Untouched

by Maisey Yates

  Then she whipped her shirt over her head, took her bra off, tugged her pants down and put them on.

  She wiggled. Good Lord, that was weird. Her butt was bare, and the little band of fabric that ran between her cheeks left her feeling more exposed than if she were naked. And also gave her the vague feeling of having a wedgie.

  There was nothing safe about thongs. She and her comfort zone had officially parted ways.

  Lark bent down and tugged a sheer black camisole from the box and slipped it on, looking at herself in the full-length mirror that hung on the wall. She looked . . . not like her.

  At least, not like she imagined herself. She looked like a woman. Not like a girl who would hide in her room and play games in order to keep the world from intruding.

  She looked like the kind of woman who would face her relationship difficulties head-on. And who knew some seriously naughty sex moves. Who knew what she wanted.

  She wanted Quinn. But with Quinn came a whole massive bag of issues and the potential for serious heartbreak.

  “Well, be realistic,” she said to her reflection. “If you left now, it’s not like you wouldn’t be heartbroken.”

  No, she would be broken. In every way. Cade and Cole might never forgive her. Ever. And that was a reality she hadn’t been willing to face before this moment. Because they’d always been there, so imagining a time when they wouldn’t be . . . it was too painful. But remembering the way Cade had looked at her the last time she’d seen him . . .

  She might have broken that relationship past the point of fixing.

  And when Quinn left, who would she have? No one. She would be alone. Alone, and she wouldn’t have the man she loved.

  Oh, yeah, love. She already loved him.

  There was no reason to run, because there was no reason to run to. Because if she ran, she would be running from her feelings. Running scared. She’d been scared all of her life. Of being alone, of being unloved. She was facing the possibility of both of those things now.

  Of being without her brothers. Being without Quinn.

  Unless she stood her ground and fought.

  She was tired of being scared.

  Tonight she was going to give him a serious show.

  It was time to be brave.

  ***

  Quinn had avoided the house for as long as possible. Now he had to go in and see how empty it felt.

  He’d never had a woman live with him before. Somehow, he and Lark had been living together, even if it hadn’t been for long. And now he knew the house was going to feel hollowed out. Because she would be gone, and he deserved it.

  He pushed the front door in and bypassed the kitchen, walking straight up the stairs, taking his hat and shirt off as he went, not caring where they landed.

  His bed was going to feel big and empty tonight. He knew it. It was stupid, because he’d never liked sharing a bed. Not after the sex was over. He didn’t do the limbs-tangled-up, listening-to-each-other-breathe thing.

  At least, he hadn’t before Lark.

  That little geek was doing a number on him. At least, she had been. He should be thankful it was over.

  He opened his bedroom door and froze.

  Because the little geek wasn’t gone. She was in his room, on his bed, looking like anything but a little geek.

  She was perched on the edge of the mattress, clad in black lingerie, enticing hints of pale skin beneath the dark fabric sending a rush of blood straight down below his belt buckle.

  Her hair was messy, tumbled over her shoulders, and there was a fire in her dark eyes that he could feel burning through him, into him.

  “Hey there, Parker. I was starting to think you weren’t going to show up.”

  It was Lark. She might look different, but she was the same. He couldn’t even explain the flood of relief that hit him.

  That she was here. That she was her.

  “I had work to finish. I don’t know about you.”

  “My boss told me I could leave.” She put her hands behind her and leaned back, thrusting her breasts into prominence. He could make out the faint shadow of her nipples beneath the thin fabric.

  Lark in lingerie was threatening to bust his zipper. His cock was so hard it hurt. She was sexy enough in the crazy panties she normally wore. She was sexy without trying. And apparently when she threw effort behind her sexy, she was downright deadly to his health.

  “Your boss is an idiot.”

  “Yeah, no argument.” She stood up and he groaned, couldn’t stop himself. The faint shadow of dark hair visible through those tiny panties was was enough to send him to his knees. “Are you still planning on getting revenge on my brother? Say there’s nothing that can be done about the circuit. He won’t reverse his statements. Will you seek revenge, or do you just want vindication?”

  He swallowed, his throat so dry it nearly stuck closed. “I won’t give up,” he said. “I’ll keep pushing. And pushing. If I have to make his life hell, make it so I’m not worth sticking to his guns quite so hard, I’m prepared to do it. I’m prepared to ruin him.”

  “He’s ruined already, Quinn. As much as it hurts you to have lost the rodeo, it hurts him too.”

  “But there’s no other option for him. If I had caused his injuries, I would deserve to share the same fate he does, but for the first time in my life I’m an innocent bystander.”

  “I believe you,” she said. “And that’s why I’m still here. My brother is wrong. But so are you. I don’t want you to . . . I don’t want you to keep pursuing it all this way.”

  “I don’t have another choice, Lark. And even if that means you walking out the door, even if it means me never touching you again, when I want you so much I ache, that’s the way it has to be.”

  “You can’t choose me over your revenge?”

  “I don’t have a damn thing to give you, baby.”

  “You’re more than the rodeo, Quinn,” she said.

  “I’m really not. And that’s why I can’t give up on this. It’s why I can’t choose you over revenge.”

