by J. R. Ward
“No.” She wiped her face and looked down at her fingertips. “I just wasn’t enough, I guess. For him, the one I love… at the end of the day, he just didn’t want me. It’s a hard truth to accept. And you’re right, I’m looking for physical explanations because I’d rather there be something more external for why he didn’t love me back. Something less about the inside of me. You can change your clothes and your hair, put on a different lipstick, do your nails a different way. But when it’s who you are, you can’t really work with that, you know?”
“But maybe it was on him. Maybe he wasn’t ready. Maybe there was something wrong with the bastard.”
“The one he ended up with is nothing like me.”
“So his picker is wrong.” Butch went over and sat down in an armchair that faced away from the tub. In that huge mirror, on the left, he could still see her in the bath, though. “I know this is hard. But you’re blaming yourself for something that may not have a damn thing to do with you. I know it sounds like wicked bullshit, but it’s his loss and I hope he regrets it for the rest of his natural life.”
“I just don’t know what to do with myself. I walk aimlessly around town at night. I go to clubs and find nothing of interest. I… take my mood out on others. I’m not alive. I’m just not here.”
Butch sat forward and rubbed his face. “I’ve been where you are, Mel. I know what that’s like.”
“You do?”
“Yeah. And it’s rough.” Driven by commiseration, he got to his feet and turned around. “I’m so sorry, Mel. I don’t want this for you. I don’t want any of this for you.”
More tears fell from her eyes, disappearing into the clear water that covered her body. When she looked over at him, she was so sad, so small, in spite of her beauty.
Sniffling, she said hoarsely, “You really understand it, don’t you.”
“Yes.” Butch would have gotten closer if she’d had clothes on, but he kept his distance. “Mel, I need you to believe things will get better, okay? I mean, if love can happen for me? It can happen for you. You’re a good person. You’re a beautiful woman. Any man would be proud to have you for a partner. You just need to wake up to the truth that you are enough, no matter what some asshole thinks to the contrary.”
“I’m not perfect, Butch.”
“None of us are.”
“I’ve done some bad things.”
“We are all sinners—and yet our creator still loves us. And if the prerequisite for true romantic love was an unassailable history and character? The shit wouldn’t happen for anybody. You’re worthy of love. You deserve to be respected and cherished, and to get that, you don’t need to be anything different than you are. You have been created for a reason. You’re here for a reason. You have a purpose, and you have to believe that you’ll find someone who will help you in that purpose. And until that happens? All you really need to know is that you don’t have to be validated by anybody but yourself. You are enough.”
Her hands came up to rest on her cheeks, water running down the backs of them. “What is my purpose, though. I used to think I knew what it was. Now, I’m just so empty. There’s nothing there.”
“What makes you happy?” He glanced around. “Well, except for buying clothes. I think we can both agree that you’re an expert in that, just like me. But that’s a surface thing. What really feeds your soul?”
Mel got a far-off expression on her face.
As Butch’s phone rang, he ducked his hand inside his leather jacket.
“Do you need to take that?” Mel said remotely.
He silenced the ringer without taking the thing out. “No. You’re what matters right now. They can wait.”
Mel took a deep breath. Then she covered her breasts with her arms and sat up. Her eyes were grave as they met his own. “You mean what you say, don’t you.”
“Every word. Or I wouldn’t waste my breath on the syllables.”
“How will I know,” she whispered in a small voice.
“You mean who the right man is?” When she nodded, he smiled. “It’ll be because when you look at him and can’t look away? He’ll be doing the exact same thing at the exact same time. It’s in the eyes, Mel. They’re the windows of the soul, right?”
She stared across at him for the longest time. And then she nodded once.
“You can go,” she said softly. “I’m going to be okay.”
“You will be, I promise.” Butch took out his phone. “Do you want me to call someone for you?”
“No.” She shook her head. “You’ve been more than enough.”
“Can I at least leave you the number of the SART folks? In case you want to report things?”
“I can find it on the Internet if I need it.”
Butch nodded. Then he walked over to the reinforced door. Taking one last look back at her, he said, “You take care, Mel.”
“You, too, Brian O’Neal. You’re a good man.”
“I try to be.”
On that note, he turned the center crank and the security bar retracted on both sides. Then he pulled open the heavy weight and stepped out. As he pivoted around to shut things, he looked through to the tub. Mel was staring at him.
She lifted her hand in goodbye.
“Just believe in yourself,” he told her. “And you can do anything and be anything you want.”
Butch shut things up behind himself. And as he walked away, he released a held breath.
But he didn’t get far. Stopping, he frowned and looked over his shoulder—even as he had no idea what had gotten his attention or what he was waiting for.
Still, it was a while before he could get his feet to resume the task of taking his body out of the building.
Weird.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
As Jo braced herself against the wall of the abandoned dorm, she was breathing so hard that she felt like swords were going in and out of her throat. Not that she cared. Not that she really even noticed. Her awareness was taken up by a short list: Her sweatpants around her ankles. Her bend at the waist. And the fact that her core was completely exposed.
