If someone asked me why I was so persistent with Hal, so adamant to get him to just come out for a drink, just one, come on, we might hit it off who knows? I would answer with a sarcastic comment, a raised eyebrow and a withering glance at the vampire in question. Who would no doubt respond with a comment much wittier and ten times as wounding, but we'll not think about that. Because it's depressing to think he can hurt me so quickly and with such ease.

But the real reason why it was so hard to walk out of that bloody cafe, why I felt the sheer unrelenting need to go back and give him my number, anything, to make sure he kept in touch, was that from the second he whirled around, wielding that mop and bopping away in that stupid candy cane apron, I fell hard. No, God no, not in love, don't be ridiculous. A crush, if you will. Lust, some of you lewder ones may classify it as. However you define it, I wanted him as soon as I clapped eyes on him, had to have him, and look where that got me - strapped to a bloody wire fence in a god forsaken cellar in fucking Barry of all places with tubes collecting my blood. Of all the ways to go, that most certainly does not rank top ten.

Anyway, because of this stupid crush I agreed to go on his frankly ridiculous museum date, and out for drinks, and I died, OK, but am I weird in that when he walked into that crappy cellar my dead heart skipped a beat? I mean, even if he did drink my blood he is still insanely fit. And now all the hurly burly's done as he put it, and I live with him – completely platonically I know but still, fuck – I find myself in the bizarre situation of helping him wash while he's strapped to a bloody chair in the living room. Strictly above waist, obviously, but I find myself trying insanely hard not to lick away those droplets of water that are dripping down his toned, hard, perfect chest, down past that tempting track and-

Pull yourself together girl. He drank your blood he drank your blood he drank your blood he-

"Alex, is anything wrong?"

Fuck, that voice. Utterly swoon-worthy.

"Erm, no, no, no I'm fine. Finer than fine. Grand."

"It's just, I told you that I felt exceptionally clean and refreshed about ten minutes ago and...well..."

I look at my hand still holding the cloth against his torso and then make the dire mistake of looking up into his big, concerned greeny-bluey-weird-coloured-but-still-insanely-hot eyes and freeze, knowing that I'm inches away from those pretty lips. I try to wish myself a million miles away, but I've obviously not been trying hard enough with my rent-a-ghosting because I stay firmly glued to the stool I pulled up quarter of an hour ago, gawping like a goldfish. I can see every eyelash and the threads of colour in his iris and the slight pucker of his lips as he begins to speak.

"Alex I really-"

I lift my hand to his face and surge forwards and suddenly, I'm kissing him. Fuck, fuck, fuck he feels good, sinfully good and I'm dimly aware that I'm climbing into his lap, fisting his soft hair and tugging on it, much to his appreciation it seems as a deep groan rumbles in his chest.

I grind down unconsciously and realise that he's hard against me, wrists straining against his restraints in an effort to pull me to him. Or so I like to think. Maybe it's to push me away. That particular thought is too much and I break the kiss to pant against his neck. I chance a look at Hal and see him sat looking incredibly shell shocked, hair mussed and lips red and bruised and bitten what the fuck when did that happen? I bite my lip and wait for him to say something, anything...but there's nothing. Until-

"Why the fuck would you stop? Jesus, Alex, I can't, fucking fuck these bloody things I need-"

I have a crush of epic proportions on the look on Hal's face when I quickly unfasten Tom's complicated knots my arse and realise with a pause and a glance at him that Hal could probably no definitely have done just that weeks ago. And he hasn't. Which means-

Fuck me if I know or care what that means, because at that precise moment Hal decides to drag me into another soul shattering, earth moving, head spinning kiss, and I turn into a panting, moaning mass of goo with only one purpose; to get the zip down on those trousers right fucking now otherwise I'm going to fucking explode.

I crow with triumph against his lips as I pull down his trousers so that his cock springs free and he moans as I stroke once, twice, three times.

"Please, Alex, I need you please..."

Somehow, Hal begging turns me on even more than before, and I feel powerful, more powerful and more solid than I've ever felt. I help him to rip down my leggings, and as soon as they're out of the way he lines up against me and there's the breathless moment when he pushes into me and we lock eyes.

Hal breathes a quick "Fuck" against my lips, and although we're still in his prison-chair thing, and I'm awkwardly straddling him and it's not the best angle ever, it's perfect. I lose track of how many times I grind down against him, how long his powerful hips snap and thrust into me for until it almost becomes too hot to breathe. Our gasps and moans puncture the humid air and absolute silence around us, the sharp rustle of cloth and ominous creaking of the chair going completely unnoticed as our thrusts become more frantic and intense. My thighs quiver, and my grinding means that I rub against him in the most perfect, hot way possible. I teeter on those delicious few seconds before I come so hard white lights flash in my vision and my fingers shake as I dig them into his shoulders. Hal pulls me flush against him, and he moans loudly against my neck as I feel him come deep inside me.

I buckle and fall against his chest as he flops back into the chair. My breath catches and Hal moans and flinches slightly when he slips out of me. Before I fall into a total sex coma, because I just shagged Hal and it was amazing and a sex coma is totally warranted I realise that we have to talk, and we may not wake before Tom gets in which could be awkward and, let's face it, sleeping in that chair is going to be incredibly uncomfortable. But Hal chooses this moment to stroke my head gently, and I feel more than hear him say "Sleep."

So I do. Until Tom's offended bellow of "Hal, that's disrespectful to the lady, even if it is Alex!" makes Hal flinch so badly that I fall flat on my arse. Great.