"That should be criminal as well," Joseph murmured. "You're too wonderful to hide away." He'd had the same sentiment (or mistaken identity) much of his unlife. The handsome theater owner surrounded by artists and beautiful revolutionaries? Everyone assumed he was Toreador, or worse, Ventrue. But like Rhys, he hadn't been Embraced for his beauty, but for a different talent that wasn't related to his appearance.
It was an effort not to take the initiative again, pin Rhys to the bed and start tracing every spot and contour with his tongue until the younger Kindred was incoherent with pleasure and desire again. Although now he was distracted by the feathery, ticklish touches that stopped tormentingly too high.
"If you want less clothing in the way, you're welcome to remove it," he teased. He wasn't the only one who should enjoy the pleasure of undressing someone else.