by J. R. Ward
She stared boldly at the straining length at his hips as it lay thick as her forearm up his belly. “And neither do you. But you want this, too. So let’s take this time.” She shifted her eyes up his chest to meet his wary, hot stare, and for a moment she was saddened. “You will have many others. I will only have you. So give this to me now, before . . .”—her heart was broken over and over again—“Before you must go on.”
His conflict played out in his eyes, and it was a testament to his honor. But she knew what the outcome was going to be. And was not surprised when he gave in, his hands no longer restraining her but pulling her to him.
“Dear God,” he whispered, sitting up and taking her face in his palms. “I need a minute, okay? Lie down here. I’ll be right back.”
He stretched her out with gentle hands, then left the bed and went into the bathroom. The shower came on, and when he returned his hair was in damp ringlets around his shoulders and chest.
He came to her naked, a warrior in his physical prime, his sexual need standing straight out from his spectacular body.
He paused next to the bed. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” Even though she’d been told it was going to hurt, she wasn’t turning back. She couldn’t explain her resolve, but it was going to carry her through.
She would have him now, and what would come thereafter be damned.
Cormia held her hand out to him, and when he put his palm in hers, she brought him down to her body.
Phury allowed himself to be drawn onto the bed until he lay beside Cormia’s stunning naked form. Her bones were tiny compared to his, her body delicate next to his brawn.
He couldn’t bear to hurt her. He couldn’t wait to get into her.
His hand shook as he brushed a piece of blond hair off her forehead. She was right, he thought: It was better this way for both of them. This was a choice. The Primale obligations were a duty.
This would be his first time, and hers as well.
“I’m going to take care of you,” he said. And not just when it came to tonight.
Although . . . damn, he had no clue how to make love to a female. Sex was one thing. Making love was altogether different, and suddenly he wanted to be all about finesse. He wanted to have had scores of lovers so he knew how to make sure Cormia got the most out of him.
He let his hand drift down to her neck. Her skin was soft as the still air, so finely grained he couldn’t see the pores.
She arched her back, the pink tips of her breasts surging.
He licked his lips and leaned down to her collarbone. Closing his eyes, he hovered just above her body. He knew the instant he made contact there was no going back.
Her hands went deep into his hair. “Will you not begin, your grace.”
He flipped his eyes up to hers. “Call me Phury?”
She smiled, a shy blossoming of happiness. “Phury . . .”
After she said his name, he put his lips to her skin and breathed in her scent. His entire body trembled, he wanted her so badly, and instinctively he pushed his hips until his cock was trapped between his thigh and hers. When she gasped and arched again, he latched onto her nipple.
Cormia’s nails went into his scalp, and he growled as he suckled and tugged at her. His hand closed on her other breast, and he twisted his hips so that his arousal got held in an even tighter grip.
Oh, shit, he was going to . . .
Yup. He came. Again.
Groaning wildly, he tried to stop. Except she didn’t want him to—instead of pulling back, she shifted herself closer and moved with the surges of his orgasm.
“I love when you do that,” she said in a guttural voice.
He found her mouth desperately. That she didn’t seem to care that he was a loser who had never done this before and had just prematurely ejaculated all over her thighs meant the world to him. He didn’t have to pretend to be strong. In this private moment he could just be . . . him.
“It might happen again,” he moaned against her lips.
“Good. I want you to do that all over me.”
He growled loudly then, his marking instinct pricking to attention. Yes, he thought. He was going to do that all over her. In her as well.
He swept his hand down her body to her legs, then shifted so he could move up her long, lean muscles to her core. His palm dragged through what he’d left on her, and he took his essence with him as he found her sex.
Which was running with honey, wetter than if she’d just bathed.
Cormia cried out and threw open her legs.
He went for the heart of her with his mouth before he had a clue where he was going. It didn’t matter that he had no technique to lead with. He needed to taste her, and that was going to happen only if his lips met hers—
“Oh . . . sweet female,” he said into her well. He was aware his fingers were biting into her thighs and that he was holding her splayed open, but he couldn’t help himself.
