by Shara Azod
It smacked him square in the face.
The bastard didn’t even blink. “Come here!” He grabbed for her with his beefy paws, determination setting his
mouth in a thin line.
“Let go of me!”
Oh, hell no. she was not about to let this fucker get his mitts on her! She kicked at
him.
His hot breath brushed her face and she gagged on reflex. Smoke, soured beer
and food on his breath made her sick to her stomach, but she couldn’t throw up. She
had to get out of this bathroom and down the stairs.
The alarm! How did this waste of oxygen get past the security alarm? She didn’t
hear it go off, and surely Quentin set it before he left. He swung, shattering the mirror
over the sink with his fist. Shards of glass rained over the porcelain. With her heart in
her throat, Briony kicked out as hard as she could.
“Take that you fat bastard!” she spat and kicked again, and again, her legs
becoming dual weapons.
Fast, too fast, his hand wrapped around her ankle and yanked her to him. With
her free leg, she lifted it up and smashed it into his balls as hard as she could muster.
“Fuck!” he bellowed, dropping her ankle like a hot poker. He bent over where
she’d successfully nailed him in the nads. She didn’t even pause before kicking the side
of his face.
Briony slid her legs out of his reach, scrambled to her feet and kicked again. He
tried to block it, but it caught him in the neck. The next one caught him in the face once
more, and sent him careening backward through the doorway. Finally.
She leapt over him, using her adrenaline to propel her forward. He snarled from
behind her. Without looking back, she ran, as fast as she could out of the bedroom,
down the stairs and right into the living room.
“Get back here, bitch!” he roared.
She heard him panting behind her, but nothing would stop her reaching that
door and Officer Gomez. She’d managed to clear the stairs when a great weight fell on
her, forcing her to the carpet.
“Gotcha!” he bellowed, laughing and wrestling her arms behind her. “Fuckin’
johns gonna like your spicy ass.”
“Get off of me! Help! Help!” He was too big! Too strong!
He locked one of his meaty arms around her neck and lifted her as if she
weighed nothing at all. His other hand was so large he kept both her wrists in his grasp.
She beat against his hands, his face, she struggled, she shouted, and she even tried to
bite him, but he laughed.
Laughed! He found her terror amusing.
“Let go, you bastard!”
Briony smacked at his hand, and kicked with her legs. Hissing in pain, she
clawed at the smelly and hairy arm at her throat. He yanked tighter and the pressure on
her windpipe made her vision blur.
“Scream all you want. That damn cop is deader than a doornail. He ain’t hearing
shit.” That stilled Briony’s frantic movements. Officer Gomez had two little girls and a
fantastic wife who made tasty enchiladas. This guy wasn’t playing and she was wasting
her time trying to fight him. She had to defeat him using her brains. Think, Bri, think!
“But I am,” came Quentin’s voice, as chilly as the Arctic sounded from behind
them. “Get your fucking hands off her!”
Briony sagged as relief washed through her.
She knew that tone, and really it was too bad the funky smelling bastard didn’t
because if he had, he would know to just let her go. No one told Quentin no. She’d
heard him use that same tone with Bobby Ray it always lead to disastrous effects – for
Bobby Ray.
In seconds, she was whirled around to face him. The fuzz-covered arm tightened
even more and she squeaked. Again, she buried her nails into his thick flesh, but he
didn’t let go. Her eyes met Quentin’s for a brief second before he put them back on her
attacker.
“Are you deaf and stupid?” Quentin asked, eyebrows crouched down, his lips a
flat line of fury and his weapon, unwavering and pointing directly at them.
“You ain’t gonna shoot little miss piece of ass,” the bastard rumbled out,
chuckling. “You FBI types are all the same.”
Quentin smirked, a cold partial rise of his lips.
“No, we aren’t.”
Briony had no idea where the loud firecracker sound came from. She didn’t see
smoke, but then, she couldn’t really focus at the moment. “Uhm,” the bastard grunted. She was suddenly propelled backward, the massive
arms loosening their grips on her.
“Ah!” she screamed, but before she hit the ground, steely arms were pulling her
up into safety in arms not at all frightening, but full of comfort and love. Quentin.
“Come here, baby,” he said against her ear.
She was already there, melting into her own personal safe haven, zipped into his
embrace. She noticed Richards coming in from the kitchen’s archway, his gun at his
side. Behind Quentin, the fat bastard who attacked her lay sprawled, glassy eyes that
were once wild had blanked in death. He stared blindly up at the ceiling not moving.
“Don’t look, baby,” Quent said, guiding her head to his chest and hugging her
close to him. “Come on, let’s go outside.”
Numb, Briony burrowed further against him. She shuddered and it didn’t stop.
She snuggled into Quentin’s embrace and she knew she’d be all right. He was here.
