by Shara Azod
wise cracks about pining for her from afar, but he couldn’t handle a blemish on her
reputation.
“You shouldn’t call me that,” Briony’s voice dropped to little more than a
whisper. Quentin let it go, for now. First, he needed to get her home, and then they would
have to have a heart to heart. This was not the time or place.
“I suppose I need to make arrangements for a funeral. Though I don’t know who
would possibly show up. Bobby Ray had alienated all the friends that I knew of
anyway,” Briony sighed once they were on the road. She was looking out the window
with a little frown marring her brow.
That wasn’t going to do at all. There had been enough frowns in her life.
“Already did it,” he mentioned casually. He had known this was coming, but he
had hoped to put it off for a little while.
“You made the funeral arrangements?”
“I buried him.” There he had said it. She might be a little upset he had taken it on
himself, but damn it, he knew she couldn’t afford to bury the little bastard, and she
didn’t need the hassle. Bobby Ray never did a damn thing to earn the devotion she had
to her vows.
“You what?!”
The screech was definitely not what he had expected. She was looking madder
than shit too. Damn.
“Look, Briony, it was a hassle you didn’t need, okay? And did you think I would
allow my brother to cause you more heartache or headache?” Running his hand
agitatedly through his head, he searched for the right words. Shit, what could he say?
Hey, Bri, I’m sorry, but I will never allow anyone or anything to hurt you again? How corny
was that? So what if he really felt that way.
“I think you should take me to the bus station right now,” Briony retorted
quietly. Too quietly.
“That isn’t going to happen, Bri. Did you really want to stand there while they
laid his sorry ass in the ground?” He waited a full minute for any kind of reply. He
didn’t get one. His foot got a little heavier on the gas pedal. Not that she would jump or
anything crazy like that, but the quicker they got to his place the better.
For the rest of the drive, Briony stared out the window with her little jaw set in a
stubborn, frigid line. He could almost see the wheels spinning in her head. She was
trying to figure out a way to get away. So not going to happen. It would be one thing if
Quentin didn’t believe she felt the same way he did, but he knew that wasn’t the case.
Whenever they were in the same room together, the air grew thick with sexual tension.
So much so, you could cut it with a knife. She looked at him with the same desperate
need he felt whenever he looked at her.
The attraction had been instant and intense. Hell, even his mother had seen it. At
first, it had worried Lola they wouldn’t be able to fight it. Before her death, she was
trying like hell to throw them together at every opportunity. Quentin gritted his teeth
when he thought about how often his mother had lamented that a woman as sweet and
good as Briony had been stuck with her ne’er do well son. She had wanted them to be
together; she’d even had gone so far as to give Quentin implicit blessings to try and take
Briony from Bobby Ray.
What a fucked up life they had all led. All thanks to one single cause. Pulling into the garage, Quentin turned to Briony, unsure what to say but
wanting desperately to make it better. She looked so small and lost, most of the anger
gone now, and only sadness left. He wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss that lost
look away. She probably wouldn’t appreciate it.
“Come on inside,” Quentin pleaded softly. “We need to talk. Give me that at
least. There are a lot of things that have been left unsaid for far too long.”
He almost missed the murmur as she got out of the car. “That’s what I’m afraid
of.” Chapter Four
Briony had a very good idea of what Quentin wanted to talk about. It was the
conversation she knew was bound to happen sooner or later, ever since she had first
laid eyes on him. She wasn’t sure she was ready for this. Wasn’t sure she could handle
it along with everything else. It was bad enough she couldn’t seem to work up even a
small amount of grief for her dead husband. She didn’t think she could handle this. Her
feet were like stone as she followed Quentin through a barely furnished house, past
plain whitewashed walls into a large but sparsely furnished living room.
“I know I don’t…I didn’t really know how to decorate,” Quentin explained,
seemingly embarrassed by the Spartan appearance of his home. “You can change it any
way you like.”
She stopped right there in the middle of the living room, just froze, unable to
move another step.
“I can’t stay here, Quent.” She was unable to make her voice as forceful as her
convictions. She sounded like a little mouse. He probably thought her to be one, one of
those docile women that waited patiently for her man. “Not for good. As soon as you
find out who killed Bobby Ray, I’m going back home. To New Orleans.”
To her surprise, Quentin didn’t argue.
“Come on, let’s sit down,” he tugged her down next to him on the couch.
Briony sat, but kept her body stiff, trying to slide away from him. He was just too
close. It didn’t work. Quentin simply moved with her until their legs were touching.
