Lover Unbound

by J. R. Ward

Chapter Forty-six

  "Vishous, could you stop grinning like that? You're beginning to freak me out. "

  V flipped Butch the bird across the mansion's kitchen table and went back to his coffee. Night was coming soon, which meant in. . . twenty-eight minutes. . . he was free.

  The second he was out, he was going to go to Jane's house and pull some romantic shit. He wasn't sure what, maybe like flowers or something. Well, flowers and him installing that security system. 'Cause nothing said lovin' like a shitload of motion detectors.

  God, he was whipped. For real.

  She'd told him she was getting home around nine, so he figured he'd doll up her bedroom a little and then have a visit with her until midnight.

  Except that only left him five hours to hunt.

  Butch rustled the sports section around, leaned over to kiss Marissa on the shoulder, then went back to the CCJ. In response she glanced up from her paperwork for Safe Place, rubbed his arm, and went back to what she was doing. She had a fresh bite mark on her neck and the glow of a very satisfied female in her face.

  V winced and looked down into his coffee, stroking his goatee. He and Jane were never going to have that, he thought, because they weren't ever going to live together. Even if he was off from the Brotherhood, he couldn't crash at her place during daylight hours, because of the sun thing and her coming here wasn't an option for different exposure reasons: There was enough risk with her knowing that the race existed. More contact, more details, more time around the Brotherhood was not smart or safe.

  As V cradled his mug and leaned back in the chair, he worried about the future. He and Jane were good together, but the forced separations were going to wear on them. He could already feel a strain as he contemplated the good-bye that would have to happen tonight.

  He wanted her as close as his own skin twenty-four/seven. Her voice over the phone, while better than nothing, wasn't enough to truly satisfy him. But what were their other options?

  There was another rustle of paper as Butch manhandled the CCJ. Christ, he had horrible newspaper etiquette, always mashing the pages and being rough with the creases. It was the same with magazines. Butch didn't so much read them as gnaw on them with his hands.

  In the process of terrorizing an article on spring training, Butch glanced over at Marissa again, and V knew the two were going to take off soon¡ªbut not because they were finished with their coffee.

  Funny, he knew what was going to happen from extrapolation, not second sight or because he could read their minds: Butch was letting off the bonding scent, and Marissa loved being with her male. It wasn't like V had a vision of them ending up locked in the butler's pantry or back in bed at the Pit.

  Jane's thoughts were the only ones he could read, and then only some times.

  He rubbed the center of his chest and thought about what the Scribe Virgin had said. . . that his visions and his prescient ability were obscured because of a crossroads in his own life, and that when he was through it they would come back. Thing was, he had Jane now, so wasn't he past that part? He'd found his female. He was with her. End of story.

  He swallowed more coffee. Kept up with the rubbing.

  The nightmare had been back again this morning.

  As he couldn't chalk up that bullshit gunshot sequence to PTSD anymore, he decided it was now an allegory, his subconscious churning over the fact that he still felt out of control in his life. Because falling in love would do that.

  That had to be why. Had to.

  "Ten minutes," Butch whispered into Marissa's ear. "Can I have ten minutes with you before you go? Please, baby. . . "

  V rolled his eyes and was relieved to be annoyed at the lovey-dovey routine. At least all the testosterone in him hadn't dried up.

  "Baby. . . please?"

  V took a pull on his mug. "Marissa, throw the sap bastard a bone, would you? The simpering wears on my nerves. "

  "Well, we can't have that, can we?" Marissa packed up her papers with a laugh and shot Butch a look. "Ten minutes. And you'd better make them count. "

  Butch was up out of that chair like the thing was on fire. "Don't I always?"

  "Mmm. . . yes. "

  As the two locked lips, V snorted. "Have fun, kiddies. Somewhere else. "

  They'd just left when Zsadist came in at a dead run. "Shit. Shit. . . shit. . . "

  "What's doing, my brother?"

  "I'm teaching and I'm late. " Zsadist grabbed a sleeve of bagels, a turkey leg out of the refridg and a quart of ice cream from the freezer. "Shit. "

  "That's your breakfast?"

  "Shut up. It's almost a turkey sandwich. "

  "Rocky Road don't count as mayo, my brother. "

  "Whatever. " He beelined back for the door. "Oh, by the way, Phury's here again, and he brought that Chosen with him. Figured you'd want to know in case you see a random female ghosting around here. "

  Whoa. Surprise. "How's he doing?"

  Zsadist paused. "I don't know. He's pretty tight about shit. Not real talkative. The bastard. "

  "Oh, and you're a candidate for The View?"

