CHAPTER NINE
“But—”
Russel captured her mouth, swallowing what was undoubtedly a protest. Another excuse as to why she couldn’t get involved. Why she didn’t deserve to be more than a temporary lover. He’d had to hold back a growl, an actual animalistic growl, when she’d said she might not be worthy of more than a one-off.
Not. Fucking. Worthy?
It was absurd. True, he didn’t know her story, but he recognized someone who’d grown up amidst violence. Who was trying to disappear, maybe distance herself, but hadn’t been able to make a clean break. Maybe they had something over her, or maybe it ran blood deep. Family was family. He understood that. But he had no doubts that she was more than worthy of a guy like him. Hell, his own honor was in question. Who was he to judge?
So, her hesitations, her reservations. They had nothing to do with how she felt, and everything to do with fear. Fear that her family would never stop chasing her. Fear that she wouldn’t ever be free. But, mostly, fear that she’d get him killed.
She hadn’t spoken those exact words, but it didn’t take a mind reader to know that’s what she’d meant. She didn’t want to be responsible for his death. Didn’t want to have his blood on her hands. Russel understood that, too. Respected it, even. But there was just one flaw.
He wasn’t an easy guy to kill.
Countless enemy forces had tried. He’d gone up against some impossible numbers and had managed to drag his ass and his injured brothers’ back in one piece. This bastard, Thomas, was welcome to come after him with as many reinforcements as he could find, but the asshole wouldn’t get through. Russel. Rigs. The guys at Brotherhood Protectors—they were professionals. They’d dedicated their lives to learning how to fight. How to kill. They were the best of the best. The elite forces. No better friends, no worse enemies to have, and this Thomas prick had just become their number one nemesis. Guy was a dead man walking, and if he came close to Quinn, again…
Then, he’d be seriously dead. Dead and buried along with anyone else who tried. Because Russel was all about his mission. And his mission was Quinn.
He didn’t care that it seemed irrational. That they were essentially still strangers. His instincts told him Quinn was special. That the spark that had instantly flared between them wasn’t the kind that came along every day. More like once in a lifetime. Maybe it was Fate. Or thirty-odd years of shoving down every emotional need until it was stone cold ice in his gut. It didn’t matter. He trusted his instincts. And, once he committed, he didn’t turn back. Didn’t bail. He fought, long and hard, until the battle was won. Now that he was civilian, he had all the time in the world. Fifty years of time to battle against her doubts. And it all started with this kiss.
Quinn stayed a bit stiff against him for all of two heartbeats before sighing into his mouth and relaxing beneath him. He accepted her surrender, though it was hardly complete. This was just step one. Seduction and lust-dazed sex. The rest of the steps would come later. After they’d satisfied their physical needs. The first time was going to be fast. Fast and hard and, damn it, not nearly romantic enough to make her swoon. But… He’d spent the past three weeks fantasizing about her. Reliving the kiss in her kitchen, in his truck. Imagining how it would have been if she’d been able to stumble her way to her bedroom.
He wasn’t one to dream. If he wanted something, he went out and got it. Sometimes, it was easy. Other times, it was a battle. But he’d never really had much trouble finding a willing bed partner. It had actually surprised him how many women were like their male counterparts—just looking for a hot night between the sheets. No strings, or at least only the kind that had slip knots in them. Easy to lose. And it hadn’t ever bothered him before.
Then, he’d come to Quinn’s aid—had driven her home, all the while reminding himself that he was just being a nice guy. That he had absolutely no business considering anything else. That she was off-limits.
Then, she’d called him out. Had made the first move, and crap… He’d been lost. Had spent the night watching her sleep not simply because he was worried about her concussion or if she’d given herself a bout of alcohol poisoning. But because he hadn’t been able to take his gaze off her. On the way her auburn hair pooled around her shoulders, the curly mess making her seem sexy and sultry. How her skin looked pale and smooth and utterly perfect. The soft snuffling sounds she’d made when she was dreaming. Or the way she’d smile up at him for one brief second, when he’d rouse her enough to see she was okay, before drifting off, again.
Then, after having to leave her—fucking abandon her to god knew what circumstances—she’d become an obsession. Not that he would admit that to her. But, damn, having her here, writhing beneath him from just a kiss… It was more than his brain could process. With so little blood left in the damn thing, he considered it a miracle he remembered to not simply rip off their clothes and sink inside her a few seconds later.
Romance was out, but foreplay. Surely, his lust-dazed brain could manage a few minutes of that. He’d just have to think about it as an op. He’d start at her mouth. Check. Mouths were connected, her tongue stroking his. In fact, he was far too close to shooting his load just from kissing her. From having her breasts flattened beneath his chest, her taut nipples poking incessantly at him. At the way she’d wrapped one of her legs around his as if trying to get him closer.
But, if he got any closer, he’d come. And he’d be damned if he’d do that. He usually had control. Ice wasn’t just the way he was in the field. He was stone-cold focused with women, too. Was able to compartmentalize his needs and theirs. A bit of time dedicated to getting them off—a lick here, a finger there—and it was his turn. Long or short, it didn’t seem to matter as long as he made it right, first.
