There was nothing that really compared to the exquisite pleasure of drinking from a willing throat. Even with D's efforts to draw out the moment, blood pulsed from Luke's neck far quicker than it had from his wrist. He would need to stop soon, or he might not be able to stop until he'd drained him dry.

The thought that he could do that crossed his mind. He could do that, and Luke would come back, and he could bite him all over again and drink every last drop. That thought was horrifying enough in its possibility that it broke through the haze of blood thirst. Reluctantly, D pulled his fangs from Luke's neck and used his tongue to catch the last few trickles of blood that escaped the pair of cursed wounds.

Once the bleeding had stopped entirely, D pulled back. Two open puncture wounds remained amid the lightning scars on Luke's neck, looking fresh and raw for all that no more blood spilled from them and wouldn't until unless D bit again.

D was still tempted. The knowledge of the unparalleled peak of drinking from Luke's throat was something he would never fully be able to dismiss from his mind. But it wasn't an overwhelming need any longer, and D knew he really could drink every drop of blood in Luke's body and still crave more.