Those deep blue eyes of his wouldn’t allow her to look away. “Sweetheart, I know you’ve been through a hell of a lot the past couple of
weeks,” Quentin began, one hand idly caressing the outline of her ear while his other
held her hand in a firm clasp. Sweetheart, baby doll, each careless endearment stroked
something inside her she thought had died in the reality of her marriage. Bobby had
once uttered similar words, but from him it had meant less than nothing. “I don’t want
to add anymore pressure.” Yeah, right. Like being here alone with the man she had
dreamed of for the past three years was no pressure at all. “But, Bri, I can’t just walk
away. I spent the last three years going crazy. I’m not real good at expressing the way I
feel, but I want you something fierce. Not just sex, but permanently. And I think you
want me too. If I’m wrong, I’ll let you go. But look me in the eye and tell me I’m wrong.
Tell me you don’t want me. Tell me you can’t feel this thing between us.”
Briony only wished she could. The words stuck in her throat at the fierceness in
his stare. His lips were so close, if she leaned forward just a little…
A harsh groan sent her eyes flying back to his.
“You licked your lips,” the harsh whisper explained to her befuddled brain. “So
damn sexy. Let me?”
Not that Quentin was one to wait for permission he knew damn well he had. His
lips descended on her own with a forceful passion that left her breathless. She had
always loved the way his lips were shaped – thick and full, a sensual dream. They felt
so much better than they looked! Her mouth opened under his tongue’s demand,
allowing him inside to plunder at will. Her arms wrapped around his neck, allowing him to pull her into his lap. So good! Her body undulated under his touch, desperate to
get closer even though her brain screamed “Stop! Too fa
r!”
“I’ve dreamed of you like this,” Quentin murmured against the quivering skin of
her jaw, her neck. “So fucking sweet.”
Briony knew she should stop now before they crossed a line, but her body wasn’t
listening. How long had been since she had been kissed this passionately, or held so
masterfully? Never, she realized with a start. Her sex life with Bobby had ended almost
as soon as it had begun. Three short weeks after her marriage she just couldn’t bring
herself to enjoy his touch. Bobby had found his release elsewhere, not even bothering to
ask. At least he had had that bit of decency.
“We have to stop.” How insipid she sounded. And by the way her hands where
clutching his shoulders, her body was stating as clearly stating she didn’t want to stop.
She didn’t. She wanted more!
“Look at me, Briony!” And of course, she did. She loved it when Quentin got all
forceful and demanding. Did he know? Could he have possibly guessed it?
“Yes?”
“You aren’t getting rid of me. Not when I find out who killed Bobby Ray, not
ever. If you want to go back to school, I’ll be there with check in hand. If you want to
move back to New Orleans, I’ll be there loading all our collective shit in the moving
van. If you want to climb fucking mountains, I’ll be right there carrying your backpack.
Unless you tell me you don’t want me, I’m going to be here, you got me?” She could have melted in a pool at his feet right there. Her clit spasmed against
the silky material of her thong. The only way to relieve the pressure was to press up
against the hard ridge of his erection. They were so going to hell!
“I’m not the woman you think I am, Quent,” she felt it only fair to tell him. “I am
not the sweet little woman you believe me to be.”
“Bullshit!” came the growled reply. He cupped the cheeks of her ass, rocking her
vigorously down on his rock-hard length. “You are exactly the woman I think you are.”
“But I’m not!” she cried vehemently. “I am not sweet and kind and gentle. I’m
not docile or – or –”
“You aren’t a doormat,” he supplied for her. “Baby, I know that. I never thought
you were some goody two-shoes. I could always see the fire inside you. And I want
that. Just as you are.”
As much as Briony wanted to argue the point, she couldn’t. Not when he had
captured her mouth once more in his commanding kiss. She was lost in a sea of raw
Quentin, and she really didn’t want to surface.
How weak she was! What they were doing was wrong on so many levels it
wasn’t even funny. However, with his hands easing underneath her dress, smoothing
along the hot flesh of her skin, she couldn’t begin to care. The artificial, air-conditioned
breeze did little to cool her skin as it was exposed inch by inch until she was bare before
Quentin’s heated gaze. Although his hands hovered ever so close, he didn’t touch her
once she was completely disrobed. Briony could feel the heat from his hands, tempting
but not satisfying her need to be touched, stroked, to just once feel loved. “I had planned to wait,” Quentin’s voice was low. She wasn’t sure he was talking
to her or himself at first. When his eyes swung from her body to her face, her breath
caught at the raw, naked desire in his fiery blue gaze. “I wanted to make you
comfortable here. I had hoped…” he swallowed hard and shook his head. What?! What
had he hoped? “I had hoped to make you comfortable with me. I know it is no easy
thing for you–”
“Geez, Quentin, I’m not a fucking nun!” As hot as she was for him right now, she
was equally pissed. No matter how much he denied it, he still saw her as his version of
the perfect woman. Well, she wasn’t perfect. She was far, far from it. “Do you think I
never dreamed of this? That I don’t want this every bit as much as you do?”
