The Other Brother (Snow and Ash Book 3)

by Heather Knight

  I gasp. I try to relax myself, to settle back against the floor and submit my body to his touch.

  “Good girl. That’s it.” He leans forward and licks me. Again. A rhythmic tapping like Morse code, and something about the combination of pleasure and pain brings me to a new high. I let out a rugged keening cry, desperate for release, desperate for what only he can give me. I can’t take it. It’s too much.

  “You can come.” He sucks my clit with expert lips, and I explode. Gut-wrenching cries rip from me as I convulse all around his fingers. I clench my thighs and buck my hips against him, and even then he’s not finished with me. With a pop he pushes farther, farther, and I realize all I can see is his wrist.

  He captures my gaze, and I feel his fingers curl into a fist. It’s the most terrifying, exquisite thing I’ve ever felt. I’m full to bursting, stretched beyond anything I imagined possible.

  “Is this okay?”

  His gentleness, his concern sends me to new heights. I’m floating on a bed of ecstasy where only Kent and I exist. “Yes.”

  “Do you want me to stop?”

  I shudder. “No. Never.”

  “I can feel you twitching all around me.” The triumph in his voice is unmistakable.

  With a groan I clench him harder as another wave hits me.

  I’m lying on the floor, hands over my head, breasts hardened to peaks, with a man’s hand clenched inside my cunt. I can’t find it in me to be embarrassed. He shifts position, causing his fist to move, and this sets me off again. He kisses me, mouth to mouth, tongue to tongue, man to woman.

  This strange euphoria refuses to leave me, and I gaze up at this miracle of a man. “I need you.”

  He rocks his fist, and my eyelids flutter shut. I arch my neck, and he traces a trail of kisses along my collarbone. Is this how he trained those women? For there is no doubt in my mind now that Nico was right. I try to find jealousy, but all I feel is pride in a man so powerful he can drive my demons away.

  When finally he begins his withdrawal, he teases my clit one final time, and another wave of sweet orgasm sweeps through me.

  I lie just as he leaves me as the endorphins continue to sing through my nerves. I’m exhausted and raw and so completely satiated. He wraps my legs around his hips and buries his face in my neck. After several moments he braces himself on his elbows and smooths my hair back from my face. I smell myself on him.

  “What did you and Nico talk about?”

  This time I don’t hesitate. “He said you’re a Dominant and I hate sex. Then he laughed.”

  His expression closes down. No more secrets though. “He said it was you that trained those girls they sent to Bluefield. The girls who will do anything.”

  “He did.” It’s a comment, not a question.

  “And then he said it was only time before I found myself tied up, bent over, and caned.”

  Rage settles over his features, and—is that shame?

  I place my hands on his chest. “I am not afraid of you.”

  He sucks in his breath. “Do you believe him?”

  I do a half shrug, half shake of my head. “Does it matter?”

  “No.” He blinks and wipes his face on his shoulder. He sits back on his heels, and my legs release their grip.

  There’s fear behind his bravado, I can tell. I reach for his hands, and he lets me place them over my breasts.

  “You saved me. I’ll do anything for you.”

  He strokes my face, and there it is. That reverence.

  “Why can’t it just be us?” I muse. “Just you and me, and no one getting in our business.”

  At last we get to our feet. I retreat to the bathroom, and when I emerge, I find him already in bed. He watches me as I cross the room. He seems to expect something.

  I bite my lip. “May I sleep in the bed tonight?”