Wait. There was one more thing.
The sounds were soft in nature, but louder than a jet airplane in her head: Buttons being freed from a set of leather pants.
You wouldn’t think you could hear such a thing.
When a massive hand planted itself next to her own on the wall, she jumped, and the difference in size between the backs of their palms, the length of their fingers, the thickness of their wrists, made her tremble. Not in fear, though.
And then Syn probed her sex with his free hand, his fingertips stoking, slipping over her flesh… rubbing. She gasped and arched her back, pushing into the touch. Moving against it. Begging for what was coming.
Syn’s voice was right next to her ear. “I’m gonna fuck you now.”
She nodded, her hair swinging free, her eyes opening, closing, her legs loose even as her pelvis was strong and ready.
His fingers left her. Then something soft and blunt replaced them.
The moan that bubbled up her throat was nothing that had ever come out of her mouth before. And then she barked Syn’s name—as the hard, hot length of him went in deep, filling her, stretching her. Just as she went limp and would have fallen, his other arm whipped around her stomach and kept her up—worked her against him, too. As he thrust forward, he pulled her back, then he pushed her away and slammed her back into him, all the while using the building itself to hold them up.
Syn worked her like she weighed nothing, and she gave herself up to the sex, the pounding, the way her teeth clapped together and her breasts slapped under her clothes. Unlike him, she lost hold on the wall. Arms flopping, hair tangling, breath sawing, she was at his mercy—except he was giving her what she wanted, what she needed, instead of taking anything from her.
The first orgasm lightning’d through her, the pleasure cracking loose and splintering throughout her body. And another release was fast on its he
els. Meanwhile, Syn didn’t lose his rhythm as the pulses made her core tighten on his erection. The power of him was almost overwhelming, and yet she only wanted more—and as if he read her mind, he continued until she lost all thought, sensation taking her over, replacing everything.
Except then, without warning, he stopped, pulled out, and spun her around. Looking at him with feverish eyes, she had no idea what he was doing as he got on his knees in front of her.
With a harsh hand, he grabbed one of her calves. “Lift your foot.”
“What?”
Instead of repeating the command, he pulled her leg up and the next thing she knew, her boot was off and one half of her sweats was free of her leg.
“Give me,” he growled.
Jo’s head was too scrambled to do the math, but he solved the confusion by positioning her where he wanted her. Putting her sock foot over his shoulder, he leaned forward, angled his head…
“Oh, God!” she cried out.
As her voice echoed around the cold, debris-laden corridor, she fell against the wall. Splaying out her arms, she flattened her palms and held on as his mouth brushed against her sex. Sucked on it. Licked at it. And then he was pushing her up higher, his hands on the backs of her thighs, splitting her around his face as he lifted her up off the floor and onto his shoulders completely.
He worked at her, moving her back and forth as his tongue went into all kinds of places, slick on slick, hot on hot.
Looking down, her eyes burned at what she saw, his Mohawked head between her thighs, her legs parted over his enormous back, her socked foot flopping around, her booted foot and her sweats doing the same on the other side.
As the pleasure became too much, Jo’s lids squeezed shut.
She had no idea where she was. But she knew exactly what was being done to her and who was doing it.
Syn had more than delivered what he’d promised her.
All she knew was him, and it wasn’t that nothing else mattered to her.
Nothing else even existed.
* * *
Syn could have kept going forever. But he knew that the abandoned dorm was not as secure as he would have liked, and his phone was going off again in his inside pocket. God only knew what was wrong now.
And yet…
Dragging his tongue up Jo’s sex, he paid special attention to the top of her core, lolling around, flicking quick. He really wished she were naked, and they were in her warm apartment, and there was a forever ahead of them instead of only an hour. A quarter hour. Ten minutes…
Five minutes.
One minute.
As she called out his name again, he reluctantly released her flesh. Then he carefully, gently, eased her off his shoulders and set her feet back on the cold floor.
He took a moment to enjoy the sight of her, her red hair a glorious mess around her shoulders, her clothes all disordered, her thighs twitching and quivering. He especially loved the way her face was flushed and her eyes were glowing.
“Here,” he said softly. “Allow me to tend unto you.”
“Hmm?”
The fact that she was so undone she couldn’t speak made him feel a surge of male satisfaction throughout his entire body.
“Allow me,” he repeated as he took the loose leg of her sweatpants and slid it back on over her foot.
It was hard to cover her up, and he led with her panties, drawing the cotton slip into place. Before he went any further, he leaned in and chastely kissed where he had spent his time. Then he took the waistband of the sweatpants and went up, up, over her creamy thighs, re-clothing her.
Sitting back on his heels, he put his palms on the outsides of her knees. “Thank you.”
As she stared down at him, he deliberately ran his tongue around his lips.
The groan she let out made him smile.
“Are you okay,” she asked in a deep voice.
“I’m perfect.”
