Blood Fury: Black Dagger Legacy

by J. R. Ward

  The one thing he was careful of? He made sure not to put too much of his weight on her healing chest. Other than that, it was sensation only, his hips rolling into her thigh, her torso arching under him, her hands clawing into his back—

  “Take off your shirt,” she moaned.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  He eased off of her slowly and sat back on his heels. The buttons were stubborn, his fingers were sloppy, his breathing was too hard—but she didn’t seem to care. Novo just stared up at him with ravenous eyes, her tongue tracing her upper lip, the tips of her descending fangs flashing white.

  “I’m hungry,” she growled.

  “Take it all.”

  “Be careful. I might kill you.”

  “So let me die in your arms.”

  Peyton tossed his white shirt down on the floor, the loose bow tie going with it, and then he lay back down. As they tilted their bodies together, though, he got on some of her wires, and an awkward realignment had to happen—which was something he tried not to focus on. Should they even be hooking up like this?

  Fuck yes, his cock announced. Shut the hell up with that.

  Stop it—

  “What?” she said.

  “Nothing. Let me keep kissing you before I come in my pants.”

  “That’s not a very threatening threat.” Her lids lowered over her burning eyes. “Because that’s what I want you to do.”

  As he hissed, she stroked over his pecs and went down onto his hard stomach. When she stopped at his waistband, he gritted his teeth. “Fuck—”

  “That’s the plan. Help me get these off.”

  At first, he wasn’t sure he’d heard that right. But then she was tugging at his belt with her free hand—and hello, he was more than willing to be a Good Samaritan for this cause. With a rough series of tugs, he got the strip of smooth black leather through the white-gold buckle and then he was fumbling with the button and the zipper.

  Her hand slipped inside as soon as she had access and the instant she touched him, he jacked forward with such force, he nearly snapped his spine.

  “Watch me,” she commanded.

  He groaned and looked down, seeing her palm circle his thick shaft—and then she stroked him, up and down, the sensations creating a mad rush of hot and heavy all over his body. Then she was kissing him, her mouth taking over, her braid slipping free of her shoulder and landing with a heavy thump on his arm.

  “Fuck, slow down, I’m going to come—”

  “What I say.”

  Just as the pleasure was cresting, she went for his throat, those razor-sharp fangs scraping down his skin, finding the right place at his jugular. She struck at the very onset of his orgasm and he barked out her name, the pain and the pleasure mixing, the alchemy ramping everything up until he thought he would blow apart.

  Cupping the back of her head, he urged her on as she started to pull from his vein, her head close to his own, her scent the only thing in his nose, his cock hard and kicking and hungry for more as she pumped him off.

  She owned him.

  Through and through.

  Whatever vulnerability he had sensed—and not understood, but certainly accepted—was gone now as she ruled everything about him.

  He’d never been one for getting Dom’d. That had never interested him much. After this? He wondered how much further she could go…how much he could take from her.

  And he wanted to find out.

  —

  As Novo sucked at Peyton’s throat and gave his arousal a workout, she wanted him in her sex. But the feeding had to come first—and okay, maybe she was chickening out a little, shying away temporarily until she could trust herself to stay separate.

  But it was good, all of it. That taste of him down the back of her throat, the feel of his erection, both velvet and hard, the sense of control, of mastery—not just over him, but her own emotions. And on his side? Peyton was defo all about the orgasms, his beautiful male body riding the waves she called from him, his hips moving with her, the rhythm getting faster and harder the more releases she gave him. He was spectacular in her grip, those heavy muscles flexing and easing, his cock the kind of thing that fantasies were justified by.

  And then there was the powerful rush of his blood. He was so pure that he made her head buzz and her heart pound, the strength he gave her so willingly making her feel like she was on a very long, rejuvenating vacation while at the same time being in Vegas and winning a million dollars at the slots.

  She could have done this forever.

  Yet the tipping point came when an alarm bell started to ring. At first, she shifted her eyes over to the monitors. Nope, it wasn’t a machine informing her she’d pushed her repaired cardiac muscle too far.

  No…it was an instinct in her own head that was telling her she was on the verge of taking too much.

  Prying herself off his neck took some inner arguing, but then she forced her lips to break the seal and made her tongue lick the puncture wounds closed—

  Okay, wow. She’d chewed him raw, multiple bite marks marring his flesh, the raw red slashes of her fangs making him look like Wolverine had hit him with a hand job. God, she hadn’t even been aware of striking more than once. Clearly, though, she’d bitten him many, many times.

  How long had they been at this?

  Not a clue.

  And she really had to stop. Extending her tongue, she licked up the side of his throat again and again, sealing everything up. With that job done, she pushed herself back and kept stroking him—before deliberately running her thumb over the slick head of his erection. His response was violent, his body jerking like a puppet at the end of strings, his torso arching and then his hips punching up. His eyes, glassy, unfocused, crazed, met her own as he bit into his lower lip and sucked a breath in through his teeth.

  Blond hair was all messy on the pillow. Color on that handsome face was high. A delicious sweat made his bare skin glow.

  He was…mind-numbingly beautiful.

  Unfair. Totally unfair.

