Chapter Thirty-seven
Two nights later, Butch finally got free to take his shellan to a sex club.
Yeah, like he’d ever thought of a date night like this one?
As he waited for her in the mansion’s foyer, he paced around and felt like he was pulling a Halloween in the dumb-ass getup he had on. The black leathers were fine; the black muscle shirt was also okay. The rest of the shit was …
What the fuck was he wearing?
Pulling the long black coat out in a fan, he got a whole lot of black leather, fur, and silk. The thing was huge, and yet it barely brushed the ground because he was wearing a pair of lifts that made him taller than Wrath.
New Rocks?
He’d borrowed them from Axe, and they buckled up from the toes to just under his knees. Also weighed fifty pounds, but were surprisingly stable and comfortable.
And then there was the mask. The thing was a front plate made of thin metal and plastic, and when he strapped it on and applied proper adhesive, it covered his entire face with a gray-white-and-black skeletal horror that moved when he spoke.
Yup, it was mask night down at the Poke ’n’ Play, and far be it from him not to fit in with the crowd.
He took out his phone and checked the time. Marissa had come over from the Pit to hang out with the girls to get ready—and the two of them were going to head to the club together while Axe was driven out separately from the training center.
Clomping around the mosaic apple tree, he was amazed at how okay he’d become with taking Marissa with him on this sojourn into the dark and the seedy. After that talk he and his shellan had had, though, it was like something had unlocked in him, some twisted, painful muscle spasm of his internal wiring had loosened and uncoiled, allowing him to breathe more easily.
He’d hated the rough spot they’d found themselves in. He fucking loved the new vista, though.
As if on cue, he sensed his mate at the top of the grand staircase. Turning, Butch looked up and—
Enagbu jioa kdf ahtaj; fjjkd powkl.
Or something to that effect.
Gone was his beautiful princess in the designer clothes. In her place was … a freaky-deaky erotic sexpot wearing shrink-wrapped black latex from her mile-high stilettos all the way up and over her head. The only thing that marked her identity? The long blond ponytail that came out of a hole in the top of the full-body/facial suit, those golden waves swinging free.
And then there was her mask.
It was like an industrial gas mask, with round black disks for eyes and a nose and mouthpiece that showed no part of her skin because there was a seal around the latex that covered her face. Made of black glass and burnished gray metal, it was an ugly piece of absolute art.
As she came down at him, his cock punched out an erection so quickly, he actually had to look to make sure the fly of his leathers was still intact.
Her body was … absolutely, fucking insane, the light stroking down the banging curves of her breasts, throwing shadows around her tight waist, highlighting her hips and thighs.
When she was finally standing in front of him, she did a slow little turn, and holy fucking shit, the mechanized sound of her breathing made his balls tighten. Well, that and her ass. Dear God in heaven above, her—
“Well, what do you think?”
The voice that came out was not hers; it was distilled through some kind of sound box, emerging tinny and distorted and alien.
“Ojkdla hgdio lweno io.”
“What?” came that electronic voice.
“He said you are fuuuuucking ammmmmmaaaazing,” came a male voice from across the way.
Butch’s head whipped to the side and he glared at Lassiter, who’d come out from the billiards room and was lounging against the archway. Pegging the moron with his forefinger like the thing was a gun, he snapped, “Get your miserable ass back into that fucking room before I cut your eyes out and strangle you with your own tongue.”
The fallen angel put his palms up and wheeled away. “Right. Leaving. Here I am, walking back and saying absolutely nothing about her.”
The retreat would have been more convincing if the bastard didn’t let a huge wolf whistle rip as soon as he was out of range.
“I’m going to fucking kill him, I swear it.”
“Please don’t.”
Refocusing, Butch just shook his head. “Oh, my God, you look … hey, I’m back to speaking English. Bonus.”
Bringing her in close, he pressed his body against hers and felt up and down the smooth, slightly sticky suit. With a groan, he bent to the side and moved his hands down to those latexed hips and onto that ass, grabbing her cheeks, squeezing, going farther in between from behind.
“I’m not gonna make it through tonight,” he groaned. “Fuck, I can barely walk.”
Her sexy little laugh, distorted through that speaker, made him sway in his New Rocks.
Holy. Shit.
“Have you made friends in your class?”
As her father put out the inquiry, Paradise sat back in the club chair in his study. Tucking her socked feet under her, she wondered exactly how to answer him—and prayed as he rifled through the papers on his desk that he didn’t look up and see her blush.
Yup, how to answer that one, she thought.
She and Craeg had spent the last two mornings talking on the phone, speaking for hours as well as … doing other things. So yes, they were friends of a sort—and she had plans to see him in person again, both tonight and tomorrow during the day.
This was what her little impromptu meeting with her father was about.
If she didn’t get some skin-to-skin contact again soon, she was going to lose her mind. Phone sex was great unless you’d had the real thing.
Or almost had it.
“Paradise? Are you all right?”
She shook herself and made a show of getting out of the chair and going to the cheerful, crackling fire. The cold front that had come in the day before had gotten into the walls of the Tudor, and there were chills lurking everywhere in the house—something that would be a constant until spring’s warm weather came in May.