It wasn’t exactly a lie. Yes, he was in pain. Yes, there were going to be aftereffects. Yes, he grunted as he stood up. And he winced. And he cursed as he turned away from her and pulled his leathers into place.
Yeah, sure, stuffing his cock into his pants was an exercise in torture.
But he didn’t regret one stroke. One suck. One lick.
When he pivoted around again, Jo was looking worried.
“No,” he said patiently. “We had a deal.”
“We did?”
“Yup. You weren’t going to worry about me.” He took her hand. “And now we’re going to get you home.”
Together, they walked down the hall, and down the stairs, and down the way to the car. When he asked her for her keys, she protested only a little, and then he settled her in the passenger seat and closed her door. Getting behind the wheel, he drove them back out to the gates of the school. As he hit the brakes, he looked over at her.
Jo’s head was off to the side, propped against the window, her eyes closed and her breathing even. The flush he had given her was still on her cheeks and there was the lilt of a smile on her lips, the kind of thing that suggested her dreams were what he wanted them to be.
Happy. Safe. Peaceful.
Syn didn’t put the directional signal on, for fear that the ticking would rouse her. And he went easy on the brakes and the accelerator as he eased their way home, keeping everything as smooth as possible. When he pulled up to her building, he hated to wake her.
He was still staring at her, the engine running, the heater blowing warmth on them both, when her lids fluttered open. Her eyes, sleepy and contented, a little confused, focused on him.
“Hi,” she said.
Syn reached over and brushed her cheek with his fingertip. “Hello, beautiful female.”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Everything.”
Syn had never been a gentlemale. But he shut off the engine and all but bolted around the front of her car to open her door. Extending his palm to her, he drew her out as if he were in a tuxedo and she in a ball gown, and he escorted her all the way to her door like the building she lived in was a castle.
He even opened the way into her apartment for her, pretending to use the key that was on the ring even though he freed the dead bolt with his mind.
But he stopped on the threshold. “I’m going to leave you here.”
“Okay.” She stepped inside and turned around. “Would it look desperate if I asked when I can see you again?”
Behind her, he eyed the couch they’d had sex on the night before, and decided they needed to test out those cushions again. Also her bed. The floor. Her shower.
Those kitchen counters.
“It’s not desperate at all,” he murmured as he refocused on her face. “Because I was just going to ask you the same thing.”
“Tomorrow night? After work?”
“Yes. I will come to you here—”
“Oh, shoot. The bus isn’t running this late. We need to take you downtown—”
“It’s okay. I left my car parked around back.”
“All right. Good.” She glanced down for a second, to where his shitkickers and her much smaller boots were nearly toe to toe. “Are you sure you’re okay, you know, after we—”
By way of answer, he pulled her against him and covered her mouth with his own. Kissing her deeply, he bent her back so that she gripped his shoulders. When they were both breathless, he released her lips.
“Does it feel like anything’s wrong with me?” he drawled.
Jo shook her head. “No… not at all.”
“Until tomorrow.” Syn had to force himself to separate their bodies and let go of her. “Shut your door and lock up. I won’t leave until I hear that dead bolt go back where it belongs.”
“You’re so protective.”
“Of you? You better believe it.”
Jo’s smile made him feel like a wealthy male, a curious state given that he had never cared about the material before. Then again, money and assets
were not the true way of judging whether someone was rich.
Before she disappeared into her apartment, Jo rose up on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his. And then she closed her door.
A split second later, he heard the shift and clunk of that bolt hitting home.
Turning away, Syn whistled under his breath as he set about his departure. In spite of his colossal set of blue balls, he skipped his way by the mailboxes and all but twinkle-toed his way out into the night.
Amazing what the right female will do for a guy.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Sister mine.
The entities had agreed to meet upon neutral ground, in their usual place at which to congress, the grand and gracious Caldwell Public Library. Second floor. Marble colonnade that led into the rare books section where one needed proof of identity and a master’s to gain entrance.
If one were human, that was. If one were not? If one were substance made of air, sound captured within silence, light that cast no shadow and darkness that did?
Well, then you went wherever the hell you wanted to.
Brother mine.
As the Scribe Virgin communicated her greeting, she regarded her sibling with reserve. There were conclusions she came unto, but she kept them free of her thoughts. The pair of them were, as many twins were, connected on a deep level, and there were things he mustn’t know.
The Omega floated around before her, hovering above the white and black marble floor, the shadow which was his essence spilling out from under robes that had previously always sparkled with cleanliness, but were now stained and torn.
She was surprised at the sadness she felt over his disintegration. How fare thee, Brother?
You know the answer to that. The Omega stopped, the draping that covered his features moving around to face her. Why must we always meet here?
When you were allowed to choose the site, you picked a morgue.
A chuckle came out from beneath the dirty white hooding. I did.
And then a murder scene.
To be fair, I was working that night.
And finally, a car accident.
That one was perfectly appropriate. The Omega shrugged. Indeed, Father always says we should do more things together.
