“I still wonder what you would have tasted like if I ate you that day…”

Douma’s voice is a teasing hum as nuzzles your neck, his nose pressing against the veins where the blood flowed through your fragile human body. Douma’s never once been this close to such a delicious meal without tearing into it as soon as he catches a whiff of the scent. But here he was, with his arms around you — holding himself back.

“I couldn’t,” he mumbles against you, “too pretty..”