Blood Kiss (28 page)

“I've always been superstitious . . .” he said softly, like he was talking to himself. “You know, a superstitious thinker. I draw all kinds of connections that don't really
exist. It's like what I was saying to Axe about the exam gloves. On a rational level, I understand that I'm not leaving any part of me in or on those bodies, but . . . it doesn't feel like that.”

As he went quiet again, she stayed right where she was.

“My sister . . .” More with the throat clearing. And when he finally did speak again, his naturally gravelly voice was nothing but rocks. “My sister was a good person. There were a lot of us in the family, and not everyone was nice to me. She was, though.”

Mentally, Marissa recalled what she knew about the girl: the disappearance, the rape, the murder, the body being found a week later. Butch had been the last one to see her.

“But there was another side to her,” he said. “She hung out with a lot of . . . goddamn, this is hard to say . . . but she went out with a lot of boys, you know what I mean?”

His face was pale now, the lips compressed, those hazel eyes heavy lidded as if he were replaying bad memories.

But then he just stopped. And when he didn't say anything further, she had to fill in the blanks.

“You think she was murdered,” Marissa whispered, “because she wasn't being a good girl. You think maybe if she hadn't been having sex with those boys, she wouldn't have gotten into that car and they wouldn't have done what they did to her and she wouldn't have died.”

Butch closed his eyes. Nodded his head once.

“And you hate yourself for thinking that because it puts the blame on her—and that's a betrayal. That's blaming the victim—and you would never, ever do that to anyone, especially not your own sister.”

Now he nodded over and over again. Then wiped away a tear.

“Can I come hug you now?” she asked in a cracked voice. “Please.”

When all he did was nod, she raced to him and put her arms around him, drawing him to her until she ended up sitting on the desk and he was collapsed into her lap.

Bending down over him, smelling his hair and his aftershave, stroking those huge shoulders, she felt more in love with him than ever before—in fact, what was in her heart at the moment was so tremendous, she didn't know how her body held it all in.

“It wasn't her fault,” he said roughly. “And I know that. The fact that I even had that thought once—it's so fucking ugly. It's as bad as me not saving her—I might as well have put her in the car myself. Jesus, to believe her actions were the problem?” Butch sat up. “My head gets all fucked-up over it—if I had a daughter, and God forbid”—he made a quick sign of the cross over his heart—“something happened to her, and anyone tried to blame her short skirt, or the fact that she had one drink—or seventy-five, or consented to have sex and then changed her mind in the middle? Do you have any idea what I'd do to that misogynistic asshole?”

“You'd kill him, right after you murdered the perpetrator.”

“Damn fucking straight. Fuck, yeah.” He made a circular motion next to his head. “But then that old tape plays, and every once in a while, it spits out that horrible fucking thought—and I feel so guilty for having it that I want to vomit. In fact, right now I'm eyeing the wastepaper basket and wondering if I can make it there in time.”

As his eyes locked off to the side, she wished Mary were in the room with her. Guess this was why people went to therapists—when the dam broke like this, it was probably best to have a trained professional around.

“And by the way,” he tacked on, “I'm proud of my religion. The church isn't perfect, but neither am I—and it's brought a lot of good into my life. Without my faith, even with you, I'd be a shell of what I could be.”

“I understand completely, and my belief system isn't any different to me.”

After a period of quiet, Marissa took both of his hands. “If I go to the sex club tomorrow night, are you going to think less of me?”

“God, no.”

She nodded. “And assuming you someday get comfortable with it, if I suck you off, are you going to look down on me?”

He laughed in a short burst. “I'd probably worship you even more.”

“Will you still think I'm a good girl?”

“You know . . . actually, yes.” He sounded relieved. “Yeah, I mean, I've never thought about it before . . . but I'll absolutely still love you.”

“So you're able to get past the old thinking in regard to me, right?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Like, you have a thought, you considered it, and you put it aside, right?”

“Yeah.” He exhaled. “Yeah, that's exactly what I'm doing.”

“So . . . why can't you do the same with your sister. Have the old thought. Consider it against everything you know about her and the way she was, and layer onto it your core belief that the blame never goes on the victim no matter what she's wearing or anything like that . . . and I'm willing to bet you'll reject the idea that your sister contributed in any way to what was a horrific, inexcusable crime against an otherwise innocent girl. I'll bet that you resolve that on your own, and probably never dwell on that part of the pain again.”