  “Fine,” she said. “Because I’m not going to ask you to.”

  “What?”

  “Shocking, right? I was shocked too. I was all ready to go, and then, these came in the mail. I ordered them. For you. For me, because I was tired of being embarrassed about what I was wearing to bed. You bear my eccentricities like a champ, Quinn, but god of the sack that you are, I felt you were owed recompense.” She turned. “A thong. I bought a thong.”

  “Shit.” He hadn’t meant to say that out loud. But she had the most perfect ass ever and it basically wiped out his vocabulary to see it on display like this.

  She turned to face him. “It’s definitely worth it.”

  “Stop . . . for a second, because . . . you want to be with me?”

  “Yes.”

  “You aren’t giving me an ultimatum?”

  “Quinn Parker, I wish that you could let it go. I wish you thought you were enough without the rodeo. I wish you didn’t feel like you needed this. But I’m choosing to stay with you, my choice.”

  “Why? Because I can’t give you anything but . . . pain.”

  “And multiple orgasms. And companionship. And the feeling that I can make choices and not be so afraid of every little thing. Not be so afraid to leave my room. Do you know why I didn’t ride horses anymore, Cade?”

  “Why?” he asked, his throat hoarse.

  “I’m allergic to them, for a start.” She cleared her throat. “And because my mom used to ride them with me. And I was afraid of it hurting. Doing it again. Couple with the fact that a part of me is always afraid something catastrophic will happen to me. She died in an accident on the ranch. She was the bravest, toughest woman I ever knew, and she died, Quinn. Part of me, I think, has always thought she wouldn’t have died if she just hadn�
��t had to do everything. If she could have lived a little more quietly. So I’ve lived quietly. I’ve lived inside. I’ve lived over the computer. When I took a chance with you, I said it was because I was tired of trying to be good. But it’s more than trying to be good. It’s trying to be safe. And I’m over it. I don’t want safe. I want you.”

  She walked up to him and pressed her breasts against him. He put his hand on her lower back, held her to him. “Lark . . . I’m a bad bet.”

  “I know,” she said.

  “You should have gone.”

  “Maybe.”

  “But I’m glad you stayed.”

  “Me too.” She put her hands, so soft, so warm, on his chest. She bent her head down and kissed him, just above his nipple. “I made a big choice when I stayed, Quinn. Not tonight, but when Cole and Cade first came. It’s possible I made a big sacrifice.”

  That hurt. Having to see how his actions had injured her. To know that his stupid revenge had had a part in compromising her relationship with her brothers. It made it hard to even look at her.

  But he couldn’t look away either.

  “I’m not sure I deserved that.” He sifted his fingers through her hair. “I can’t promise you anything.”

  “You keep saying that.”

  “It’s true.”

  “Let’s just not talk about tomorrow then. Can you do that?”

  He swallowed hard. “Yes.” He wanted it. He wanted to freeze time on this moment. To keep things from moving to their inevitable conclusion. The conclusion had already been waylaid. He’d been given an extension on time with Lark that he didn’t deserve.

  She was offering him something incredible, and he was offering her nothing. Nothing but more sex while he changed absolutely nothing about his plans.

  He shut all that out. He shut everything out but Lark in her lingerie. Lingerie she’d ordered for him. She was his. That thought, it ran so far beneath the skin; created a feeling so bone deep he couldn’t deny it. It was so possessive, so proprietary, and it shocked him. Disgusted him. And yet it didn’t make it go away.

  He didn’t deserve to have her. Didn’t deserve anything she’d given him. And yet he reveled in the fact that he did have her. That she was staying. That he was the only man who’d ever touched her.

  The only man who’d ever been inside her.

  That he was the man she’d chosen, even if she’d chosen him knowing he’d be a mistake.

  “You’re mine,” he said, his voice a growl as he pulled her more tightly against him. “Only mine.”

  “Yes,” she said.

  He lowered his head and traced the edge of her camisole with his tongue, before tugging the top down and revealing her breasts. “The best part about things like this is taking them off,” he said. He ran the flat of his tongue over her nipple, then blew lightly against her skin, watching it tighten, watching goose bumps break out over her pale skin. “You are so beautiful.”

  “I never thought so,” she said.

  “No?”

  “Not before you. But you make me feel beautiful. You make me believe it.”

  “Oh, you’d better believe it. You make me so hard. I haven’t felt so on edge . . . I was going to say since I was a teenager, but not even then. I’ve never wanted a woman more than I want you. You make me forget them.”

  “Who?”

  “The other women. I don’t even want to remember. Your skin is the only taste I want on my tongue.”

  “Bringing up other women during sex is sort of dangerous there, Quinn.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, kissing her breast. “But as I said you were only mine, I wished that I was only yours.”

  She wrapped her arms around him. “It’s good enough that you’re mine now.” She slid her hand down his chest, fingers skimming his abs, moving down lower and covering his erection, her touch burning him even through his jeans. “You’re mine.”

  “Yes,” he said, because he could say nothing else. It was true. She held him in the palm of her hand in every way.

