Lover Revealed

there with him.

He bit her palm. 'Tell me you want this. Tell me you want me.'

'I…' Her body undulated on the bed.

'Tell me you want me.' He nailed her harder with his teeth. Shit, he wasn't sure why he needed to hear it from her so badly, but he did. 'Say it.'

'I want you,' she gasped.

From out of nowhere, a dangerous, greedy lust slapped hold of him and his control shattered. With a dark sound that came from his gut, he clamped his hands on the insides of her thighs, split her wide and literally dove between her legs. As he fell upon her flesh, penetrating her with his tongue, finding a rhythm with his jaw, he was dimly aware of some kind of noise in the room, a growling.

Him? Couldn't be. That was the sound of… an animal.

Marissa had been shocked by the act at first. The carnality of it. The sinful closeness, the scary vulnerability. But soon none of that mattered. Butch's warm tongue was so erotic she could hardly bear the slick, slippery sensation of it—and couldn't stand the idea that he'd ever stop what he was doing, either. Then he started sucking on her, sucking and swallowing and saying things that made her sex swell until the pleasure stung like pain.

But all that was nothing compared to when he let loose. With a surge of male need, his heavy hands held her down, his mouth, his tongue, his face going all over her… God, that sound coming out of him, that throaty, pumping purr…

She orgasmed wildly, the most shattering, beautiful thing she'd ever felt, her body arching into the liquid flashes of pleasure—

Except at the crest, the seething energy shifted, transformed, detonated.

Bloodlust roared along the sexual current between them, then pulled her down into a spiral of starvation. Hunger ripped through her civilized nature, shredding everything but the need to go for his neck, and she bared her fangs, ready to flip him over onto his back and strike at his jugular and drink hard—

She was going to kill him.

She cried out and struggled against his hold. 'Oh, God… no!'

'What?'

Shoving at Butch's shoulders, she hauled her body away from him, shooting off the side of the bed and falling to the floor. As he reached for her in confusion, she scrambled across the rug to the far corner, her dress dragging behind, the top hanging from her waist. When there was no farther to go, she curled into a ball and held herself in place. As her body shook uncontrollably, the pain in her belly hit in waves, redoubling each time it returned.

Butch came after her, panicked. 'Marissa …?'

'No!'

He hauled up short. His face was stricken, all the color run out of his skin. 'I'm so sorry—dear God—'

'You've got to go.' As tears came up her throat, her voice went guttural.

'Sweet Jesus, I'm sorry… I'm so sorry… I didn't mean to scare you…'

She tried to control her breathing so she could reassure him, but lost the fight: She was panting, crying. Her fangs throbbed. Her throat was dry. And all she could think of was launching herself onto his chest. Pushing him down on the floor. Closing her teeth on his neck.

God, the drinking. He would taste good. So good, she couldn't imagine ever getting enough of him.

He tried to come close to her again. 'I didn't mean for things to go so far—'

She leaped up, opened her mouth, and hissed at him. 'Get out! For God's sake, leave! Or I'm going to hurt you!'

She raced for the bathroom and locked herself in. As the sound of the door slamming shut faded, she skidded to a halt on the marble and caught the horrible sight of herself in the mirror. Her hair was tangled, her dress undone, her fangs showing white and long in her gaping mouth.

Out of control. Undignified. Defective.

She grabbed the first thing she saw, a heavy glass candle-holder, and hauled it against the mirror. As her reflection shattered, she watched through bitter tears as the pieces of herself fell apart.

Chapter Twenty-two

Butch threw himself at the bathroom door and jerked the handle until his palm nearly tore open. On the other side he heard Marissa crying. Then a shattering noise.

He drove his shoulder into the wooden panels. 'Marissa!'

He hit the door with his body again, but then stopped and listened. Wild fear bit into him when there was only silence. 'Marissa?'

'Just go.' The quiet desperation in her voice made his eyes sting. 'Just… go.'

He splayed his hand on the wood that separated them. 'I'm so sorry.'

'Go… just go. Oh, God, you have to leave.'

'Marissa—'

'I won't come out until you're gone. Go!'

Feeling as if he were in a nightmare, he grabbed his jacket and stumbled out of the bedroom, all sloppy, loose-bodied, weak in the knees. Out in the hall, he sagged back against the wall and banged his head into the plaster.

Squeezing his eyes shut, all he could see was her cowering in the corner, her trembling body drawn in a defensive crouch, her gown hanging loose from her bare breasts as if it had been ripped off her.

Fuck. Him. She was a lovely virgin and he'd treated her like a whore, pushing her too far and too hard because he hadn't been able to control himself. Christ, no matter how hot she burned, she wasn't used to what a man wanted to do during sex.

Or what happened when a man's instincts took over. And even though he'd known all of that, he'd still held her down on that bed by the thighs, trapping her while he tongue-fucked her, for God's sake.

Butch slammed the back of his skull into the wall again. Dear God, she'd been so scared, she'd even bared her fangs as if she had to protect herself from him.

With a nasty curse, he tore off down the stairs, trying to outrun how much he despised himself, knowing he couldn't go that fast or that far.

When he hit the foyer, someone yelled, 'Butch? Yo, Butch! You okay?'

He burst outside, jumped into the Escalade, and cranked the engine. All he wanted to do was apologize to her until he was hoarse, but he was the last person on the planet she wanted to see at the moment. And he didn't blame her.

He gunned the SUV for downtown, heading straight for V's place.

By the time he'd curbed the Escalade and was riding up the high-rise's elevator, he was about to take the bridge he was such a mess. He threw open V's door—

Shit!

In the glow of black candles, Vishous was bent over with his head down, his leather-clad hips driving back and forth, his bare shoulders and massive arms flexed up hard. Beneath him, a female was tied down on the table at the wrists and ankles, her body wrapped in leather except for the tips of her breasts and where V was slamming into her core. Even though there was a mask over her face and a ball gag in her mouth, Butch was pretty damn sure she was on the verge of an orgasm. She was making little mewling noises, begging for more even as tears streaked down her leather-covered cheeks.

When V's head lifted from the female's neck, his eyes were glowing and his fangs were long as… well, she might need stitches, put it that way.

'My bad,' Butch blurted and ducked out of the penthouse.

He went back down for the Escalade in a daze and couldn't seem to think of anywhere to go once he got to the SUV. He just sat in the driver's seat, key in the ignition, hand on the gearshift… picturing Vishous feeding.

The glowing eyes. The long fangs. The sex.