He blinked once. Twice.

“Forget the blow job,” he said.

“I'm sorry, what?”

Butch stared up at her with such complete devotion, it was as if she had put the world at his feet. “I think I just
fell even more in love with you. And I didn't think . . . I couldn't fathom how that would even be possible.”

Sure enough, his bonding scent became a roar in the room, and his hazel eyes got so full of emotion and reverence that she felt a little giddy.

Taking his face in her hands, she kissed him. “This is so much better than before.”

“Before what?”

“If I'm going to be on a pedestal”—she pressed her mouth to his again—“I want to be there as your perfect partner, not because you think I'm the perfect good girl.”

Her
hellren
started to smile. “You got it. And you got me.”

As he kissed her back, she thought about what happily-ever-afters were about, and decided that true love didn't mean effortless, and ever-after wasn't about cruise control. You started with the attraction, and then you opened your heart and your soul—but all that, which was no small thing, just got you to first base.

There were many, many other trips to take to deeper levels of greater acceptance and understanding.

That was where you found the happy. And the ever-after was the work you were always willing to put in to stay close, to learn, and to grow as people together.

“I love you,” he said as he wrapped his arms around her.
“God, I love you
.
”

Leaning away a little, she smiled and traced her fingertips over his face. She wanted to say those sacred words back to him, but somehow they didn't go far enough.

So she said the one thing that would mean even more to him. “Oh, honey . . . go, Sox.”

Throwing his head back, Butch laughed so hard the sound rattled the glass door of the office. And as she smiled back at him, she thought, Yup,
I love you
could be said in many different combinations, couldn't it.

I
t was amazing how a television could turn anything into a proper lounge.

Not that Craeg was watching
The Big Bang Theory
reruns that were on it. Still, he was glad a
doggen
had come in and set the thing up in the corner because without the pleasant chatter in the background? Sitting in the same room with both Axe and Paradise would have done his nut in completely.

He needed something, anything to keep his mind off of her.

Naturally, as he stared at the fan of cards in his hand, he had no idea what he was looking at. Across the table, however, Axe hadn't had that problem—which was why, after how many rounds of gin rummy, he owed the bastard fifty bucks.

“Well, I guess I'll head to bed,” Paradise said from over on the couch.

Right. It was amazing how, when a certain female spoke a certain combination of words, it was a guaranteed fucking hard-on.

So yes, he was subtly rearranging himself under the table—before the circulation into his femoral artery was cut off completely by his erection.

Meanwhile, Paradise uncoiled herself from her tucked – in position and Craeg did a fantastic job of not watching her. At least not
directly
watching her: His peripheral vision tracked every step she took across the tiled floor to the door, and particularly noted the way she bent across one of the three round tables to grab her satchel.

“Day,” Axe muttered as he shifted cards around.

Craeg grunted.

When the door eased shut, he wondered exactly how long he had to wait before he could leave—

“You can go now,” Axe said with a smirk. “I'm good with solitaire—and there's some porn I'm going to watch. Which is another, more fun version of solitaire.”

“I'm not that tired.”

“Yeah, I know.” The guy tossed back a laugh. “And listen, do me a favor—don't disrespect me by trying to pretend. After that show you put on in the weight room, how stupid do you think I am?”

“I'm not with her.”

“Then you're an idiot.”

“Not why I'm here.” And yet even as he said it, he collapsed his hand of cards and put them facedown on the pile. “I owe you fifty.”

“Forty-five. But you were going to lose this hand.”

“Probably. You want it now?”

“You're good for the cash.”

As Craeg got to his feet, he looked at the piercing spacers that the male had put in the holes in his face and his ears—and abruptly, he wondered exactly how many more studs of metal the guy had in places you couldn't see. “Did those piercings hurt when you got 'em?”

“Yes, that's part of why I do it. The sex afterward is sharper.”

“The tats, too?”

“Yup.”

“Huh. Go fig. You know, you're smarter than I thought you would be. Better card player, too.”

“Because I like ink and metal, you think that makes me dumb?”

“I've led a sheltered life, what can I say.”

He was over at the door when Axe spoke up. “I thought you were an asshat.”

Craeg frowned and looked over his shoulder. “Based on what?”

“You're the vampire equivalent of a redneck. I
thought there was nothing remarkable about you except for your size—and frankly, that's what they make Mack trucks for.”

“And now?”

