Lover Revealed

'How you doing?' he said roughly. 'Talk to me. Don't keep it inside.'

'What if I can't stand it?' she blurted.

His expression went utterly bland, becoming a deliberate mask of calm. 'I don't imagine many women like their first time. That romantic version of losing your virginity is a lie.'

Or maybe it wasn't. Maybe she was the problem.

The word defect raced around her head even faster, even louder.

'Marissa?'

'I wanted it to be beautiful,' she said with despair.

There was a horrible silence… during which all she knew was the strain of his erection in her body. Then Butch said, 'I'm sorry you're disappointed. But not all that surprised.'

He started to pull out, and that was when something changed. As he moved, the dragging sensation caused a tingle to go through her.

'Wait.' She grabbed on to his hips. 'That's not all there is to it, right?'

'Pretty much. Just gets more invasive, though.'

'Oh… but you haven't finished—'

'I don't need to anymore.'

When his erection slipped free of her, she felt curiously empty. Then he moved off her body and she grew instantly cold. As he flipped a comforter over her, she felt his arousal brush against her thigh for an instant. The shaft was wet and had softened.

He settled on his back next to her, resting both forearms over his face.

God… what a mess. And now that she'd caught her breath, she wanted to ask him to keep going, but she knew what he would say. The «no» was in the stiffness of his body.

While they lay side by side, she felt like she should say something. 'Butch—'

'I'm really tired and not at all coherent, Let's just go to sleep, okay?' He rolled away, punched a pillow, and exhaled in a long, uneven breath.

Chapter Twenty-eight

Marissa woke up later, surprised she'd slept at all. But that was feeding for you. No matter what, she always had to take rest afterward.

In the dimness, she checked the red glow of an alarm clock. Four hours to dawn and she had things to do that she needed the night for.

She looked over her shoulder. Butch was on his back, his hand on his bare chest, his eyes flickering to and fro under his lids as he slept deeply. His beard had grown in, his hair was all over the place, and he looked a lot younger. Handsome, too, in his slumber.

Why couldn't it have worked out better for them, she wondered. If only she could have held on a little longer, given it more of a chance. And now she had to go.

She slipped out from under the comforter, and the air was chilly on her skin. Moving quietly, she gathered up her slip, her corset… panties, where were her panties—

Stopping short, she looked down with surprise. On the inside of one of her thighs, there was a trickling warmth—blood. From when he'd taken her.

'Come here,' Butch said.

She nearly dropped her clothes. 'I—ah, I didn't know you were awake.'

He held his hand out and she went to him. When she got close to the bed, he snaked his arm behind her leg and pulled her onto the mattress so her weight was resting on one knee.

Then he leaned into her and she gasped as she felt his tongue on her inner thigh. In a warm stroke, he went up to her core and kissed away the remnants of her virginity.

She wondered where he'd learned the tradition from. Couldn't imagine human males practiced it on the females they took for the first time.

Whereas for her kind, it was a sacred moment between mates.

Shoot, she wanted to cry again.

Butch released her and lay back down, watching her with eyes that gave nothing away. For some reason, she felt so very naked before him, even with her slip clutched to her breasts.

'Take my robe,' he said. 'Put it on.'

'Where is it?'

'Closet. Hanging on the door.'

She turned around. His robe was deep red and marked with the scent of him, and she drew it on awkwardly. The heavy silk hung down to the floor and covered her feet, the tie so long she could have wrapped her waist four times with it.

She eyed the ruined dress on the floor.

'Leave it,' he said. 'I'll throw it out.'

She nodded. Went over to the door. Grabbed the handle.

What could she say to make this better? She felt as if she'd made a mess of everything: first her biological reality driving a wedge between them, then her sexual deficiency exposed.

'It's okay, Marissa. You can just go. You don't need to say anything.'

She dropped her head. 'I'll see you at First Meal?'

'Yeah… sure.'

In a numbed-out daze, she walked from the gatehouse to the mansion. When a doggen opened the vestibule's innermost door, she picked up the bottom of Butch's robe so she didn't trip… and was reminded she had nothing to change into.

Time to talk to Fritz.

After she found the butler in the kitchen, she asked him for the way to the garage.

'Are you looking for your clothes, mistress? Why don't I bring some up for you?'

'I'd rather go and pick out a few things myself.' As he anxiously glanced to a door on the right, she walked in that direction. 'I promise to call if I need you.'

The doggen nodded, totally unappeased.

When she stepped into the garage, she stopped dead and wondered what the hell she'd walked into. There were no cars inside the six-bay space. No room for them. Good God… crates and crates and crates. No… not crates. Coffins? What was this?

'Mistress, your things are over here.' From behind her, Fritz's voice was respectful but very firm, as if all those pine boxes were none of her business. 'Please to follow me?'

He led her over to her four wardrobe trunks and her luggage and her boxes. 'Are you sure I may not bring dresses up for you?'

'Yes.' She touched the brass lock on one of her Vuittons. 'Would you… leave me?'

'Of course, mistress.'

She waited until she heard the door shut and then she freed the latch on the wardrobe trunk in front of her. As she pulled the two halves apart, skirts burst free, multihued, lush, beautiful. She remembered wearing the gowns to balls and Princeps Council meetings and her brother's dinners and…

Her skin crawled.

She went to the next trunk. And the next. And the last. Then she started again with the first and went through each one again. And then again.

This was ridiculous. What did it matter what she wore? Just pick something.

She reached and grabbed… No, she'd had this on feeding from Rehvenge that first time. What about this one? No… that was the dress she'd worn at her brother's birthday party. Then what about…

Marissa felt the anger come upon her like a fire. Fury blew into her, overheated her, blazed through her blood. She grabbed gowns randomly and yanked them from their padded hangers, searching for one that didn't trigger a memory of being subjugated, caged, made fragile in fine cloth. She moved to another trunk and more