  And she was still hungry.

  Fortunately for them both, he had another kind of sustenance to give her.

  Novo moved down him to his hips, opened her mouth, and took his sex in deep. In response, Peyton pulled another all-body spasm, his expression shocked as if he’d expected things to be over.

  When she was sure he was looking at her, she sucked him in and out of her lips, his girth so wide, she felt the stretch in the corners of her mouth. And then she paused at the top and went into a swirl.

  Sure enough, he started to orgasm again.

  She caught all of it her mouth and swallowed what he gave to her.

  Then she kept right on going.

  For Saxton, the end of the working night arrived with a whimper, not a bang, a series of uncomplicated mating blessings and a property-line dispute that was easily adjudicated by the King capping off eight hours of same. As he entered his office in the staff hall and put his folders and his mostly used-up yellow pad on the partner’s desk, he stared at his laptop, his orderly-everything, his pens in their little holder.

  Rubbing his eyes, he tried to mentally compile a list of what he had to get in order before he could go home.

  And pretty much failed at the task.

  His head had functioned fairly well when he’d been engaging with the King and the citizens. Now that there was no overriding imperative to focus on, he couldn’t seem to gather the cognitive reins, his thoughts bouncing from one thing to another.

  Actually, that wasn’t entirely true.

  Ruhn was the prevailing topic. And the particulars were whether Saxton was remembering their kiss…or the flecks of chocolate in those pale brown eyes…or the feel of those strong shoulders. Or the fact that he just wanted to do it again.

  Unfortunately, what he really needed was to train his brain on the fact that the male had left without saying a thing. Which was hardly a volunteer for a repeat.

  On that note, he slipped his hand int
o the inside breast pocket of his suit jacket and took out his phone. Nope. No texts, no calls.

  Okay, that would be no calls, given that Ruhn wouldn’t be able to text.

  And honestly, the fact that Saxton was as let down as he was seemed ridiculous. He didn’t know that male but as a mere acquaintance, and he had certainly had full-on sex with people he had gone on to either not see again or not hook up with again and all that was fine. He was also self-aware enough to realize that with Ruhn’s retreat, he had been reminded of another departure, one far more serious and consequential.

  Naturally, all roads led back to Blay.

  “Forgive me for intruding, sire?”

  At the soft inquiry, he turned to the open doorway. One of the doggen who serviced the house was standing with her wool coat on and her hat and scarf in her hands.

  “Oh, no worries, Meliz.” He made sure he smiled at her so she didn’t mistake his mood for a dissatisfied commentary on her efforts. “Are you off, then?”

  She bowed low. “Yes, sire. I will restock the pantry after I aid the others at Last Meal back at the big house. Everyone else has departed for the day and I have made sure the fires are out, the flues are shut, and the doors are locked.”

  “Well done, then. Thank you. I shall see you on the morrow.”

  The doggen bowed even lower. “It is my pleasure to be of service.”

  She took her leave, and a moment later, he heard the alarm system chime that there was a door that opened and shut.

  Right. He had to get things organized here. And then…

  Well, home, he supposed. It was around four a.m., and even though there were still two hours of darkness left, he did not fancy a trip out into the city’s nightlife. And no, he wasn’t interested in filling the day with another sex-as-gym-equipment workout, either.

  Somehow, though, the idea that he was going to be stuck in that glass box in the sky, all the drapes drawn against even the winter’s anemic sun, made him want to scream—

  Someone was outside.

  Standing in the snow. Watching him.

  Saxton turned to the glass panes and instantly recognized the huge body, the tense stance, the dark hair that was teased by the cold wind.

  Not knowing what else to do, he pointed to the right, in the direction of the kitchen and its back door.

  In response, Ruhn nodded and started for the rear of the house through the snow.

  With quick feet and a faster heart, Saxton made his way down the staff hall, past the pantries, and into the vast kitchen. He opened the back door immediately, that signal going off once again, and he listened as the heavy footfalls squeaked and crunched through the snowpack.

  And there he was, bigger than ever, more reserved than usual.

  Ah, yes. The re-framing conversation. “Do come in,” Saxton said remotely.

  As the male entered, Saxton closed things back up and wished that Ruhn was literate—because then this could have been done over text: That was a mistake. It’s not you, it’s me. I don’t know what I was thinking. Please do not tell anyone.

  “Worry not, no one else is here,” Saxton muttered as he noticed that the sugar tin was ever so slightly out of place by the stove. “So whatever you’d like to say can be done without risk of eavesdropping.”

  He went across and righted the corners of the metal box. Then he fussed with the flour container, which was even bigger. Also scooted over the smallest of the three, the one that had salt in it.

  When he turned back around, he was sick and tired of waiting for the other male to speak.

  Trying to keep his frustration out of nuclear territory, he clapped his hands together and got with the program. “Look, I’ll just dub in the words, okay? I’ve had a long night, I’m tired, and as much as I respect your journey or your exploration or whatever it is called, I think we can save us both time and aggravation by stipulating that you tried it, you were not into it, and you need some reassurance that I meant what I said about keeping things private.”

  “That is not why I came.”

