Lover Avenged(142)

Oh, yeah, he got good and ridden. As she became the master, he went to palm her breasts and found that she still had her nightgown on, so he whisked it over her head and tossed it to who-the-hell-cared. Finding her breasts again, the weights were so heavy and full in his palms that he had to arch up and take one of her nipples into his mouth. He suckled as she pumped them both off until it became too difficult to maintain the connection and he had to let his upper body fall back to the bed.

Beth cried out, and then he did, and then they were both coming together. Afterward, she collapsed off of him and they lay side by side, panting.

“That was amazing,” she breathed.

“Fucking amazing.”

He patted around in the dark until he found her hand, and they stayed there together for a while.

“I’m hungry,” she said.

“Me, too.”

“Here, let me go and get us something.”

“I don’t want you to leave.” He tugged on her hand, drawing her to him, kissing her. “You are the best female a male could ever have.”

“I love you, too.”

As if they were plugged into the same outlet, both of their stomachs rumbled.

“Okay, maybe it is time to food up.” Wrath let his shellan go as they laughed together. “Here, let me turn on the light so you can find your nightgown.”

Instantly, he knew something was wrong. Beth stopped chuckling and went dead still.

“Leelan? Are you okay? Did I hurt you?” Oh, God…he’d been so rough. “I’m sorry-”

She cut him off with a strangled voice. “My light was already on, Wrath. I was reading before you woke up.”





FORTY-ONE




John took his fucking time in Xhex’s shower, washing himself thoroughly not because he was dirty, but because he figured two could play at the whole wipe-the-slate-clean, what-happened-didn’t-happen thing.

After she’d left however many hours and hours ago, his first thought had been a bad one. He wasn’t going to lie: All he’d wanted to do was walk straight out into the sun and just be done with this loser-ass joke called life.

There were so many things he failed at. He couldn’t talk. He sucked at math. His fashion sense, if left to its own devices, was anemic. He wasn’t particularly good with emotions. He usually lost at gin rummy and always at poker. And there were a lot of other shortcomings.

But sucking at sex was the worst of them all.

As he’d lain in Xhex’s bed and considered the merits of self-immolation, he’d wondered why the fact that he was a mess when it came to fucking seemed more important than any other deficiency.

Maybe it was because the newest chapter in his sex life had taken him into even rockier, more hostile territory. Maybe it was because the most recent disaster was so fresh.

Maybe it was because it was the last straw.

The way he saw it, he’d had sex twice, and both times he’d been taken, once violently and against his will and then however many hours ago with his total, full-bodied consent. The aftermath of the two experiences had sucked, and in the time he’d spent on Xhex’s bed, he’d tried to stop replaying the hurts and mostly failed. Natch.

As night had fallen, however, he’d grown a set as it dawned on him that he was letting other people screw with his head. In neither case had he done anything wrong. So why the hell was he thinking about ending his own life when he wasn’t the problem?

The answer was not to turn himself into the vampire equivalent of a s’more.

Shit, no. The answer was to never, ever be a victim again.

From now on, when it came to fucking, he was the one who was going to do the taking.

John got out of the shower, dried off his powerful body, and stood in front of the mirror, measuring his muscle and his strength. As he cupped his balls up around his cock, his heavy sex felt good in his hand.

Nope. No more being a victim of other people. Time to grow the fuck up.

John left the towel where it landed on the counter, dressed quickly, and felt taller somehow as he strapped his guns on and went for his phone.

He refused to be some weak-ass, crybaby motherfucker anymore.

His text to Qhuinn and Blay was short and sweet: Mt me @ ZS. Am gttn drunk n expect u both 2 do same.

After he hit send, he went through the call log. A lot of people had reached out and touched his phone during the day, mostly Blay and Qhuinn, who evidently had dialed up every couple of hours. There was also some unknown private caller who’d hammered in three times.

The end result was, he had two voice mails, and with no particular curiosity, he accessed his account and listened, expecting the unknown to be a human with a wrong number.

It wasn’t.

Tohrment’s voice was strained and low: “Hey, John, it’s me, Tohr. Listen…I, ah, I don’t know if you’ll get this, but can you call me if you do? I’m worried about you. Worried about you, and I want to say that I’m sorry. I know I’ve been really fucking out-of-it for a while now, but I’m coming back. I went…I went to the Tomb. That’s where I was. I had to go back and see…Shit, I don’t know… I had to see where everything had started before I could shake myself back to reality. And then I, ah, I fed last night. For the first time since…” The voice cracked and there was a brisk breath. “Since Wellsie died. I didn’t think I could get through it, but I did. It’s going to take me a while to get-”