“I still think you're an asshat.” The Goth smiled a little. “But I don't mind asshats, as it turns out. Go figure, as you say. Besides, our fathers . . .”

As the male let that one hang, Craeg was glad the guy did. “Yeah. Anyway, good day.”

“Have fun, you kids.”

“That's not happening.”

“So you say.”

Craeg stepped out into the corridor and looked all around. Everything was quiet, the proverbial coast clear, and still he stayed where he was. Down to the left, there were five single bedroom units. His was the first. Axe's was next. And Paradise's . . .

Well, three was a charm, wasn't it.

But he didn't go down to her right away. Even though he was about as romantic as a rock, he somehow ended up in his stall shower, cleaning his body as if he were about to meet the Scribe Virgin in person. And then he shaved. And even went over to the duffel bag he'd left where he'd dropped it the night before and unpacked his clothes all over the floor.

They were clean. That was about it.

Blue jeans. With holes. T-shirts. Without holes. His Syracuse Orange baseball cap.

With a curse, he settled for a pair of the uniform's loose pants and a fresh Hanes undershirt. He kept his feet bare, and he prayed,
prayed
, that he tiptoed over to her place without getting caught.

Out the door. Another left to right to check no one was around. And then he pulled a
T2
Linda Hamilton as he bounced on the balls of his feet down the bare concrete floor, making no sound at all. When he got to Paradise's room, he knocked softly.

“Come in?” she said in a high, slightly stressed voice.

No poking his head in. Nope. His whole body shot inside and he forced the door closed behind himself.

“I'm so glad,” she said with a laugh. “I was worried . . . anyway.”

The only light on was the one in the loo, and she'd closed that little room off for the most part: She was sitting in the semi-dark on the bed, wearing a small white robe that was belted at her waist—and nothing else.

Whoa. Legs. Lots of . . . calves, thighs . . .

As he swayed from lust, she said, “You took a shower, too?”

He nodded. Because apparently he'd left his voice out in the hall.

“Do you want to come over here?”

He nodded again.

Next thing he knew, he was standing in front of her. And then he was kneeling. Putting his shaking hands on her legs, he dipped under the hem of the robe. Her skin was just as soft as he remembered.

Dropping his head down, he ran his lips back and forth over one of her knees.

Oh, fuck him. What he needed to do was jack back up, kiss her for a while, ease her flat . . . do her right with his hands—and then get the fucking hell out of Dodge.

That was
so
not what happened.

His palms drifted down to the sides of her thighs and then traveled up—taking the robe with them. As her flesh was exposed, he watched as she trembled and her hands tightened on the bedsheets.

“Are you scared?” he asked. Because he had to be sure.

“No,” she breathed.

“Do you know what I'm going to do to you now?”

“No . . .”

He nodded, keeping his lips against her knee so that he stroked her with them. “Open your legs for me.”

The shivering got worse as she obeyed, exposing a pair of perfectly modest white cotton panties that just about made him come in his pants.

And her scent drove him insane.

“I'm not going to hurt you,” he said in a guttural voice.

“I know. I trust you.”

Craeg moved to the inside of her knee and took his sweet time, nuzzling, drawing his tongue over her thigh, running his fangs up and down.

“Put your hands in my hair,” he told her. “Guide me in. You know where you want me to be. Show me.”

Her touch was tentative at first, just ruffling through his short hair. “It's so soft,” she whispered.

“So are you.”

His hands were now up on her hips and he squeezed the bones, liking how they felt against his palms. And then for a moment, he lost his train of thought because he was struck by a powerful urge to mount her.

That would be a no, though.

Subtly, she began to pull him in and he went at her speed, working her with his lips, getting her ready for what was coming. And then he was at those panties. Looking up, he couldn't see her properly with the robe all bunched around her waist, so he freed the tie and spread the halves. She had on a little, tight muscle shirt that was white and no bra—so her hard nipples threw shadows even in the low lighting.

Groaning, he breathed in and put his lips on her core, sucking in the cotton, getting it wetter.

Her hands ripped at his hair—gone the timid touch, now a demand, and that meant it was time for a position change. Moving fast, exploding up from the floor, he made sure that the door was locked with his mind and
then he swept her legs up on the bed, parted her thighs, and went back to what he was doing, kissing her, pushing her knees higher and wider so he could do her better.