  His face softens, even the scarred half. Wordlessly he nods, and I climb under the covers. He spoons me, captures me with his legs and arms until we are one.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  I wake to lips, warm and insistent. Kent traces a trail of kisses down my neck, down my shoulder, leaving a tingly echo behind. I tilt my head, allowing him access. He brushes my hair aside and slides his lips to the juncture of my neck and shoulder and bites. I gasp. He’s gentle, but it sends a message directly to my core. He nuzzles below my ear, intoxicating me with need. Lips. Tongue. Teeth. It’s an endless assault on that one little stretch of skin. I sweat as I lean into him, willing him to continue. My breaths come hot and heavy as he grips my shoulder and intensifies his assault. When his cock presses against the small of my back, I glory in its hardness. He bites me again, there on the back of my shoulder, and a shudder rakes through me. I need him. I want him—anything he chooses to give me. I don’t even know what he’ll do to me, but I want to drown in it. When he grasps my breast, it eases the ache, but only for a moment. His hand caresses, sweeps across my breast, up my shoulder into my hair. He grabs a handful and tugs me where he wants me, and his lips suck, his teeth bite, and his tongue glides. My neck is his playground, and I am his slave. I tremble as my breasts ache for another pass, and there it is, his palm on my flesh, his fingers lightly tweaking. He seems to know exactly what I want next, what I need.

  This is that thing I thought no man could ever give me. I thought myself so ruined that I’d never feel anything like this, and here I am, sighing, moaning, gasping at my husband’s touch. Kent did this. All I had to do was surrender. It frightens me, but I have no will. I let him take that from me, and I can never go back. I am his.

  “Are you all right?” He kisses that tender place just below my ear.

  “Yes.” It’s more of a gasp than a word. “I’m a little sore there.”

  This is not a complaint. I capture the pain and hold it, regaining a little of the euphoria.

  Again, he pulls my hair away from my face, and I turn for a kiss. I’ll die if he takes this from me. I’ve never felt so close to anyone. I can feel his heart beat, the brush of his heavy, scarred flesh against my cheek, and I feel at one with him.

  He palms my stomach, grasps me to him with a sigh. “I have some things to attend to, but I’ll be home for dinner.”

  Already I miss him. “Dinner?”

  He guides me onto my back and runs a light, feathery kiss across my lips. “I have a meeting after that.”

  I sigh my disappointment, and he grinds his cock against me. Oh God, if he’d only…

  “When I get home,” he says, “I want you waiting for me.”

  I blink my surrender and nod.

  “Leave your hair down, but sweep it behind your shoulders. I don’t want those breasts hidden.”

  Immediately, my nipples harden into peaks. “I will.”

  “Kneel.” He presses a kiss at the base of my neck, marks another path to my shoulders. “Spread yourself and put your hands in the small of your back. Clasp your left wrist with your right hand.”

  I’m so turned on I could cry. If only he’d touch me. There.

  “Keep your chin up,” he continues, “but lower your eyes. Don’t worry about cramping up. It shouldn’t hurt like last night. That was punishment.”

  Punishment. Heat scorches my cheeks. “What time do you want me?”

  He cocks his head and digs his hand into my hair. Those eyes of his, so serious and so full of emotion. “I can’t tell you that. I don’t know.”

  I bite my lip. I’m wet for him. I ache for him. I shake with need, and that’s a long time to wait. “Kent…”

  “It would please me if I came home and found you waiting.”

  I lose myself in his eyes, at the feel of his flesh pressed against mine and the promise of exquisite pleasure, of a connection I never dreamed possible.

  I nod. “I’ll be here.”

  ~ ~ ~

  “Puppy posture, drop the elbows.”

  It’s just past lunchtime, and I’m with my yoga instructor. We’re in the middle of the apocalypse, and the Barrys have an ac
tual instructor for me. The session is on the task list Kent wrote up. I was thinking it’d be a great thing to wake up and do, but Kent thought I’d like to relax after lunch. The list isn’t bad. He’s allowed for stuff I like as well as stuff he wants me to accomplish. He’s so thoughtful that way.

  I can’t stop thinking about him. I know it’s not realistic but I want to be with him all the time. When I’m with him, it’s like nothing can upset me, hurt me, burden me… He takes everything away. What he did to me last night, it was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever experienced. I’m so in love with him.

  “Excuse me.”

  I almost fall over.

  “Sorry, ma’am,” says the soldier in the doorway. “Col. Barry would like you and the staff to remain indoors.”

  “Why? What’s going on?”

