J.R. Ward the Black Dagger Brotherhood Novels 1-4 - J. R. Ward [612]
But hopefully she would give in and use him before his energy flagged.
“Marissa, please, take me,” he groaned, his voice hoarse from the struggle and now the begging.
“No…”
His heart broke as she sobbed, but he didn’t let her go. He couldn’t. “Take what’s inside of me. I know I’m not good enough, but take me anyway—”
“Don’t make me do this—”
“I have to.” God, he felt like crying with her.
“Butch…” Her body bucked and strained against his, their clothes flapping as they struggled. “I can’t hold back…for much longer…let me go…before I hurt you.”
“Never.”
It happened so fast. His name shot out of her on a yell and then he felt a searing blaze of pain at the side of his throat.
Her fangs sinking into his jugular.
“Oh…fuck…yes…!” He loosened his grip and cradled her as she latched on to his neck. He barked her name at the first erotic draw, the first hard suck on his vein, the first swallow for her. As she repositioned for a better angle, pleasure swamped him, sparks flowing all through his body as if he were orgasming. This was so the way it had to be. He needed her to take from him in order to live—
Marissa broke the contact and dematerialized, right out of his arms.
Butch fell headfirst into the empty air where she’d been, face-planting into the sofa cushions. In a messy scramble, he shoved himself to his feet and spun around. “Marissa! Marissa!”
He threw himself at the doors and clawed at the lock, but couldn’t get free.
Then he heard her broken, desperate voice on the other side. “I’ll kill you…God help me, but I’ll kill you…I want you too much.”
He pounded on the door. “Let me out!”
“I’m sorry—” Her voice cracked, then grew strong. And he feared her resolve more than anything else. “I’m so sorry. I’ll come to you afterward. After it is done.”
“Marissa, don’t do this—”
“I love you.”
He beat the wood with his fists. “I don’t care if I die! Don’t go to him!”
When the lock finally gave way, he burst into the hall and ran flat out for the staircase.
But by the time he threw open the mansion’s front door she was gone.
Across town, in the underground parking garage where the brokered fights took place, Van hopped into the chicken-wire cage and bounced on the balls of his feet. The drumbeat of him warming up echoed through the concrete levels, cutting off the silence.
Tonight there was no crowd, just three people. But he was juiced like it was standing room only.
Van was the one who’d suggested the locale to Mr. X, and he’d shown them how to break into the place. As he knew the schedule of fights, he’d been sure there wouldn’t be anyone around this evening and a big part of him wanted to have his glory, his resurrection here in this ring, not in some anonymous basement somewhere.
He tried out some kicks, so very satisfied with his strength, then eyed his opponent. The other lesser was just as lit for the hand-to-hand as he was.
From the other side of the cage, Xavier barked, “You don’t stop until it’s over. And Mr. D, on the ground unmoving is not ‘over,’ we clear?”
Van nodded, already used to being called by his last initial.
“Good.” Xavier’s palms clapped together and the fight was Van and the other lesser circled each other, but Van had no intention of letting the slow-dance crap go on for long. He moved in first, throwing punches, forcing his opponent back against the cage. The guy took the bare-knuckled pounders like they were nothing more than spring rain on his cheeks and then tossed out a mean-ass right hook. The damn thing caught Van at an angle, splitting his lip open like an envelope.
It hurt, but the pain was good, a strengthener, something that focused him further. Van spun around and sent his foot out flying, a body bomb on the end of a steel chain. Sure as shit it took the lesser down, sprawling the guy flat. Van jumped on his opponent