Everything would be all right. Chapter Eight
There was no way in hell Quentin was letting Briony out of his sight. The close
call had scared him shitless. How had they found out where he lived? How the hell was
he supposed to keep her safe with the fearless assholes breaking into the house? His
first thought was to get Briony to a safe house, somewhere far away from this shit. The
problem was, if she was out of sight, there was nothing to draw them out.
“Think, be sensible,” Richards had urged. “She is the only thing we got.”
“There is no fucking way we are using her as bait,” Quentin shot right back.
“Not. Gonna. Happen. She’s been through enough. I won’t put her through this shit.”
In the end, they had come up with a somewhat workable solution. The Bureau
had rented out one of the many empty houses on the block for Quentin and Richards.
There, they would keep watch on Briony, while an undercover was stationed at
Quentin’s place with a black and white outside. There were three other houses on the
block, all manned by agents; hell the uniform in the black and white was an undercover
agent. Quentin just couldn’t trust the local police with this. It was too damn important.
It had been two days and no sign of other gang members. They weren’t stupid.
They were waiting for the heat to die down before making another move. Quentin had
the feeling this time they wouldn’t be sending in just one.
“I’m taking Bri out shopping,” Quentin announced to his partner. She was
understandably suffering from a little cabin fever, plus with Richards so close, she had
been somewhat reserved in the bedroom.
“I’ll shadow you,” Richards stated, putting down the morning paper. As much as Quentin wanted to take him up on the offer, Richards needed a
break from them as much as they did from him.
“Naw, I’ll get one of the others to do it.”
>
“Sure,” Richards nodded, reopening the paper.
Quentin watched him, waiting for him to move, make plans, something. But no,
his partner sat right there at the cheap kitchen table.
“Don’t you have somewhere to go? Something to do?” As much as Quentin
appreciated Richards being around, the man seemed to have no life. He lived, ate, and
slept the job.
“I’m doing it.” Richards quirked a brow, but didn’t turn from his paper. “Go take
your woman shopping.”
In the past, the rib might have gotten Quentin riled, as was his partner’s intent.
Now, Quentin just felt a little sorry for the guy. For the past three years he had been
wallowing in his own personal hell so deep, he hadn’t seen what a lonely sad sack his
own partner was. Before Briony, they would meet at one of their houses, depending on
whose turn it was to drive, spend the entire day together, then spend a few hours at a
local bar hanging out with equally as lonely cop types.
Quentin had been able to identify what ailed him. Briony in his life now made
him acutely aware of all he had been missing for so long. Guys like Richards never even
realized what they were missing because they had never seen it, and couldn’t fathom
being with someone, really with someone.
Shit, he had it bad to be thinking syrupy shit like this. Briony breezed into the kitchen, pecking Quentin lightly on the lips before
nodding in Richards’s general direction. She never touched the other man, a thing
Quentin greatly appreciated. He would hate to have to kill his partner. He liked the
guy.
Quentin pulled her into his arms before she could go about her normal routine of
cooking everyone breakfast. “Don’t even think about cooking. I’m taking you out for
breakfast, lunch, and maybe dinner. Maybe we can even pick up Richards a sense of
humor in the form of a hot little package. A redhead maybe to keep him on his toes.”
“I can’t believe you just said what you did with a straight face,” Richards was
staring at him visibly appalled.
Quentin merely shrugged. “Wait and see. If you’re lucky, one day you’ll
understand.”
Shopping was easier than Quentin had thought. He had steeled himself, bringing
along a good mystery he had yet to crack open. Even though he had given her money to
buy new things before, in typical Briony fashion, she had used the bulk of the money
for things around the house he hadn’t realized he needed, like pots and real dishes. For
herself, she had gone to a discount chain supercenter and bought the basics, and not
much else. That just wasn't going to do. Briony had been making due for a little too
long. It was time to splurge a little.
It was actually fun helping her pick out things of far better quality than the
sweats and jeans she had allowed herself. She had protested everything from the price of the clothes, to the futility of buying more than she needed, but Quentin was adamant.
If anyone deserved a little spoiling, it was Briony.
“Try this on for me,” Quentin grinned wickedly, holding up a little scrap of
nothing. It was supposed to be a dress, maybe, nothing more than an oversized scarf
with thin straps to tie around her neck.
“Um, and where would I wear that?” Briony looked at the dress as if it were a
snake. “I can’t see myself going in for job interviews wearing that. I wouldn’t go to the
corner store wearing it either.”
Yeah, damn right she wouldn’t! Behind closed doors however, that was another
thing entirely.
“Please? Just try it on. You can wear it around the house.” She looked skeptical,
but he could tell she was weakening. “You can wear it just for me.”
Shaking her head, she grabbed the fragment of material from his hand, stomping
off toward the dressing rooms. Quentin stomped right behind her. Apparently, he had
some kind of shopping fetish because he was sporting one hell of a hard on. There was
just something about watching Briony posing in the clothes she tried on that turned him
on. He loved to watch the way different materials clung to various parts of her body,
especially if it was tight over her ass.