  She moved her hand slowly, squeezing him, her eyes intent on his. “I love this,” she said. “I could never get tired of it.”

  “The feeling is mutual.”

  She blinked, leaning in and burying her face against his neck, her lips warm on his skin. “I’m glad.”

  She moved away from him and got into bed. He followed, kissing her, deep, long. Until they were lying together, her body half on top of his, her hands roaming over him. There was something perfect about it. About kissing her when they were both half naked, just kissing and touching, not in a hurry to take it further.

  It was a step he’d skipped in his sexual discovery, and it was one she’d skipped in hers, thanks to him.

  But it didn’t take long for the fire to burn too hot, the flames beneath his skin too intense. He needed release. He needed more. He needed her.

  As if on cue, she put her hands on his belt and undid the buckle, working on his jeans next. He tugged them down while she took the rest of her naughty lingerie off. And then they were skin to skin.

  She kissed his jaw, his neck, his chest, her tongue tracing a line down his stomach and to his shaft.

  “Lark.” He grabbed a fistful of her hair, pleasure shooting through him, pushing him to the brink. “Too good,” he said.

  “Mmm . . . good.”

  “Not fair,” he said.

  “Why no—whoa!” He gripped her hips and hauled her up, adjusting her so her thighs were on either side of his head and he had her right where he wanted.

  “Equal opportunity,” he said, sliding his tongue along her slick flesh.

  She moaned, sending a vibration from her lips over his shaft. It was all perfect. Lark’s mouth on him, and her, the taste of her, coating his tongue. And every time he pleasured her right, she made a little sound that added to his own pleasure.

  He slipped a finger inside of her and she lifted her head, a shocked gasp on her lips. He didn’t even mind that she’d stopped. He was too focused on her now. On how tight and hot she was. On every sound she made. On the way she moved her hips, trying to show him her rhythm. On how perfect she was.

  She stiffened, her muscles spasming around his finger. But the best part was when she said his name. A prayer and a curse all rolled into one.

  He changed their positions, resting between her thighs, kissing her lips as he reached into the nightstand drawer for protection.

  “I don’t think I have the energy to come again,” she said.

  “You will.”

  He rolled the condom on and slid inside her welcoming body, gritting his teeth as pleasure overwhelmed him. Raw, intense. He was already close to the edge, and this was almost too much to take.

  But he’d promised her another orgasm, and he was going to deliver. Then she curled her fingers around his neck and whispered in his ear.

  “Yes, Quinn. Like that. Oh, yes.”

  And there was no more tactical thought. No more measured thrusts. It was nothing but a blind, furious race to the finish as he lost himself in her body. He was surrounded by her. Her scent, her warmth. Lark.

  He had a dim moment of thankfulness when he felt her arch beneath him, felt her give in to another climax, as his own roared through his ears like a hurricane, consuming him completely.

  When it was over, she was holding him, her hands moving over his hair, like she was soothing him.

  And he rolled to the side, the condom necessitating his withdrawal from her body, but he didn’t get up. He just stayed with her, his arms wrapped around her, one leg tangled through hers.

  She kissed his shoulder, fingers now tracing circles over his bicep. “Tell me about the horse.” He looked down and followed the line of her hands as she continued to move her hands over his skin.

  “I told you. Because of the rodeo.”<
br />
  “But he’s not just a rodeo horse. He’s like a war horse. He’s angry.”

  He cleared his throat. He didn’t think much about the tattoo. It was just there. Another thing he’d done to his body, in a long list of things, that had either been stupid or a waste. He liked to pretend it hadn’t meant anything. But it had. Even then.

  “I got it right after I went to find my dad. It was stupid.”

  “You’re the horse.”

  “Yeah, and no dick jokes please.”

  “Because that’s where I was going with this very serious conversation.”

  “Nah, I know. But I’m allergic to sincerity.” Especially when it was about him. About old wounds. Anger was easier. That was why the horse was angry. To remind him to be mad. Mad at his dad. Mad at the world. It was easier than feeling anything else.

  “Did you ever think about letting the anger go?” she asked.

  “How?”

  “I don’t know, Quinn. But maybe someday . . . maybe someday you’ll be able to feel something else that will be big enough to push it all out.”

  He looked down at Lark and he felt something bloom in his chest. Something warm, incredible. And terrifying. Really terrifying. Something that had the power to do just what she’d said.

  Unless the anger won. With him, why would he ever think anything else could happen? Bad blood. And just like always, all that anger, everything that was wrong inside of him, would poison the people around him.

  Would poison Lark.

  The idea grabbed him around his heart and squeezed tight.

  “Not me, baby,” he said, a response to her statement—and also a plea. That she would remember what he was capable of. That she wouldn’t want more. More than he could give.

  “Probably not, while you’re hanging on to it so tight,” she said, her voice getting sleepy. “You’ll have to let go.”

  He looked down and her eyes were closed. And he held tight to her.

  Let go? The anger was his drive. It always had been. And it wasn’t that simple anymore.

  It was a part of him now. Integral. It was the thing that fueled him. The thing that sustained him. No, nothing better would ever be able to grow inside of him. It would be choked out the minute it appeared.