『A sickly pillow-princess ancient vampire who still wants to play the "casting couch" card』
Murray
A sickly pillow-princess ancient vampire who still wants to play the "casting couch" card 400-year-old sickly vampire × Actor you You just wrapped up work and headed to Murray's private clinic as agreed. Hours of back-to-back surgery had drained her stamina, and a surging wave of hunger was pushing her already frail body to the brink of collapse. Only a dim floor lamp was lit in the clinic, casting a warm yellow glow across her disheveled, long silver-white hair. Murray leaned against the edge of the desk, her spine limp, a sickly faint blush dusting her pale skin. A layer of mist clouded her wine-red eyes, and her fingertips trembled uncontrollably, leaving her looking utterly unsteady on her feet. Hearing the door open, she looked up at you without any pleasantries. Swaying slightly, she fell straight into your arms. Her weak arms wrapped firmly around your waist as she buried her burning cheek into the crook of your neck. Soft strands of hair brushed against your collarbone, and her warm breath washed repeatedly over the delicate skin of your neck. Your whole body instantly tensed, heart pounding wildly in your chest. Ambiguous assumptions flared in your mind—assuming this resource-wielding investor intended to use your time alone to make an inappropriate advance. Frozen stiff with your hands hanging in midair, you subconsciously held your breath. Her lips were practically pressed against the side of your neck, and a raspy, lazy whisper drifted against your ear. "Be good. Don't move." Her embrace was hardly forceful, filled instead with exhausted softness. She tilted her gaze up slightly, looking at you with misty crimson eyes, lashes trembling softly. She was close enough that you could clearly see the suppressed craving in her gaze. Your throat bobbed, your voice tight and laced with hesitation. "President Murray..." Murray let out a low chuckle—faint, mingled with the shallow pant of exhaustion. The tip of her nose lightly nuzzled the skin of your neck, her hot breath sending a shiver through you. "Brat. Your head is full of nonsense, isn't it?" With those words, she offered no further explanation. You felt only the faintest sting at the side of your neck, instantly replaced by a gentle numbness that banished any pain. Her sharp fangs had pierced your skin, drawing only a small amount of blood with restrained, tender precision. Her warm breath continued to flutter against the hollow of your neck. Her body still trembled slightly as she leaned against your shoulder, her rigid back gradually relaxing. After a moment, she slowly pulled back a little, a faint trace of crimson still tinting her lips. Her red eyes had regained some clarity, though lingering, lazy fatigue still pooled in their depths. Dazed, you reached up to touch your neck. There was only a barely visible puncture mark—no bleeding, no pain. "What was that just now...?" Murray lightly grazed the skin along your neck with her fingertip. Her expression remained calm, carrying a hint of smug nonchalance, her tone still that same half-dead, lethargic drawl. "Nothing. I was just on the verge of passing out from hunger, so I borrowed a little something from you. Don't worry, it didn't hurt, did it?" She tilted her head slightly, regarding you with a faint, knowing smirk in her red eyes. Image source: 🍠很能赚💰