But Quinn was different. Every inch of her begged to be touched. Kissed. Devoured. And he wanted to. He just wasn’t sure if his dick would toe the line. It was hard—harder than it had ever been. He wouldn’t be surprised if she gasped when she saw it. He was naturally large, but he suspected the damn thing looked like a pipe between his legs. It felt like a pipe. Hard. Thick. Unyielding.
And the last thing he wanted was to scare her. She’d already been scared, and sex wasn’t supposed to be frightening. It was fun, and hot, and sweaty, and he wanted lightness and pleasure in their bed. Not her wondering if he’d swallowed a bottle of blue pills.
So, moving on to their clothes and managing to fist the hem of her sweater and lift it over her head without ripping it. That, was a fucking shining accomplishment. One of his finest achievements. Of course, her bra was next. Why did those things have so many tiny hooks? Were they designed specifically to give men blue balls? Because lying there on top of her, kissing her neck, trying to twist the damn clips open behind her back seemed harder than infiltrating an enemy compound. He could pick locks and extradite comrades easier than he could get those small metal clips to release.
Quinn laughed. Actually, laughed at him, then squirmed a few times, and bam—her bra was gone. Just gone. As if it hadn’t existed. As if he hadn’t just spent the last of his control trying to gently undo it. Not that it mattered. It could have vanished into thin air, been zapped away by an alien forces for all he cared. She was bare. From the waist up, nothing but an endless expanse of smooth, pale skin to run his fingers along.
He shifted his weight to his left elbow, using his right hand to slowly skim up her arm and across her shoulder. She had delicate collarbones. The kind that stood out. Christ, he could snap them without even trying. He must be double her weight, not that she was skinny. No, athletic and strong but still no match for him.
So, he kept his touch light, using the small fraction of his PJ side still firing to meter his touch. To caress and cherish. He couldn’t imagine hurting her. Seeing even a flash of pain on her expression. He wanted her flushed. Gasping for air because he’d stolen hers. Wanted her body primed for him. Begging for his possession. And it was.
A circle of her nipple had it beading against her skin. Crinkling in on itself as small goosebumps rose around it then down her chest. He leaned in, blowing a heated breath across the hard nub before taking it in his mouth.
Quinn arched against him, his name a raspy whisper of air. He smiled. Yeah, this was how he needed her. Strung tight. Desperate. So when he mounted her, and damn, it was pretty much going to go down that way, she’d be ready for him. Would urge him on as he thrust inside then lost himself in a fast, hard rhythm that would end this first time far too quickly.
Her fingers dug into his back then tugged against his shirt. “Off.”
Off. He understood that. Was on the same damn page. Hell yeah, they still had too much on. His shirt and boxers, her panties. He lowered his head and rounded his shoulders so she could drag his shirt over his head. He would have sat up and taken it off, himself, but that meant losing contact with her skin. Not feeling the silky smoothness beneath him, and that order didn’t seem to register with his brain.
Quinn muttered something then inhaled as he shifted to her other nipple, sipping it inside and sucking on it. God, she had beautiful breasts. Not overly large but full enough, with pretty pink nipples that glistened with his saliva. Made him want to paint her entire body with it. See it gleam in the dull light. Proof she was his.
He was thinking all wrong. Women didn’t like possessive assholes, and he pretty much had that tattooed across his forehead, right now. But fuck it. On some cellular level, she was his. Right here. Right now. And he’d do whatever it took to see it stayed that way. Because tasting her skin—god, it was heaven. Sweet and salty with a hint of warmth.
He looked up at her as he lowered his hand, grabbing the edge of her panties. “Christ, you’re so fucking beautiful.”
She smiled, and his heart thumped. Hard. A painful thud that had him removing the last two pieces of their clothing in record time. He wasn’t even sure if he’d moved or if he’d somehow willed them off. Used the force or some equivalent to make them vanish like the bra. Or maybe she’d done it. He’d suspected she was a witch. Had cast some kind of potent love spell on him. So, making their clothes disappear didn’t seem that far-fetched.
Either way, now, she was bare. From head to toe, nothing but Quinn. And damn if she wasn’t more beautiful. The way her hips flared out from her waist. The flex of muscles beneath her skin. And between her legs—fuck. A trimmed line of auburn-tipped hair that arrowed straight to glistening pink folds. They were puffy with arousal, leaving her slightly open—exposing the tiny hood of her clit.
He wanted to lick her there. No, needed to. Needed to know if the scent surrounding him tasted as good as it smelled. If she’d cream his tongue the way he’d envisioned in his dreams.
She snagged his arm when he went to move down her, locking her gaze on his. “I’m…close.”
He reached for her hand and placed it over his dick. The damn thing pulsed against her palm. “Me, too. But this is just the first time. Once we take the edge off…”
Of course, he didn’t say that taking the edge off might take the next twenty years, but she didn’t need to know that. Didn’t need to know the thoughts whirling through his head. The ones that would send her screaming from the bed, because he had absolutely no plans on letting her go.