So she had the perfect excuse to turn away from him as she picked up the poker and rearranged the logs.
“Oh, yes, I’ve met some lovely people and I’m enjoying the classes very much.” As well as the sneak peeks of Craeg. “It’s amazing the things I didn’t know.”
“For example?”
Well, if she purred into the phone and told Craeg everything she wasn’t wearing, it was a guarantee that he’d—
As orange sparks fell into the smoldering ashes, she stopped that line of thought right quick. “Hand-to-hand combat is a science, Father. I’d never watched MMA fighting before, or learned anything about the different styles of engagement. They’re teaching us various disciplines, and each one has its own strengths and weaknesses. I spar with Peyton and this other male, Craeg, a lot.”
Placing the poker back in the brass stand, she pivoted around and returned to the chair. “I am very, very good at it—”
She stopped talking as she realized her father had frozen in the process of moving one sheet of paper into a pile, the bill or account statement or whatever it was hanging in the air along with his arm.
The expression on his face was akin to someone having told him his house was about to be bulldozed by humans.
“Father…” she said. “I’m really happy. I’m really … I’m learning about myself, who I am, what I want, what I can do.”
He glanced at the document as if wondering what it was doing in front of him, hovering in the air. Then he seemed to snap himself back to attention.
Clearing his throat, he asked, “And what conclusions are you coming to?”
Well, the big one was that she was probably falling in love with Craeg. But considering that was going to make her father go worse than dad-statue, she needed to keep that quiet—plus she hadn’t told Craeg yet, and it seemed appropriate that he be the first to know.
Falling in love. Such a huge thing, and yet so simple, too.
And quick, yes. But she had heard when bonding happened, it could be like this.
“Well, I want to do some good for the species,” she said.
“Exactly how?”
“Father, that doesn’t mean fighting in the war.”
“Considering you were just speaking about how good you were at…” He rubbed his temple. “I guess I should have expected this.”
“Expected what?”
“Your changing directions. What I was unclear on was how it was going to make me feel.”
“I’m not changing anything.”
God, that was a lie even to her own ears: She wasn’t sure what her future looked like, or who precisely she was going to be at the end of the training program—however long it lasted—but she wasn’t going back to the way she had been.
Those nights of being a proper female sitting in this house, or any other, waiting for the chance to come down to some social gathering was not it. And yes, that decision not to get mated—except to Craeg—had stuck.
“I wish your mahmen was still with us.”
“Me, too.” But for another reason than the one he was thinking of, no doubt. Paradise could have used some love advice. “I miss her.”
“Do you know that we were well and truly in love? We had been appropriately matched by our families, but … we really did fall in love. She was my everything.”
God … damn it, she thought. His subtle advocating for Peyton didn’t so much miss the mark as drive a stake through her heart—because she wasn’t fooled. That statement, while true and important, was without a doubt uttered in the hopes that she look favorably upon a traditional betrothal with her friend.
She had suspected for a while that that was something her father wanted for her. He liked Peyton, approved of the male’s bloodline, and knew that there was already a friendship in place. In the eyes of an aristocratic head of household, what could be better for a daughter than a setup like that.
What would he think if he ever met Craeg?
Craeg, the son of what the humans would have called a blue-collar family. Would her father even see the strength of character, the soul beneath the lack of trappings?
“I can adjust to almost anything,” her father said grimly. “I can adapt to whatever you want your life to be—up to a point. The one thing that I won’t budge on is your finding the kind of love your mahmen and I had. That is the non-negotiable for me.”
Read: a male who was from the same class she was, who could provide her with the same life she had grown up in.
“Oh, Father,” she said sadly.
“I’m sorry, that’s just how I am.”
“I know.”
As the grandfather clock out in the foyer began to chime eight times, she cast off the pall that had settled in the room and got to her feet again.
“I have to be off.” She straightened the clothes she had chosen for the evening. “I’m going to go out with my classmates, and then there’s a project we’re working on during the day, so I’ll be home tomorrow night after class? And yes, there will be chaperones.”
As she stared across the perfectly appointed room at him, the ambience of old wealth and distinction that hadn’t been bought, but had been curated over the hundreds of years her family had had money, truly sunk in on her.
Would Craeg even be comfortable here?
Probably not.
“Father?”
“Forgive me.” He looked down at the papers on his desk. “But of course, I understand you must needs be gone. Do know you are missed, however. Also know that the Brothers do not tell me much, yet what they have shared … makes me very, very proud of you.”
That now-familiar pain in her chest, the one that came from her lying, lit off again as she thought that actually, he would not be very proud of her at all.
She intended to lose her virginity tonight to a male he would never approve of.
The trouble was, the Brothers had given no indication of how long this training program would last or what the long-term prospects for the class sticking together were. And her need for Craeg’s body was making her desperate—and very conscious that time was passing with alacrity.
She wasn’t going to miss her chance. And she had the sense that the more they were together, the more Craeg’s priorities were changing, too. He was becoming attached to her.
Paradise could feel it.
If it weren’t for the omissions with her father, she would be on cloud nine.
“I’ll see you tomorrow night after class,” she said in a rough voice.
“I’ll be here. Do take care of yourself.”
“I will.” She nodded to him. “I promise, Father.”