"Your skin is certainly a blank canvas," he agreed. "And an artist like you will certainly appreciate your naked reflection when its marked with bruises and the stripes of the whip... And the wounds of my drinking from you. To use you as everything from my painslut to my winepress."
The vampire's gaze did not waver as Samandriel continued. "There have been Athenian boys. And Cretans, and Ithacans, and Arcadians. More than I could count, or remember." He leaned towards Samandriel, even as the angel stepped closer to him. "If you belonged to me, you'd have eternity to show me everything you are," he murmured. "Now, though..."
Suddenly and without warning, his grip tightened on the slave's shoulders, and he span Samandriel around, pushing him roughly back down against the table. "...I intend to make the most of these brief moments we have together."