“What do you fucking care?” she demanded. “No one ever gave a shit about me!”
“I doubt that’s true.”
She laughed. “You have no idea what it’s like, growing up the daughter of a man like Roan Naylor!”
She tried to move away from him, had to get away from him. The heat of his body pressed against hers was threatening her ability to think, to keep her knees strong. But he held her arms, forced her right back where she’d started.
“Tell me how hard it is, poor little girl. Growing up in the governor’s mansion, having everything you could ever want delivered to your door at your slightest whim!”
She laughed. “Oh, if only it was that good!”
He shook his head, staring into her face, anger and emotion she couldn’t read burning in his eyes. His jaw was clenched again and his grip on her arms was bruising. She could feel the hatred rolling off him in waves, the heat of his body all at once exciting and frightening. Her heart was pounding as instinct began to scream in the back of her head, danger, danger, danger.
“I know all about you, princess,” he said softly, his voice dangerously low. “I read everything ever published about you for years, every little tidbit. I know about the pony delivered to your front door, the Porsche you were given for your sweet sixteen. I saw the pictures of your eighteenth birthday gala, the jewels that sparkled on your neck that night. I know all about your four years at Harvard, your time in medical school. There are no secrets there.”
“Oh, but you’re wrong there. There are more secrets than you could ever appreciate.”
He squeezed her arms, moving closer. “You want to know secrets, darlin’?” His lips brushed the corner of her jaw. “I hated you for years before I walked through that damn door. Your father stole my family, he stole my father from us, took away everything that mattered. I hate him, hate your mother. And I hated you for so fucking long!”
“Your father?” He was scaring her more than exciting her now. She pulled herself up a little, trying to find the confidence to fight the coward that lived somewhere in her soul. “You’ll have to be more specific. My father has ruined a lot of men during his career.”
“He freed a psychopath from prison because he claimed he’d been beaten and raped repeatedly in the prison showers for months. Your father called it cruel and unusual . . . I’d like to know what he called the torture that same man perpetrated on my sister!”
Quinn’s heart sank. She suddenly understood his anger, his hatred, suddenly made a connection she should have made the first time she heard his name. Was she really that self-centered, that short sighted that she hadn’t seen it?
“You’re Angus Obre’s son.”
A flash of pain burned in his eyes when she said the name, but he didn’t deny it. She felt the same pain in her own chest, her own heart. The memory of the autopsy photos, the description of that little girl’s injuries, burned through her mind. She remembered it all like she’d read it yesterday, remembered every detail like it had happened to her. And, for a time, it had felt like it happened to her, that her father’s actions were inspired by his ability to empathize not with a tortured prisoner, but a fellow sadist.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, tears flowing freely down her cheeks.
“I don’t want your apologies,” he growled, his hand slipping around her throat. “I don’t want you to say his name, to soil it with that tongue!”
She was truly frightened now, not sure if the real danger was outside this house or within its four walls. She pushed against his chest, but it did nothing to budge him. He could do whatever he wanted to her, and they both knew it. Once again, in a moment of weakness, Quinn was suddenly transported back to the weak, quivering victim she’d spent most of her adult life running from.
“Please, stop!”
She turned her head from his, her knees growing so weak that she could feel his hand biting into the flesh under her jaw. She couldn’t look him in the eye, feeling in part that she deserved what he was doing to her. His family had suffered darkly from the actions of Wallace, and again when his father took justice into his own hands. She’d thought about him often after seeing those files, after learning the truth of what happened to his family.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered again, his body so close to hers that her breath moved the hair that had come loose from his ponytail. “I hated that he did that. I never understood how he could do such a horrible thing! The things Wallace did to your sister . . . it gave me nightmares for years. I still see those pictures in my dreams. She’s the reason I came back here, the reason I chose pediatric surgery! I was powerless back then, but maybe I could help other children, children here where she died . . .”
She felt him stiffen, felt the tension in his muscle. His hand on her throat tightened for a second, cutting off her air. But then he slid his hand up over her jaw, up into her hair, tangling his fingers around the short strands, dragging her head to one side with a painful yank.
Then he kissed her, moisture from her tears flavoring both their lips.
For a long moment, she stood still, allowed him to explore her mouth, allowed his touch. She even touched him, brushing her fingers over his chest before pressing her palms to his jaw, to the space above his wildly beating heart. But then his fingers tugged at her blouse, trying to pull it free from her linen slacks and . . . she couldn’t allow that.
Panic suddenly burst through her, sending her into a blind, instinctive fight to get away. She ripped at him, thrusting him away, tearing with her fingernails, lashing out with her bare feet. He stepped away but she continued to fight, these tiny screams bursting from her throat. He walked almost halfway across the room, holding his hands up, his features soft with concern and confusion.
“Quinn?”
She shook her head, turning away from him and burying her face against the sheer curtains hanging from the French doors.
What the hell was the matter with her? Why couldn’t she just be normal, a woman with perfectly healthy needs, a woman mature enough to handle a little rough foreplay? Why couldn’t she let him touch her, let him offer her the comfort she so desperately needed, so desperately wanted from him?
