Samandriel really didn't need the reminder of his position and all the things the vampire could do to him and not get in the slightest bit of real trouble for. He was certain that not actually putting up a fight was the only thing that might ensure that he lived through the night.
He found himself letting out a strangled sort of whimper, breathing heavier while he used every ounce of what remained of his strength and courage to keep from moving at all away from either those teeth or that hand. His fingers pressed tightly against the rough brick of the wall behind him as if that might offer him some support. "Not your property," he said, but knew the argument was weak at best. He hated the part of himself that had grown to associate fangs with pleasure, loathed his body's seeming automatic response no matter what Samandriel was trying to will it to do.