Lover Eternal: A Novel of the Black Dagger Brotherhood (51 page)

Funny, she hadn't gotten that vibe at all. Then again, she'd been focused on Zsadist.

 

"I don't think Phury's—"

"He keeps watching you. While you're looking at me, he's staring at you. And it's not because he's worried about you. His eyes are on your body, female." Zsadist tilted his head to the side. "You know, maybe I was wrong. Maybe you are the one who'll shake him out of his celibacy. Shit, you're beautiful enough, and he ain't dead."

She flushed. "Zsadist, you should know that I, ah, I find you—"

 

"Revolting, right? Kind of like a good car accident." He bit off some more apple. "I can understand the fascination, but you need to be taking those eyes elsewhere. Look at Phury from now on, we clear?"

 

"I want to look at you. I like to look at you."

 

His eyes narrowed. "No, you don't."

 

"Yes. I do."

 

"No one likes to look at me. Not even I do."

 

"You're not ugly, Zsadist."

 

He laughed, deliberately running a fingertip down his scar. "Now, there's a ringing endorsement. As well as a blatant fucking lie."

 

"I find you mesmerizing. I can't get you out of my mind. I want to be with you."

 

Zsadist frowned, falling still. "Be with me exactly how?"

 

"You know. Be with you." She blushed a brilliant red, but figured she had nothing to lose. "I want to… lay with you."

Zsadist backed up so fast he hit the bar. And as the liquor bottles rattled, she knew for certain the stories about him were false. This was no female-killer. If anything, he seemed petrified by the thought that she was sexually attracted to him.
She opened her mouth, but he cut her off.

"You stay away from me, female," he said, pitching the half-eaten apple into the trash. "If you don't, there's no telling what I might do to defend myself."

 

"From what? I'm no threat to you."

 

"No, but I can goddamn guarantee I'm hazardous to your health. There's a very good reason why people stay away from me."

 

He walked out of the room.

 

Bella looked at the all the people around the pool table. Everyone was focused on the game. Which was perfect. She didn't want any of them to talk her out of what she was about to do.

She put her glass of wine down and slipped from the billiard room. As she came into the lobby, Zsadist was going upstairs. After giving him some time to get ahead of her, she took the steps quickly, moving silently up to the second floor. When she got to the top, she caught sight of the heel of his shitkicker disappearing around a corner. She jogged swiftly over the carpet, keeping a distance as he headed down a corridor that led away from the balcony and the foyer below.

Zsadist paused. She ducked behind a marble sculpture.

When she leaned out, he was gone. She walked to where she'd seen him and found a door slightly ajar. She stuck her head in. The room was pitch-dark, the light from the hall making little headway into the blackness. And it was freezing cold, as if the heat wasn't just off for the night, but hadn't been turned on since summer's warmth had faded.

Her eyes adjusted. There was a broad, sumptuous bed, dripping with heavy crimson velvet. The other furniture was equally lavish, although there was something odd in the corner on the floor. A pallet of blankets. And a skull.

Bella was yanked inside by the arm.

 

The door slammed shut and the room plunged into total darkness. Quick as a gasp, she was spun around and pushed face-first into the wall. Candles flared.

 

"What
the fuck
are you doing here?"

 

She tried to catch her breath, but with Zsadist's forearm pressed into the middle of her back, she couldn't squeeze much air into her lungs.

 

"I, ah, I… thought we could talk."

 

"Really. Is that what you want to do up here? Talk."

 

"Yes, I thought—"

His hand clamped on the back of her neck. "I don't talk with females who are dumb enough to come after me. But I'll show you what I am willing to do to them."
His put a thick arm around her stomach, popped her hips out from the wall, and pushed her head down. Off balance, she braced herself by holding on to a piece of molding.

His arousal came against her core. Breath exploded out of her lungs.

 

As heat licked between her legs, his chest brushed her back. He pulled her blouse out from her skirt and slipped his hand onto her belly, spanning it with his long fingers and wide palm.

 

"A female like you should be with another aristocrat. Or are the scars and the reputation part of my appeal?" When she didn't answer, because she was breathless, he muttered, "Yeah, of course that's it."