“Hey,” he said, coming toward her again, his hands still held up in a sign of surrender. “You okay?”
She nodded, slowly pulling herself together. “I’m sorry.”
“No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”
“You didn’t want to kiss me?”
He tilted his head slightly, a small smile on those gorgeous lips. “I meant I shouldn’t have manhandled you that way.”
There was so much that needed to be said between them; so many things she felt like she needed to explain to him. If anyone deserved an explanation, it was him. But all she could concentrate on was that little smile, and all she could think about was the feel of his lips on hers.
She held out her hand to him. He followed her up the stairs and into the bedroom. When she turned to him, he wasn’t even attempting to hide the need in his eyes, the desire that burned dark on his handsome face.
“It has to be my way,” she said softly. “You have to promise to let me have control.”
He didn’t hesitate. He nodded in agreement, hiding his hands behind his back. Fear was burrowing into Quinn’s chest again, making her heart pound like it wanted to escape her chest. Her hands shook, too, as she lifted them to push his sports coat off his shoulders. He caught it as it slipped over his hands, tossing it into a chair off to one side of the bed. Without the jacket, she could clearly see the holster strapped over his shoulders. She touched the leather, both frightened and excited by the danger it suggested.
There’d been a lot of security men in her childhood, men paid to keep her, her mother, and her father safe from whatever dangers might lurk around them. But she’d rarely seen their weapons or the devices they’d used to keep them attached to their bodies. This was like something out of a television show, like a fantasy that had s
omehow found life.
He unsnapped the strap that held it in place, carefully set the rig down on the chair with his jacket without pulling his eyes from hers.
Quinn bit her bottom lip as she stared into his eyes for a long moment, so desperately wanting to trust this man she suddenly felt like she’d known her entire life. She reached up and pressed her lips to his, but pulled back when he tried to deepen the kiss.
Not yet.
She ran her hands over the simple black t-shirt he was wearing, aware of his teeny nipples hardened as they pressed against the thin material. His arms were bare, the same creamy color as his face, not marred by freckles or dark hairs. But strong, thick in all the right places. She ran her hands over them, touching them with her entire palm, not just her fingers, slipping them under the sleeve of the t-shirt to touch his broad shoulders. Back down again, she let her fingers slip over his until he tried to snag them, tried to hold her close to him.
His shirt came off easily, slipping over his head like a hot knife through butter. For a second, he was blind to her, and she was able to study that broad chest, flexed as it was by his uplifted arms. She brushed a finger against one nipple, and then the other, this ache deep in her belly screaming with a need that only grew with every inch of flesh she exposed. Quinn had seen lots and lots of physical specimens in her time as a medical student and again as a doctor, an intern, a resident, and then a surgeon. This . . . he was perfect, the kind of man Hollywood liked to perpetuate as the everyday guy in their stupid films. The kind GQ liked to put on their covers. Broad, hairless chest, heavy pecs, a six pack that didn’t require a makeup artist’s tricks to highlight. And that navel, the round pucker of scar tissue that marked the starting point of a treasure map that only made the ache in her belly, in her very soul, that much more intense.
She took her time, her hands exploring every inch of him. She even walked behind him, slipping her fingertips through the valley of his spine, pressing them into the dimples that were barely visible at the top of his jean’s waistband. He stood still, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, his muscles flexing with tension. He watched her closely as she came back around to the front of him, a fingernail flicking his nipple again.
“I want to touch you,” he said in a low voice that was almost a growl.
She shook her head, stepping back out of his reach. It wouldn’t take much for him to overpower her, to take what he wanted with or without her consent. But he stood very still, a tendon along one cheek flexing with the tension in his jaw.
She rewarded his patience by slipping off her slacks, moving her hips in that way made popular by teen pop stars and sex crazed adults. He groaned, a long, low sound that she could feel deep inside. The groan returned when she reached under her blouse, releasing her full breasts from the bra that had been cutting into her sides all morning. She used an old college trick to slip the bra off without removing her blouse, holding it high so that he couldn’t mistake what she’d done before dropping it on the floor beside her slacks.
And then she gestured to the bed.
“Lie down.”
His eyebrows rose. “Are you sure you’re ready for that?”
She tilted her head slightly, her eyes falling to the snap holding his jeans in place. Just below there she could see the clear line of his erection, pressed tight against the denim. Her eyes jumped to his, a part of her unable to believe that she could be the cause of such obvious need in this beautiful man. He licked his lips, reaching up to release his long hair from the band that held it in a simple ponytail at his neck. Quinn had never really liked men with hair that was longer than hers, men who thought it was sexy to look more like a woman than most women. But there was something about Calder’s long, thick, blond hair that melted all those bigoted opinions away.
She moved closer to him again, tugging at his jeans. She knelt as she dragged them down the length of his long legs, carefully guiding the narrow legs over his ankles. She didn’t bother to regain her feet before slipping his briefs over his erection, tugging them down the length of his legs.
When she stood again, it was to move back and admire the sight before her.
