Ian grinned at her, trailing a pale hand down his chest. “Luscious, aren‟t I, poppet? Go on, stare. I don‟t mind.
Brush teeth. Wash hair. Rule undead world with an iron fist.
He's clean," Ritchie announced. Chance wrinkled his nose with mild distaste. "Can't say the same about you. Really, man, soap is nothing to fear.
That face. That body. And you know he’s packing. Look at the angle on that dangle.
I’m the only authentic Vlad. Everyone else is merely an envious imitation.
Or for the gorgeously bare vampire to give her a sensual massage while feeding her peeled grapes.