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“His breathing was heavy and he was somber. He shivered still, and when his hand found me it was unsteady. "Ah," I said smiling still, and kissing his shoulder. "I hurt you!" he said. "No, no, not at all, sweet Master," I answered. "But I hurt you! I have you, now!" "Amadeo, you play with the devil." "Dont you want me to, Master? Didn't you like it? You took my blood and it made you my slave!" He laughed. "So that's the twist you put on it, isn't it?" "Hmmm. Love me. What does it matter?" I asked. "Never tell the others," he said. There was no fear or weakness or shame in it.” — Anne Rice
His breathing was heavy and he was somber. He shivered still, and when his hand found me it was unsteady.
"Ah," I said smiling still, and kissing his shoulder.
"I hurt you!" he said.
"No, no, not at all, sweet Master," I answered. "But I hurt you! I have you, now!"
"Amadeo, you play with the devil."
"Dont you want me to, Master? Didn't you like it? You took my blood and it made you my slave!"
He laughed. "So that's the twist you put on it, isn't it?"
"Hmmm. Love me. What does it matter?" I asked.
"Never tell the others," he said. There was no fear or weakness or shame in it.