Fuck, he was gorgeous!
Whoever said women were not visual lovers was dead wrong.
Calder crawled onto the bed, lying flat on his back, that erection thick and beautiful as it pulsed with life against his lower belly. Quinn had so much more planned, her tongue practically salivating at the thought of tasting him. But the ache down deep in her belly was too intense to ignore.
She reached under the long tail of her blouse and tugged her panties away, tossing them onto her slacks as she climbed onto the bed, straddling him like a horse that was waiting patiently to be ridden. He lifted his hands, but he didn’t touch. She could see that it was a struggle, could see the need in his eyes.
“Isn’t this a man’s dream?” she asked softly as she leaned close to kiss him again. “A woman who does all the work?”
“Not this man’s.”
“Too bad.”
She bit his lower lip, drawing it into her mouth and sucking on it for a moment. He grunted, but she swallowed that as she kissed him, welcoming his exploration more readily this time. They kissed for a long moment, his hands coming up to brush over her arms. She allowed him that much, okay with the gentleness of it. More than okay. She loved the way he touched her, loved the warmth of his skin against hers. She wished she could allow him so much more.
She moved her hips as they kissed, allowing the length of him to rub against her opening, teasing them both with a touch of friction in all the right places. Her clit pounded with her heartbeat, blood rushing through it with such need that it might explode if that were physically possible. She reached over into a drawer in the side table, removing a condom from a box that was open but had yet to be utilized, a safety net the practical side of her had bought two years ago when she chose to go off the pill. What was the point in filling her body with hormones when she wasn’t in a committed relationship? The condoms were . . . they were basically wishful thinking.
And now they were finally coming in handy.
His hands dropped away when she sat up, grasping his cock in one hand as she smoothed the condom into place with the other. He never said a word, but he watched her, watched her every move. He bit the same lip she’d tasted, another groan locked behind it. She couldn’t help but lean forward and kiss him again, more appreciative of his patience than he’d ever know.
He closed his eyes as she guided his cock to her, allowing him to enter her a little bit at a time with small movements of her hips. He reached behind his head and grasped the slats in the headboard, holding so hard that the entire body creaked with the tension he put on it. When he was completely inside, she sat still, her own eyes slipping shut as her body adjusted to this invasion. She’d been with a few men in her lifetime. The first was one of those security guys at the governor’s mansion, an act of rebellion that her father ignored with infuriating indifference. And then there had been the normal number of guys in college, one of whom had humiliated her the only time he saw her naked. There was a surgical fellow at one point, and a medical student when she was a fellow. And then Kaden.
But none of them had felt quite like this.
She began a slow movement, flexing every muscle that seemed important, watching the pleasure dance on his face even as he kept his eyes closed. He lay still, patient, allowing her even this little bit of control. That was so much more than she had asked for.
She found a perfect rhythm, a slow rock that allowed him to touch everything inside and out. He bit that lip again, groaning as he struggled to keep his hands away from her. She saw that and reached forward, drawing them away from the headboard and laying them on her thighs. His eyes flew open and he immediately slid them upward, grasping her hips, pulling her further up on his pelvis. She cried out as he touched something she hadn’t even known was there, as pleasure burst like an explosion through her body. And the
n he sat up, his hands slipping around to her ass, drawing her even closer.
He bent his knees, taking some control over their rhythm even as she pressed her hands against his shoulders, using them as leverage. All thoughts began to melt away except those absorbed with the pleasure he was creating for her. She tossed her head back and cried out, vocal in a way she’d never been before. There was so much inside of her that it had to come out, had to have an outlet or she’d burst with it. The feel of him inside of her, the feel of his hands on her hips, on her thighs, was just too much.
They rocked together for a long time, his mouth pressed against her throat, her shoulder, his breath hot and sexy against her skin. She buried her fingers in his hair, twisted it around them so that they were connected in more ways than one. And they kissed, their tongues dancing in and out of their mouths.
And then that wave came, smashing her against the shore as it rushed over her. She lost track of how many waves came with it, crashing against her, through her, unable to do anything but go for the ride. And then he followed, his mouth once again pressed to her throat as he cried out with it, his hands squeezing the back of her thighs as he held her as still as he could.
It was a long moment before either of them recovered from their separate dance with pleasure. He fell back, pulling her down on his chest, his hands slipping up to cover her ass. At first, her mind was too foggy to realize what he was doing. But then he began to slip his hands under her blouse, drawing it up toward her shoulders.
“No!”
She pulled away, his cock slipping from her with a shocking tug. She rolled to the far side of the bed, snatching up a crocheted blanket that lived at the bottom of the bed and covering herself with it.
She lay there, tense as a pebble in someone’s shoe, afraid he would get up and leave her now. When the bed moved with his movement, she was convinced that was the moment. But he only slid his hand over her shoulder, baring it just slightly to lay a kiss on it. And then he snuggled up against her, his naked body pressed so close to her fully covered body that the idea of it sent hysterical laughter rushing from her lips.
Mastiff Security: The Complete 5 Books Series Page 31
