"Do you not desire to?" she whispered, pulling back. Looking worried. "Butch?"
"Oh, no, baby. Not that. Never that."
He shifted his hands from her shoulders up to her neck, holding her head steady. Then he tilted his to one side and put his lips right on her mouth.
She gasped, drawing his breath into her lungs, taking something of him inside of her. He rumbled in satisfaction, but kept control, stroking her mouth gently, caressing her softly. When she swayed toward him, he traced the outside of her lips with his tongue.
She was going to taste so sweet, he thought, preparing to go deeper while still keeping a chain on himself.
But Marissa jumped the gun. She captured his tongue with her mouth and sucked on it.
Butch groaned, his hips jerking up from the chair.
She broke off the kiss. "You didn't like that? I liked it when you did that to my finger last night."
He yanked at his collar. Where the hell was all the air in this part of North America?
"Butch?"
"I liked it," he said in a guttural croak. "Trust me. I really liked it."
"Then I would do it again."
She lunged forward and took his mouth in a blazing kiss, pressing him back into the wicker, hitting him like a ton of bricks. He was in such shock, all he could do was grip the chair's arms. Her onslaught was powerful. Erotic. Hotter than Hades. She practically crawled onto his chest as she explored his mouth, and he braced his body, throwing his weight into his palms.
Suddenly, there was a loud snapping sound.
And then he rolled onto the floor with her.
"What the f-" Butch lifted his left hand. And up came the wicker arm he'd taken hold of.
He'd ripped the side off the chair.
"You okay?" he said breathlessly, tossing the thing away.
"Oh, yes." She smiled up at him. Her dress was caught in his legs. And her body was tight against him. Almost where he needed it to be.
As he looked at her, he was ready for it all, ready to get under that dress, part her thighs with his hips, and bury himself in her heat until they were both totally lost.
Except in his current state, he was liable to take her hard, not make love to her properly. And he was crazed enough to do it here, on the porch, in the open.
So it was way time for a break.
"Let's get you off the floor," he said roughly.
Marissa moved faster than he did, practically springing to her feet. When she held her hand out to help him up, he took it to humor her. Only to find himself plucked from the floor as if he weighed no more than a newspaper.
He smiled as he brushed off his jacket. "You're stronger than you look."
She seemed embarrassed and took care to check her dress. "Not really."
"That's not a bad thing, Marissa."
Her eyes came back to his and then slowly drifted down his body.
With a shot of embarrassment, he realized his raging erection made a tent out of his pants. He turned away so he could rearrange himself.
"What are you doing?"
"Nothing." He faced her, wondering if his pulse was ever going to slow down.
Man, he wasn't going to need a stress test anytime soon. If his heart could get through a kiss from her, he could probably run a marathon.
While dragging a car behind him.
Sideways to the road.
"I liked that," she said.
He had to laugh. "So did I. But it's hard to believe you're a vir-"
Butch slammed his mouth closed. Rubbed his thumb over his eyebrows.
No wonder he didn't date. He had the social skills of a chimp.
"Just so you know," he muttered, "I put my foot in it sometimes. But I'll work on this for you."
"Foot in it?"
"Blurt shit out. Stuff. I mean… Hell." He looked to the door. "Listen, how about we head down and see what's doing with the party?"
Because if he stayed up here one minute longer, he was going to be all over her.
"Butch?"
He glanced back at her. "Yeah, baby?"
Her eyes flashed, and she licked her lips. "I want more of you."
Butch stopped breathing. And wondered if she was thinking about his blood.
Looking into her beautiful face, he relived what it felt like to get pushed back into that chair. And he imagined that instead of kissing him, she was sinking those pearly white fangs of hers deep into his neck.
He could think of no better way to go than in her arms.
"Whatever you want of me," he murmured, "you can have."
Chapter Forty-four
Wrath watched as Billy Riddle walked out of the mansion and struck a pose against the columns in front. The guy put down a duffel bag and looked up at the sky.
"Perfect," Wrath said to Vishous. "Enough time to kill him and get back."
But before he and V stepped out of the shadows, a black Hummer came up the circular drive. As it passed them, the sweet smell of baby powder floated out one of its windows.