She didn’t seem to mind in the slightest. Her hands tangled in his hair and pressed him against herself as he dragged his tongue deep and deeper still. He rubbed his face in a circle, then started sucking and swallowing. He was ragged with thirst, feeding from her sex and off the sexual current between them, carried away—
She’d just started to come when the phone rang—and it was a no-brainer to stay right where he was. He could tell that she was rolling off the cliff of release by the way she stiffened and lifted her head so she could meet his eyes. She was nervous, excited, worried.
“Trust me,” he said to her. Then he made a point out of his tongue, tilted her hips up, and penetrated her.
She called out his name as she had her orgasm.
And that was when someone pounded on his door.
The following was taken out of Lover Enshrined because everyone thought it needed to be scrapped! My editor, my research assistant, and my CP (critique partner) all were like, “You don’t need it” . . . and I caved because I understood their point. Phury’s book ended powerfully, and tacking on something that happens years later diffused the closure. So here’s the epilogue that wasn’t:
Five years later . . .
"I’ve got her!” Phury called out to Bella as he scooped his niece up into “his arms. Nalla giggled and buried her little face in his hair, which she loved to do, holding on to him with her strong grip.
Bella came racing around the corner of the Brotherhood’s library and then stopped short, her silver gown settling in a lovely swirl around her legs. The diamonds around her neck sparkled like fire, as did the ones on her wrists and at her ears.
“Oh, thank God,” she said. “I swear she’s as fast as her father.”
“You look so spectacular,” Cormia said from behind him.
“Thanks.” Bella fiddled with the gown. “This is not my usual style, but—”
“It barely does you justice.” Zsadist came into the library, looking like a vicious version of Cary Grant. His tuxedo fit every tight line of his body and mostly hid the SIG under his arm.
He did the stern thing as he shook his finger at his daughter. “Now, are you going to be good for your uncle and your aumahne?”
Nalla nodded gravely, as if she had just agreed to assume leadership of the continental United States. “Yes, Daddy.”
Z’s smile pretty much lit up the galaxy. “That’s my girl.”
Nalla grinned and held out her arms. “Kisses, Daddy.”
Z took her for a hug, and then she was reaching for her mother.
“Okay,” Zsadist said, all business as he passed his daughter over to his shellan. “We’ll be at the Met until eleven. Then we’re having dinner back at Wrath’s place. I have my beeper, my cell phone, my BlackBerry—”
Phury clapped his twin on the shoulder. “Take a deep one, my brother. In with the good air.”
Zsadist did the best he could. “Right. I mean, I know you’ll be fine with her. I mean, you’ll be fine . . . you’re all going to be just fine—”
&nb
sp; Phury checked his watch. “And you’re going to be late. You’ll be lucky to get there by the time the intermezzo starts.”
“I’m so excited,” Bella said, giving Nalla back to Phury. “Mascagni’s Cavalleria Rusticana. It’s going to be fantastic.”
“Assuming you can get your baby daddy out the house.” Phury gave his twin a little shake. “Go. Be with your shellan. It’s your anniversary, for God’s sake.”
They left the library about twenty minutes later. Maybe twenty-five.
Phury shook his head. “He’s got some serious separation issues, that one.”
“Oh, and you’re much better?”
Phury turned around. Cormia was on the couch, their sleeping son, Ahgony—or Aggie, as he was known—in her arms. The young’s fat fist was holding on to his mother’s thumb, as was his habit even when he was out like a light.
“I resemble that remark.”
“Story, Uncle?” Nalla said. “Please?”
“Of course, which would you like?” Even though he knew.
As he sat down on the couch next to Cormia, Nalla pointed to the book of fables he had made for her. “The one of the warrior.”
“Now, that’s a surprise.” He winked at Cormia. “Do you mean the one with the warrior and the maiden?”
“No, Uncle. T’other one.”
“The warrior and the ship.”
Nalla giggled. “No, Uncle!”
Phury nodded with grand seriousness. “Right. The warrior and the game of pinochle.”
Nalla looked confused. “What knuckle?”
Cormia laughed, her beautiful green stare so lovely Phury couldn’t look away. For a moment, he was struck once again by the fact that their son had his mother’s eyes, that incredible shade of spring leaves.