  Work, then. Of course. “What of Minnie now?”

  In lieu of a reply, Ruhn walked forward…and it was about when he was halfway across the distance that separated them that Saxton realized…

  The male was aroused.

  Very aroused.

  Ruhn had not come here for a never-again, but rather for some-more.

  Saxton’s body responded instantly, his blood rushing, his cock hardening, his annoyance, frustration, and exhaustion instantly evaporating.

  As the other male came to a halt with mere inches between their faces, Saxton had to smile a little. “I guess I read this wrong, huh.”

  “Yes,” came the growl. “You did.”

  Holy from-out-of-nowhere.

  Ruhn took hold of Saxton by either side of the throat and yanked him forward, the male’s kiss nothing tentative or shy, nothing experimental. It was full on, tongue pushing inside, that big body thrusting hips and an erection the size of a baseball bat into Saxton and forcing him back against the countertop.

  Oh…my God. It was a case of hang on for dear life as he was devoured, the power and hunger in Ruhn the kind of thing that was as shocking as it was unexpected and undeniable—

  And then Saxton was spun around and bent over, a rough hand forcing him down by the shoulder blades onto the counter.

  As Ruhn ground his cock into Saxton’s ass, the male said in a guttural voice, “Say no now. If you’re going to, say it now.”

  Saxton turned his head to the side, his cheek squeaking over the granite. Opening his mouth, he began to pant.

  “Don’t stop. Oh, God…do it.”

  All at once, the lights in the kitchen went out, the space plunged into darkness as Ruhn clearly willed it so. The hands that went for Saxton’s fly were rough with impatience—and then his fine loose slacks were hitting the floor. A blunt head probed and then Ruhn spit into his own palm—

  The possession was hard and very deep.

  The ride was a pounding to the point of violence.

  The orgasm that poured into him was soul shattering for them both.

  And Ruhn did not stop. He shoved a hand under Saxton’s chest and locked a hold on the front of his opposite shoulder. Then the male steadied his stance and pistoned, their lower bodies slapping together, Saxton’s head banging into those metal canisters, something getting torn—his suit jacket. Throwing out a hand, he put his palm against the wall under the cabinets just so he didn’t end up with a concussion—and then he searched for purchase with his other hand.

  He didn’t find it, his arm flapping around.

  Thank God he had something underneath his torso or his legs, which were now loose as satin ribbons, would have gone out from him.

  Except then he located something to hold on to. Reaching between his thighs, he gripped his erection and instantly came, his sure strokes throwing him over the brink. He didn’t care where he was ejaculating or how much cleanup was going to be required.

  When you were having the sex of your life, the aftermath was not what you concerned yourself with.

  —

  Ruhn finally collapsed on Saxton’s back—after God only knew how many orgasms. And yet even though he stilled, there was no silence. He was panting so hard that his front teeth were whistling, and beneath him, Saxton was nothing but harsh inhales as well. The scent of sex was thick in the air, and his cock, which was still hard as a rock as it twitched inside of the male, seemed to be suggesting this was a pause, not an all-finished.

  With a groan, he opened his eyes. Across the way, the oak table with its orderly lineup of chairs pressed into its flanks was a surprise.

  Where were they—oh, right. The kitchen. In the Audience House.

  He had come in the back. So he could come…in the back.

  Okay, that was the worst joke he’d ever thought up. And by the way…dearest Virgin Scribe. What had he done here?

  Putting his palms on the granite countertop on
either side of Saxton’s shoulders, he intended to push himself up and off, but that went nowhere fast. He was too exhausted, and it felt too good to leave.

  The male felt too good to leave.

  As he tried to find the energy—and the will—to disengage, he thought of the other times he’d had sex. They had been exclusively with females, and only during his previous life. The encounters had been because he had been sought out by those wanting to be with an animal, and he had been provided to them for that specific service. His body had performed because of the timing of it all and because they had been naked and on him and his cock had risen to the occasion.

  But he had never chosen them.

  Saxton…he had chosen.

  “I’m sorry,” he said roughly as he summoned movement unto his arms. “I…am very sorry.”

  With a lithe twist, Saxton looked up at him. “Why in the world would you apologize for that?”

  Ruhn felt a blush burn his face, and then he was ducking that direct stare and retracting. The air was cold on his arousal, and as he looked down, he was struck by an overwhelming need to do this all again. He had left a slick mess behind, but it was…the most erotic thing he’d ever seen.

  Yet what did they do now? he wondered as he did up his jeans. That initial drive sated, he now couldn’t believe he’d had the nerve to be so aggressive, so wanton, so—

  Saxton straightened and pivoted around.

  Fates, that face, those eyes, that hair…that erection, which seemed both a foreign and a familiar anatomy. Ruhn had never seen an aroused male up close before—and he was struck by an insatiable need to explore with touch and taste.

  Indeed, this male was the answer to the “why.”

  “I ripped your suit,” Ruhn said as he focused on the torn shoulder socket. “I am so sorry. I will pay to—”

  Saxton reached over, grabbed the lower part of the sleeve—and yanked it clean off. As he dropped the cloth to the floor, he smiled. “Would you like to work on the other side?”