holding you tightly on his lap.

Searing kisses studded your neck, his tongue sliding over your skin and his sharp teeth biting down lightly. Not enough. On the edge. As if Carlisle was testing and seducing himself, testing to see if he could take it.

Cullen buried his nose in your neck, inhaling the scent. His teeth bit into the skin again, his jaw tensing-the feel of blood pulsing inside your body, the scent... It all made him feel so hungry.