Lover Awakened (Black Dagger Brotherhood #3)(113)

Desperate, angry sex was a bad idea. A very bad idea.

They were tangled on the mattress in a split second. He had her jeans off and was about to bite through her panties when a knock sounded on the door.

Fritz’s voice came through the panels, pleasant and respectful. “Madam, if your bags are ready—”

“Not now, Fritz,” Zsadist said in a guttural voice. He bared his fangs, shredded the silk between her thighs, and licked up the center of her. “Fuck…”

His tongue went down again and he lapped at her, moaning. She bit her lip to keep from crying out and held on to his head, gyrating her hips.

“Oh, master, I beg your pardon. I thought you were at the training center—”

“Later, Fritz.”

“But of course. How long would you—”

The rest of the doggen’s words were cut off as Zsadist’s erotic growl told Fritz everything he needed to know. And probably a little more.

“Oh…my goodness. Forgive me, master. I will not return for her things until I, ah…see you.”

Zsadist’s tongue swirled around as his hands clamped on her thighs. He drove her hard, all the time whispering hot, starved things against her secret flesh. She pushed herself against his mouth, arching up. He was so raw, so voracious…she shattered apart. He teased the orgasm out for the longest time, keeping it going as if he were desperate not to have it fade.

The stillness afterward chilled her as much as his mouth’s release of her core. He rose up from between her legs, his hand wiping across his lips. As he looked down at her, he licked his palm, catching every last bit of what he’d removed from his face.

“You’re going to stop now, aren’t you,” she said roughly.

“I told you. I didn’t come here for sex. I only wanted this. I only wanted to have you against my mouth one last time.”

“You selfish bastard.” And how ironic was it to be calling him that for not f*cking her. God… This was just awful.

As she reached for her jeans, he made a low sound in the back of his throat. “You think I wouldn’t kill to be inside of you this very second?”

“Go to hell, Zsadist. Go there right—”

He moved fast as a lightning strike, taking her down hard to the bed, tackling her with his weight.

“I am in hell,” he hissed, pushing his hips into her. He swiveled them against her core, that massive erection pushing into the soft place he’d just had with his mouth. With a curse, he pulled back, unzipped his leathers…and thrust into her, stretching her so wide it almost hurt. She cried out at the invasion, but tilted her hips up so he could go in even farther.

Zsadist grabbed her knees and stretched her legs up, balling her under him; then he pounded against her, his warrior body sparing her nothing. She held on to his neck, drawing blood, lost in the grinding rhythm. This was how she’d always thought it would be with him. Hard, heavy, wild…raw. As she orgasmed again, he came with a roar, crashing into her. Hot jets filled her, then spilled out onto her thighs as he kept pumping.

When he finally collapsed onto her, he released her legs and breathed against her neck.

“Oh, God…I didn’t mean for that to happen,” he said finally.

“I am very sure about that.” She pushed him aside and sat up, more tired than she’d been in her whole life. “I have to meet my brother soon. I want you to leave.”

He cursed, an aching, hollow sound. Then he handed over her pants, though he didn’t let them go. He looked at her for a long while, and like a fool she waited for him to tell her what she wanted to hear: I’m sorry I hurt you, I love you, don’t go.

After a moment he dropped his hand and stood up, arranging himself, zipping up his pants. He went to the door, moving with that lethal grace he’d always walked with. As he looked over his shoulder, she realized they’d made love while he’d been fully armed. Fully dressed, too.

Oh, but that had only been sex, hadn’t it.

His voice was low. “I’m sorry—”

“Do not say that to me right now.”

“Then…thank you, Bella…for…everything. Yeah, really. I…thank you.”

And just like that he was gone.





John stayed behind in the gym as the rest of the class filed out to hit the locker room. It was seven at night, but he could have sworn it was three in the morning. What a day. Training had started at noon, because the Brotherhood wanted to go out early, and there had been hours of classwork on tactics and computer technology taught by two Brothers named Vishous and Rhage. Then Tohr had arrived right at sundown and the ass-kicking had started. The three-hour workout had been brutal. Running laps. Jujitsu. More hand-to-hand weapons training, including an introduction to nunchakus, or nunchucks.

Those two wooden sticks connected by a chain were a nightmare for John, exposing all his weaknesses, especially his god-awful hand-to-eye coordination. But he wasn’t about to give up. As the other guys left to go shower, he went back to the equipment room and picked up one of the sets. He figured he’d practice until the bus came and then shower at home.

He started spinning the nunchucks slowly at his side, the whirling sound oddly relaxing. Gradually increasing the velocity, he set them flying at a clip and then switched them to his left. Took them back. Again and again, until the sweat was once more coming out on his skin. Again and again and—