“I know you feel guilty because of Bobby,” he answered simply, never once
looking away. “I know you have felt guilty for desiring me as much I desired you.”
“No, Quent, I didn’t.” There, she said it. Might as well get all out and over with.
“Not once did I feel guilty for wanting my husband’s brother. You know what I felt? I
was pissed. I have been pissed for damn near the entire three years because I was
duped into marrying the wrong brother. And yeah, I stayed true to my vows, but not
for Bobby’s sake, or your parents, or even myself. I did it for you. Because I knew the
second you crossed that line you would hate yourself for it, and that was something I
couldn’t allow.”
Quentin was quiet, too quiet. Briony shivered at the lack of emotion that had
suddenly descended across his face. Usually, she could read his feelings easily. Or maybe, he just never bothered to conceal himself around her before now. Dread filled
her, washing away all former traces of longing. She had said too much.
She tried to move from her seat straddling his lap, but he wasn’t having it. His
grip tightened at her waist, his strong hands preventing her from moving.
“At least let me get my dress,” Briony couldn’t stand to look at him anymore.
Feeling shame to her very soul, she didn’t want to see the ice in his eyes become
disgust.
“I don’t think so, Bri.” His voice was thicker, deeper than she had ever heard it. It
combined all the dangerous things she had always known lurked somewhere deep
inside him with something vividly carnal. Her already hardened nipples turned
diamond hard, the skin puckering and stretching, sending tiny shards of electricity
straight down to her already seeping cunt. “Look at me, Bri.” Lord, she loved that tone!
It demanded she did as he told her, not allowing for anything less. “Baby, do you think
I would have given a flying shit what anyone thought? Hell, do you know how many
times I had to talk myself out of driving over to that broken down ass mobile home and
throwing you over my shoulder? I didn’t do it because I didn’t want that burden on
you. Not because that dead man and I shared the same DNA. He killed whatever
familial affections I ever had for him long before you came along. And if you think I am
going to let you go because we were both too stupid to just come out and say what we
were feeing, you have another thing coming. And if I ever hear you refer to yourself as
anything less than perfect,” one single thick digit ran along the seam of her puffy outer
pussy lips, placing an all too brief pressure on her clit before disappearing. “I will spank that pretty little pussy of yours until you beg for mercy. And then I will spank it some
more.”
Briony watched him bring his finger glistening with her own juices to his mouth,
she watched his tongue wrap around the finger, his eyelids grown heavy. She heard the
moan as if he were tasting ambrosia, unable to pull herself away from his stare. She
wanted this man. She needed him inside her now! She surprised herself yanking apart
his casual button down shirt, not caring if she ripped off half the buttons in her haste.
Thankfully, Quentin either felt her frantic need, or had harbored the same aching
hunger himself. She only gave him enough time to yank his pants to his knees before
she sank down on the most beautiful cock she had ever seen. Thick and long
, it was
pointed straight up, ready for her. Despite the fact she was soaking, she had to work to
get him inside.
“Shit, Bri!” Quentin groaned, his head falling back against the couch. His hips
punched upward, assisting her in her quest. “So fucking tight!”
“It’s been a while,” she panted, sinking down a few inches further. It wasn’t
enough! She needed all of him, like she wouldn’t be able to live another day without
possessing him completely. He was hers, and damn it, she wanted it! Wanted him!
“How long?” Quentin demanded, not allowing her to roll her hips the way she
needed to. “How long has it been, Bri?”
Now? He wanted to talk now? She felt the need to cry coming on. She couldn’t
possibly have this conversation now!
“Three weeks after we got married! Now please, Quentin –!” Her plea was cut off by one deep upward thrust. Briony sucked in a desperate
gulp of air, her nails digging into the skin of Quentin’s shoulders. She was so full! He
took up every millimeter of available space inside her pussy, She could feel the hot skin
against the delicate flesh of her inner walls, like satin covered granite, he was so damn
hard, yet so alive she could feel his cock pulsing inside her. Or Lord, he was so long she
could feel him deep in her womb.
“Mine!” Quentin growled, slamming her down on his cock over and over. “My
woman, my pussy, MINE!”
“Oh, God, yes!” She always had been. They both knew it.
Briony had to tighten her thighs against him to hang on. Her body was
completely under his control. As if caught up in the fever he fed, she rode him with
everything she had, rolling her hips and grinding down every time she propelled down
on his solid length. Their movements were frenzied, almost spinning out of control as
the barely leashed craving they had both tried to deny burst the seams. His lips and
hands were everywhere, and she loved it. She loved the way his greedy mouth pulled
on her aching nipples, sending her spiraling out of control. She loved the way his hands
palmed her ass, squeezing as he pulled her to him, demanding she take every inch.
“I’ve need this for so long,” Briony wailed, reveling in the erotic sensations
engulfing her body. “Please, please fuck me, Quent, make me yours!”