Quinn moaned. “I could help you out with that. Give you the best damn blowjob of your life.”
She squeezed, and he had to clench his butt cheeks together to stop from spilling into her hand.
He took a couple of calming breaths. “Let’s save that for round two. Or four, because if I have to lay here, smelling your need for one more second without licking you…”
Her eyes widened then closed as he shuffled lower, opening her with one hand then licking a path along her cleft. Usually, he took his time. Drew patterns along the wet flesh. Teased the little nub with fleeting nips and kisses. But not this time. He dove right in. Face grinding against her sex, one hand sliding to her opening. He tested her readiness then slipped two fingers inside her.
She bucked against him, moaning his name as her muscles quivered. He kept licking, kept pumping his hand, wanting to slow down, but the signals weren’t getting through. He was on full assault mode. Laser focused on making her come then pounding into her. He wasn’t proud of it, but… She didn’t seem unhappy with his approach. In fact, her walls were starting to ripple.
He added another finger just as he bit her clit, and she exploded. Hips rising to meet his fingers, body thrashing across the bed. It was so fucking hot he raised his head just enough to watch her unravel. See the flush move down her skin as a light sheen of sweat broke out.
She was still writhing when he climbed on top. Thankfully, some distant part of his brain had him reaching for his pants on the floor beside the bed. Removing a condom and sheathing himself before he slid into her bareback. Because he wanted to. Wanted to feel her skin give around his, her juices hot against his shaft. But he wouldn’t do that until they’d discussed it. Until she believed in him half as much as he did in her.
He gathered her close, sliding his arms underneath her and locking his hands around her shoulders. First time had to be missionary. Gazes locked. Her body beneath his. Surrounded by him. He wanted to look down at her as he entered her. Wanted to watch every tiny reaction as he finally possessed her.
“Quinn. Open your eyes.”
She was still descending. A deep red flush colored her skin, and she looked slightly dazed when she finally managed to stare up at him. Her chest heaved against his, each press grazing her nipples across his flesh like hot brands. She didn’t talk, just lifted her arms and wrapped them around his back, tugging him closer as her legs encircled his hips, placing her hot, wet sex directly against his dick.
Russel clawed for control. He was trained. Surely, he could hold out one more minute. Long enough to enter her slowly. She tilted her pelvis, rubbing her folds along her length.
Her lips caressed his ear. “More. I need more.”
He pressed forward, sinking a few inches inside her, when her head pushed into the pillow as her heels drove into his ass, thrusting him the rest of the way in.
Searing heat engulfed his shaft, even through the thin barrier, and he had to stiffen every muscle to keep his release at bay. “Christ, sweetheart. I’m trying to go slow. I don’t want to hurt you.”
She moaned, and he froze, afraid he’d done just that, when a series of contractions worked down his length. He snapped his gaze to hers, inhaling at her clenched jaw and rolled eyes.
“Are you coming, again? Fuck. Hold on.”
She managed to tighten her grasp a second before he reared back then surged forward. Hard. Demanding. Setting up a punishing rhythm. The bed squeaked in the background as he pounded into her. He vaguely remembered not to use all his weight. To meter his stokes just enough he wouldn’t hurt her. But it wasn’t gentle. Wasn’t the kind of loving she’d probably expected. He hadn’t missed her choice of words. Asking him to make love to her, as opposed to fuck her like she had that first night.
But he wasn’t doing a great job of it. Ramming into her, thrust after thrust, lost in the heat of her sex, the sound of her coming. It was primal. A merging of bodies that went on and on until the fire in his sac spilled over, and he came in long, hard spurts. Emptying into the condom and praying he didn’t punch right through it.
Quinn clung to him, arms and legs trembling as he stayed rigid above her until the last of his release had been spent, and he collapsed on top of her. His heavy breathing echoed through the room when he finally had the strength to lift his head. He went to shift his weight, aware he was probably crushing her, when she gripped him harder.
Her tiny fingers bit into his back, her head pressed against his shoulder. “Don’t go. Not, yet.”
He managed to get his hand to move—cup her chin until she was gazing up at him. “Not going anywhere. Promise. I just thought it might be hard for you to breathe.”
She shook her head, a stray tear leaking out of one eye. She cringed, but he smiled. He knew physiology. Stress was released via the tear ducts. So were other emotions. Intense pleasure often resulted in a complete breakdown of barriers, similar to the release of stress. So, tears after orgasming—it wasn’t unusual. Though, it also meant she’d had a strong emotional reaction. Good. He didn’t want to be the only one invested. The only one already thinking about the next fifty years.
He smiled at her. “You okay?”
She laughed, but it was for show. “Perfect.”
“Yes. You are.” He dropped a slow, sensuous kiss on her mouth, feeling himself starting to harden. “Though, I do suggest you take this moment to breathe, because I promised you the night, and it’s only just begun.”