As Nalla squirmed, Cormia said, “Phury, don’t torture her.”
Phury settled his niece on his lap, kissed his shellan, and brushed the smooth cheek of his son. Then he opened the book and started to read in the Old Language.
“ ‘There once was a warrior strong of limb and stout of heart, who tarried in the woods upon a windy day. . . .”
Aggie’s eyes opened and he let out the sound that young did when all was well with them, a kind of contented bubbly sigh. Phury recognized it well, because he’d heard it a lot from Nalla and now from Aggie. The sound was something they did when their bellies were full and their parents were right with them and a voice they found pleasing to the ear was embarking on a story.
As Phury lost the rhythm of his words, Cormia reached out and squeezed his hand.
She always knew, he thought. She always knew. . . . She knew he was thinking of his parents and of his brother, of the past and the future, of hopes and dreams and fears.
She knew everything that was in his head and everything that was in his heart, and none of it put her off. She knew he worried about staying sober, even after all these years. And knew he was glad their son looked like her, because he took it as a sign that whatever biological link to addiction he carried might not have been passed on to the young. And she knew that he still struggled with feeling like he wasn’t doing enough for everyone around him.
She knew all of this and she loved him anyway.
He kissed the inside of her wrist and looked at the next generation. He hoped that life had only good things in store for the young, that the moonlit night would always be clear for them, and that the wind would always be gentle, and that their heart’s deepest love would be returned by a worthy mate.
But he knew it wasn’t going to be easy, and they would face challenges he couldn’t even imagine.
Here was the thing, though: He had faith in what he saw in those eyes of theirs. Because they came, on both sides, from survivors. And that, more than any guarantee of an easy life, was going to see them through.
Phury cleared his throat.
And kept on reading to them.
So those are just a few examples of what I’ve taken out. You’ll note there isn’t anything from Dark Lover, because Wrath’s manuscript was tight from the get-go—with only that scene I’ve posted on my Web site (www.jrward.com) being deleted. There isn’t much from Lover Eternal, because again, I used almost all of the Butch and Marissa material in Lover Revealed. Lover Unbound was likewise tight.
There are a couple more scenes in old files. It was so much fun rereading these, maybe someday I’ll go back and see what else I can find!
Kicks and Giggles
Kicks and Giggles
One of the greatest things about writing the Brothers is the way they crack me up. On a regular basis, I’ll be at the computer upstairs, laughing my butt off at one thing or another. Butch reliably throws out some good ones, Rhage and Vishous are always quick with the comebacks, and Qhuinn is doing the next generation proud when it comes to being an ass.
I’ve taken some of my absolute favorite exchanges from the books, the ones that made me bark out loud and caused the dog to look at me funny, and excerpted them below.
Dark Lover
Wrath glared. “Nice of you to show up, Z. Busy tonight with the females?”
“How about you get off my dick?” Zsadist went over to the corner, staying away from the rest.
p. 30
Wrath was dumbfounded.
And he wasn’t a vampire who got struck stupid very often.
Holy shit.
This half-human was the hottest thing he’d ever gotten anywhere near. And he’d cozied up to a lightning strike once or twice before.
p. 64
If sex were food, Rhage would have been morbidly obese.
p. 81
Wrath clapped his brother on the shoulder. On the whole, though, the SOB was a total keeper. “Forgiven, forgotten.”
“Feel free to hammer me anytime.”
“Believe me, I do.”
p. 84
God knew the Omega was always receptive to initiative and new directions.
And would have benefited from some Ritalin when it came to loyalty.
p. 86
The human reached inside Wrath’s jacket and started pulling out weapons. Three throwing stars, a switchblade, a handgun, a length of chain.
“Jesus Christ,” the cop muttered as he dropped the steel links on the ground with the rest of the load. “You got some ID? Or wasn’t there enough room in here for a wallet, considering you’re carrying about thirty pounds of concealed weapons?”
p. 111
Giving in to a shrill instinct, she ran around the side of the building.
Butch was marching toward his car as if he were carrying an unstable load, and she rushed to catch up with them.
“Wait. I need to ask him a question.”
“You want to know his shoe size or something?” Butch snapped.