There it is, that little gut-wrench thrill of Lestat manhandling him so easily, and then the rush of the feeding hits. Neal makes a tiny, helpless noise against Lestat's mouth. The little momentary sting across his tongue, the fatigue he'll feel tomorrow, neither consequence holds a candle to the wash of bliss rolling through him. He'd forgotten how good it felt, somehow. How safe, on top of the helpless pleasure. He tilts his head a little, showing a little more skin, offering his neck if the vampire wants a proper bite.

He trusts Lestat to stop before he bleeds too much.