It wasn't that he hadn’t made love to her in the two days they were stuck in the
house with Richards, it was just that Briony had been a little uptight and way too
cautious, fearing his partner would hear them. He just didn’t have the heart to tell her
Richards knew good and damned well what was going on when they disappeared every night around eight o’clock. Making love to Briony was always beyond fantastic,
but he knew that in the back of her mind, she was conscious of always being quiet or
not making the bed squeak too much.
At some point during their day at the mall, Quentin had decided two could play
that game. He wanted to see just how quiet she could be. It was a good thing malls
weren’t all that busy midday in the middle of the week. There was no one to witness
him slipping into the tiny cubicle with her.
“Quentin! What are you doing?” Briony jumped as he pushed his way inside.
Damn these things were tiny!
“I thought I would help you,” he lied, a grin of pure deviousness on his lip. “You
might need help with your zipper.”
“I’m wearing a dress, Quent.”
“Ummm…”
He didn’t bother to reply, letting his fingers do the walking; he slowly pulled the
sundress up over her head, making sure the light fabric brushed across her skin as
much as possible.
“Quent!” It wasn’t really a complaint this time, or even an admonishment.
Quentin smiled against the smooth skin of her shoulder as he plucked at her nipples.
Briony had exquisitely sensitive breasts. Sometimes, he could even make her
come just by showing them proper attention. It was a heady thing to watch his woman
come from the things he did to her. He wanted to see that look of unabashed passion on
her face every damn second of the day if he could. Turning her in his arms, Quentin buried his head in the valley between her
breasts. She always smelled so good! The light floral scent of her perfume mixed with
her natural scent was beyond intoxicating. His mouth watered just thinking about the
globes filling his hands. Her body shuttered slightly as he pressed her mostly nude
body against his fully clothed frame. He needed two mouths and four hands to do any
kind of justice to Briony’s lush figure. He wanted to be everywhere at once! Inside her,
tasting her, feeling her.
A minute cry escaped when his hot mouth closed around one taut nipple. He
loved that sound; equal parts surprise even though she knew it was coming, and
delight, which he always wanted to inspire. He added teeth to the suction of his mouth,
not hard, just a little edge, the way he was learning she liked. He used one hand to
apply equal attention on the other mound while busily delving inside her scant panties.
Ah, nice and wet. His fingers slipped past the lips of her slit, coated with her
delicious natural juices. Despite the copious flow of her honey, her pussy still gripped
his questing fingers tightly.
“Oh, damn!” Briony whispered harshly, throwing her head back to lean against
the dressing room wall. “Yeah, Quent, right there!”
/>
“Shhh, baby. You don’t want anyone to hear us do you?” Quentin couldn’t give a
flying fuck whether or not anyone heard them. The only thing he cared about was right
here in his arms.
Sliding down the front of her body, he hooked his fingers into the side of her
underwear and slid them down with him. The smell of their combined lust flooded the small area, fueling Quentin’s already growing need. His cock was pounding painfully
against the crotch of his jeans, but he was determined to make Briony come before
burying himself ball deep inside her tight sweetness. He loved gliding into her core
before the spasms of a good orgasm died down. Her walls sucked him right in,
welcoming him with thousands of tiny kisses.
Groaning in anticipation, he placed one leg over his shoulder and buried his face
between her thighs. He thrust his tongue deep inside, savoring every nuance of her
sweet, spicy goodness. This succulent pussy was an addiction he would never get over,
nor did he want to. He ate her like a man possessed, desperate to lap up every drop of
the dew falling on his tongue.
“Quent! Oh God, I’m going to come!”
Her fingers gripped his hair, pulling him closer as her hips rolled, pressing
deeper into his mouth. He could feel precum leaking from his shaft as if the organ was
mimicking the actions of her quim.
“Come for me, baby,” he growled against her, unwilling to pull away. “I want
every drop in my mouth!”
Her body tensed, her clit throbbing against the flat of his tongue. Her orgasm
flooded his mouth, just as he had instructed. His eyes closed savoring the taste, a soft
hum emitting from the back of his throat. The vibrations made her jump then clench
down, coming even harder.
“Quent! Oh, damn, Quent!” All pretense of being inconspicuous flew out the window. Quentin’s pants were
down before he had fully risen to his feet. Grasping both thighs, Quentin drove into her
core in one single thrust.
“Yeah, baby, you feel so fucking good all tight and juicy,” he groaned, burying
his head in the crook of her neck. “I love being inside you, Bri. My pussy is so damn
good!”
Her legs wrapped around his waist, her arms around his neck. He loved the way
she gave her body over completely, trusting him to take her there. He cupped the
generous cheeks of her ass, leaning her back against the wall as he powered inside,