 

In one swift movement he shoved her bra up and captured her breast. Caught in an onslaught of raw lust, she hissed and jerked. He laughed a little.

'Too fast?" He took her nipple between his fingers and rolled it, pleasure and pain combining. She cried out. "This too rough for you? I'll try to control myself better, but, you know, I'm a savage. Which is why you want this, right?"

But it wasn't too fast or too rough. God help her, she liked it. She wanted it hard and now, and she wanted it with him. She wanted to break the rules, wanted the danger and thrill, wanted the wild heat and the power of him. And she was so ready, especially as he pushed her skirt over her hips. All he had to do was move her thong over and he could sink in deep.

Except she wanted to see him when he penetrated her. and she wanted to touch his body, too. She started to stand up, but he kept her down, leaning on her neck, holding her in place.

 

"Sorry, I'm a one-trick pony. I only do it this way."

 

She struggled, dying to kiss him. "Zsadist—"

 

"It's a little late to have second thoughts." His voice was a sensuous growl in her ear. "For some reason, I want to fuck you. Badly. So do us both a favor and grit your teeth. I won't take long."

 

His hand left her breast, shot between her legs, and found her core.

 

Zsadist froze.

 

Instinctively she moved her hips, rubbing herself against his fingers, feeling a wonderful friction—

 

He leaped back. "Get out of here."

 

Disorientated, fiercely aroused, she swayed as she righted herself. "What?"

 

Zsadist went over to the door, threw it open and stared at the floor. When she didn't move, he roared, "Get out!"

 

"Why—"

 

"God, you make me
sick"

 

Bella felt all the blood leave her face. She pulled her skirt down and fumbled with the blouse and bra. Then she bolted out of the room.

 

Zsadist slammed the door shut and ran for the bathroom. Popping the toilet seat, he bent over and threw up the apple he'd eaten.

As he hit the flusher, he sank to the floor, shaky and queased out. He tried taking some deep breaths, but all he could smell was Bella. Her lovely, inexplicable arousal was on his fingers. He whipped off his turtleneck and wrapped it around his hand, needing to dim the scent.

God, the satin perfection of her. The gorgeous fragrance of her passion. All that luscious rain.

 

No female had been wet for him for a hundred years. Not since his time as a blood slave. And back then… he hadn't wanted it, had learned to fear that very arousal.

 

He tried to focus his mind on the present, tried to keep himself in his bathroom, but the past sucked him down…

He was back in the cell, shackled, his body not his own. He felt the Mistress's hands, smelled the salve she had to put on him before she could get the erection she needed. And then she was riding him, pumping until she got off. After that, the biting and the drinking assaulted him as she fed from his veins.

It all came back. The rapes. The humiliation. The decades of abuse until he lost any conception of time, until he was nothing, all but dead except for the incessant beating of his heart and the rote suck and push of his lungs.

He heard a weird sound. Realized he was moaning.

 

Oh… Bella.

 

He wiped his forehead on his biceps. Bella. God, she made him so ashamed of his scars and his ugliness, his ruined appearance and his black, nasty nature.

At the party she'd effortlessly talked to his brothers and the females, smiling, laughing. She had a charm and an easiness about her that spoke of the comfortable life she'd led. She'd probably never known a mean word or an unkind deed. She'd certainly never shown cruelty or harshness to another. She was a female of worth, not at all like the trashy, angry humans he'd been drinking from.

He hadn't believed her when she'd told him she wanted to lie with him, but she had. That was what all her silky wetness had meant. Females could lie about a lot of things, but not that. Never that.

Zsadist shuddered. When he'd had her bent over and was touching her breasts, he'd planned on stopping in spite of what he'd said. He'd figured he'd scare her into leaving him alone, overwhelm her a little before sending her along her way.

Except she actually had wanted him.

He replayed what it had been like to dive in between her thighs. She'd been so… soft. So incredibly warm and smooth and slick. The first he had touched who had been like that for him. He'd had no idea what to do, but then from out of his confusion, the Mistress had come back to him. He'd seen her face and felt her body on top of his.