  "Right back at you, Bahbwa. "

  "Touch¨¦. " V shook his head. "Man, I owe him. "

  "Yeah, you do. We all do. "

  "Hold up, Z. " V tossed the spoon he'd used to sugar his coffee across the room. "You're going to want this, true. "

  Z caught the thing on the fly. "Ah, would have spaced that. Thanks. Man, I got Bella on the brain all'a time, feel me?"

  The butler's door flapped shut.

  In the silence of the kitchen V took another drink from his mug. The coffee was no longer hot, its warmth having dissipated. In another fifteen minutes it would be icy.

  Undrinkable.

  Yeah. . . he knew how hard it was to be thinking about your female all the time.

  Knew it firsthand.

  Cormia felt the bed wiggle as the Primale rolled over. Once again.

  It had been thus for hours upon hours. She had not slept all day, and she was sure he had not, either. Unless he moved around a lot whilst in repose.

  He let out a mumble and jerked about, his heavy limbs thrashing. It was as if he couldn't get comfortable, and she worried that she was somehow disrupting him. . . although it was unclear how. She had stayed still since she'd gotten in.

  It was strange, though. She was comforted by his presence in spite of his restlessness. There was something easing about the knowledge that he was on the other side of the bed. She felt safe with him, though she knew him not.

  The Primale lurched again, groaned and¡ª

  Cormia jumped when his hand landed on her arm.

  As did he. With a low growl he made some kind of questioning sound in his throat, then ran his palm up and down, as if trying to figure out what was in his bed with him.

  She expected him to pull back.

  Instead he grabbed on.

  Cormia's lips parted in shock as he made a noise deep in his throat and waded through the sheets, his hand going from her arm to her waist. As if she'd passed some kind of test he rolled into her, a thick thigh coming against hers, something hard pushing into her hip. His hand started moving, and before she knew it the drapery was loosening and then it was off her body.

  He growled louder and pulled her flush to him such that the hard length now lay across her thighs. She gasped, but there was no time to react or think. His lips found her throat and sucked on her skin, the draw causing her body to heat. And then his body began to move. The forward and backward surging made something between her legs well and tingle, something dark and needy unfurling in her belly.

  Without warning, both his arms shot around her and he rolled her onto her back, his luxurious hair falling down over her face. His thick thigh between hers, and he mounted her, that push and retreat stroking what she knew was his sex against her. He was huge atop her, but she didn't feel trapped or scared. Whatever this was between t
hem was something she wanted. Something. . . she craved.

  Tentatively she put her hands on his back. The muscles along his spine were tremendous, and they rippled with his arching and retreating under the satin of his robe. He growled anew when she touched him, as if he liked her hands on him, and just as she wondered what his bare skin felt like he lifted up and disrobed.

  Then he leaned to one side, took her palm in his, and put it between their bodies. On himself.

  They both gasped as the connection was made, and she had an instant of pure amazement at the heat and the hardness and the size of him. . . as well the softness of his skin. . . and the power that seemed to rest in his staff of flesh. She gripped him in reflex as a shocking bolt of fire speared her at her thighs.

  Except then he cried out and his hips pushed forward and what was in her hand started to kick. Warm bursts shot out from somewhere and covered her belly.

  Oh, dear Virgin, had she hurt him?

  Phury woke up on top of Cormia, with her hand on his cock and an orgasm in full swing. He tried to stop his body, grappled to get a rein on the erotic currents thundering through him, but he couldn't stop the momentum, even as he was aware he was coming all over her.

  The second the sensations passed he whipped back. And then everything got worse.

  "I'm so sorry," she said, staring up at him with horror.

  "For what?" Shit, his voice was shot. And he was the one who should be apologizing.

  "I hurt you. . . until you bled. "

  Oh, sweet Jesus. "Ah. . . that's not blood. "

  He shoved the covers aside so he could get up, realized he was totally naked, and had to fumble through the bedding to find the robe. He yanked the damn thing on, palmed his cane, and lit off the bed, heading to the bathroom for a towel.

  When he came back over to her, he could only imagine how she'd want that stuff off her. He'd made a mess.

  "Let me. . . "He caught sight of the drapery on the floor. Oh, great, she was naked, too. Fantastic. "Actually, maybe you should clean up. "

  He looked away and held out the towel. "Take this. Use it. "

  From the corner of his eye he watched her awkwardly swipe under the covers, and self-loathing swamped him. Jesus Christ . . . He was a lecher. Overwhelming the poor female.

  When she handed the towel back, he said, "You can't stay with me. It's not right. For as long as we're here, you're going to be in the other room. "

  There was a slight pause. Then she said, "Yes, your grace. "