Panting. She was panting and working herself against his face, her hands pulling him in tight, her body giving itself to him with an abandon that was a shock and a serious fucking turn-on. With a growl, he shoved the muscle shirt up and thumbed her spectacular breasts—and as she arched on the mattress, he was
so
ready to get those panties out of the fucking way.

But first, a little more teasing.

Staring up at her, he could feel the memories being etched in his head, the sounds and smells, the gasps and moans, the sheer beauty of her.

Paradise.

•   •   •

It was so much more than she expected.

As Paradise's hands dug even harder into Craeg's hair, she was riding a wave of high-octane pleasure that took her out of her body and grounded her in her flesh at the same time. The sensation of the rubbing, the friction, the heat at her core was unlike anything she'd ever known—and she still technically had her—

Nope.

With a vicious jerking motion, he ripped one side and then the other—and her panties were no more.

And then the sensations were slick and hot, nothing separating his lips and his tongue and her sex.

Thanks to what they had done the night before, she knew what was coming, so when the orgasm hit she gave herself up to it, welcoming the pumping pleasure, jerking up against the mattress, knocking the pillows off to the floor.

When she finally came back from the soaring, shimmering heights of the release, she saw him rising up between her legs.

“Take me,” she ordered him. “Do it.”

Grabbing hold of her muscle shirt, she ripped it off
over her head so that she lay naked and stretched out in front of his enormous body, his incredible erection, his barely leashed power. And yet he hesitated, even though the hunger on his face made him look like a demon.

“Craeg . . .” Reaching up to her breasts, she caressed herself and arched up again, the burn already back in her sex, the desperation, the sweet suffocation returning tenfold.

All he did was sit back on his heels, put his hands on his thighs, and bow his head.

“Craeg?”

“No . . .” he groaned. “I can't.”

“What . . . ?”

“I'm not going to have sex with you.”

Wait, huh? she thought.

When he didn't say anything else, she propped herself up on her elbows and pulled her shirt over to cover her breasts. “Why not?”

“It's . . . not going to happen.”

“What's wrong? What did I do?”

“Oh, fuck, it's . . . no, you're too good, you're . . .”

“Craeg, you gotta stop that.”

Enough, she thought, reaching out to him. As she ran her hands up his arms, she felt his corded muscles, knew the struggle he was forcing himself into.

“Take this off,” she said, tugging at the bottom of his shirt.

She expected him to fight with her. He didn't. His arms went lax and he let her remove the undershirt, and then . . . God, he was beautiful, his smooth, hairless skin stretched over such power—and when she went to run her hands over his flesh, he let her, his head falling back, his neck and shoulder muscles straining.

And then he shocked her.

“Take my vein,” he said in a rough voice. “If I can't have you . . . take from me. . . .”

Just like with the oral sex, it happened oh, so fast, her
fangs descending, her eyes locking on his jugular with a dead-serious that she'd never felt before.

With a hiss, she lunged up and struck, sinking deep, nailing him with a greed that he submitted to completely. Hauling him to the side, she laid him out beneath her and straddled his abdomen as if he were her prey, sucking at him, his taste roaring its way down to her gut, filling her up from the inside out in a way that food and rest could not do.

She was dimly aware of him stretching his arms out and gripping the headboard, bending his torso toward her, moaning as his hips pumped and thighs jerked. He was orgasming and then so was she and everything got super-crazy, super-quick, as she moved her pelvis and felt that hard ridge right where she wanted it.

But when she tried to get to his erection, when she attempted to take his pants off, he held her hands away and kept them in an iron grip. And when she protested, when she fought him, the world spun and she was on her back again.

Blood ran down his neck and his chest from where she'd penetrated him, but he didn't care.

His hands went to the front of his hips and he sprang his arousal by ripping the fly of the loose pants in half.

Paradise's eyes rolled in her head, but she forced them to focus because she wanted to see him.

Wrapping his big hand around his thick shaft, he began to stroke himself. He didn't watch what he was doing; his eyes were on hers. And in spite of the heat between them, there was something intrinsically remote about his expression.

He wasn't going to take her, she thought.

Except her confusion and disappointment got shelved as he arched up and started to orgasm all over her sex.

He might not be willing to take her body fully.

But he was marking her for all he was worth.

Spreading her legs wide, she exposed herself
completely and let him torture himself on a rack of his own doing, his releases covering her core, hitting her in hot bursts that stroked her.

She might have been a virgin . . . but she knew down to her soul that this was a battle he was going to lose.