The Mistress had always been turned-on when she'd come to him, and she'd taken great pains to make sure he knew it, though she'd never made him touch her with his hands. She'd been smart. After everything she'd done to him, if he'd been able to get at her, he'd have torn her apart like a rabid animal, and they'd both known it. The caged danger he'd represented had thrilled her.

He thought of Bella's attraction to him. It was based on the same thing, wasn't it? Power-trip sex. The shackled savage used for pleasure.

 

Or in Bella's case, the dangerous male used for adventure.

 

His stomach heaved again and he lurched over the toilet.

 

"I thought you were just being cruel," Bella said from behind him. "I didn't know I actually made you sick."

 

Fuck
. He hadn't locked the door.

 

It had never dawned on him she'd come back.

Bella wrapped her arms around herself. Of all the things she could have dreamed up, this pushed the fiction envelope. Zsadist was sprawled half-naked in front of a toilet, his shirt wrapped around his hand, the dry heaves making him twitch.

While he cursed, she stared at his body.
Dear lord, his back
. The broad expanse was streaked with scars, evidence of a past whipping that, like his face, had somehow not healed smoothly. Although how that had happened she couldn't guess.

"Why are you in my room again?" he asked, voice echoing around the porcelain rim.

 

"I, ah, I wanted to yell at you."

 

"Mind if I finish throwing up first?" Water rushed and gurgled as he flushed.

 

"Are you okay?"

 

"Yeah, this is just loads of fun."

 

She came into the bathroom and had a brief impression that it was very clean, very white, and totally impersonal.

 

In the blink of an eye, Zsadist was up on his feet and facing her.

 

She swallowed a gasp.

Though clearly powerful, his muscles stood out in stark relief, the individual fibers striated and visible. For a warrior, for any male, he was thin, too thin. Frankly he was close to starving. And he was scarred on the front, though only in two places; over his left pectoral and on his right shoulder. Both his nipples were pierced, silver hoops with little balls catching the light as he breathed in and out.

But none of that was what stunned her. The thick black bands tattooed around his neck and wrists were the shocker.

 

"Why do you bear the markings of a blood slave?' she whispered.

 

"Do the math."

 

"But that's…"

 

"Not supposed to happen to someone like me?"

 

"Well, yes. You are a warrior. A noble."

 

"Fate is a cruel bitch."

 

Her heart opened wide for him, and everything she'd thought about him changed. He was no longer a thrill, but a male she wanted to ease. Comfort Hold. On impulse, she took a step toward him.

 

His black eyes narrowed. "You really don't want to come near me, female. Especially not now."

 

She didn't listen. As she closed the distance between them, he backed away until he got caught in the corner between the glass shower door and the wall.

 

"What the hell are you doing?"

 

She didn't answer, because she wasn't sure.

 

"Back off," he snapped. He opened his mouth, his fangs elongating to the size of a tiger's.

 

That gave her some pause. "But maybe I can—"

 

"Save me or some shit? Oh, right. In your fantasy, this is the part where I'm supposed to be transfixed by your eyes. Give my beastly self up into the arms of a virgin."

 

"I'm not a virgin."

 

"Well, good for you."

 

She reached out her hand, wanting to put it on his chest. Right over his heart.

He shrank from her, flattening himself against the marble. As sweat broke out all over him, he craned his neck away and his face squeezed into a wince. His chest pumped up and down, nipple rings flashing silver.

His voice thinned out until it was barely a sound. "Don't touch me. I can't… I can't stand to be touched, okay? It hurts."

 

Bella stopped. "Why?" she said softly. "Why does it—"

 

"Just get the fuck out of here,
please
." He could barely get the words out. "I'm about to destroy something. And I don't want it to be you."

 

"You won't hurt me."

 

He closed his eyes. "Goddamn. What is it with you refined types? Are you bred to get off on torturing people?'

 

"Good lord, no. I just want to help you."

 

"
Liar
," he spat, eyes popping open. "You're such a liar. You don't want to help me, you want to poke the rattlesnake with a stick just to see what it does."

 

"That's not true. At least… not now."