  “There’s an armed party approaching from the west. Nothing we can’t handle, but just to be on the safe side…”

  “Okay.” That place between my shoulder blades turns to lead. An armed party? Well, it’s not like this didn’t happen every other day in Knoxville.

  “Do you want to continue, Mrs. Barry?” my redheaded instructor asks. He’s short and skinny, but he sure can bend.

  “Yeah.” I roll my shoulders. “We might as well.”

  An hour and a half later I’m reading Tom Jones in one of the smaller living rooms—or sitting rooms, I guess.It is the Biltmore House, so I guess formal terms apply. I never did read a lot after the ash fell. Mom and Dad made me study all the math, science, and history from the high school textbooks. Mom was an art history major in college, so she made sure I knew all about things like contrapposto and Etruscan burial boxes with statues of dead people lying on top. You’d think after the apocalypse they’d let me forget that stuff, but no. Tish had been premed at the University of Virginia. Mom wasn’t worried about her falling into stupidity.

  Kind of weird, but no one ever put a piece of fiction in my hand until now. There’s an enormous library right here, and although I suspect most of it will be out-of-date or too boring to read, Kent says it has all the classics. I think he’s going to make me read the entire canon.

  There’s a short rap on the door before it’s flung open. The burly soldier is thrust aside, and a girl with navy-blue eyes and long red hair strides into the room.

  “Tish!” I drop my book and hop to my feet. “Oh my God! What are you doing here? How did you get here?”

  My sister laughs and seizes me in a hug.

  “Thought you got rid of me, did you?”

  “You look amazing. How did you get here without wind burned cheeks? I’m so happy to see you!”

  “And look at you, little sister.” Tish takes a step back and looks me up and down. “What on earth are you wearing?”

  I clutch the neckline of my skintight cross-draped shirt. Is it too low-cut? It’s one of the outfits Kent laid out for me to wear today. When I put it on, I actually felt sexy for the first time in my life. The red brings color to my cheeks, and the material hugs my curves. It even has a little open-shoulder action going on. With the black leggings, the knee-high stiletto-heel boots, it’s more of a Tish-style outfit than anything I’d pick out for myself. Even my necklace screams bling.

  “Does it look bad?”

  “No. Are you kidding? At least you’re not still wearing jeans and sweatshirts.”

  I peer down at myself again. I really don’t have the figure for this.

  I change the subject. “You still didn’t tell me what you’re doing here.”

  Tish tears her attention away from the marble fireplace and the overly ornate painting just above.

  “Oh, you know, Dad. He sent me to make sure you’re not embarrassing him.” She chuckles. “Unfortunately, after that we’re off to Bluefield.”

  “Oh no!” Does she really have to marry that old guy? “Why don’t you just run off with Marcus?”

  Tish smirks and eyes me sideways. “Can you really picture me roaming the mountains, searching for Tintagel?”

  Definitely not.

  “I’d rather fuck an old guy than live in the wild.”

  “Tish!” I laugh. Tish has a way of turning even the worst things into something funny. “Does Col. Ernshaw know you’re here?”

  She lifts a shoulder. “Someone told me one of Balenchuk’s guys was here. I haven’t met him.”

  “You will.”

  There’s another knock before Patricia enters. “Can I get you ladies anything?”

  I’m about to say no, but then I remember my task list. “Actually, can you tell Mrs. Wagner I have to cancel this afternoon? I guess just— I know. Invite her and Col. Wagner to dinner. Tell her it’s a welcome for my sister Letitia.”

  Patricia nods.

  “Is someone taking care of rooms for my sister? The others?”

  “Everything’s taken care of, Mrs. Barry. We’re preparing a room for Miss Mason right now.”

  I breathe a sigh and smile at her. “Thanks, Patricia. You’re always on top of things.”

  “You’re so formal here,” my sister teases.

  I spread my arms and take in the room. “It’s the Biltmore House, Tish. What do you want?”

  Tish snorts and ogles the fireplace, the Oriental rug, the plush sofa. The sofa’s modern, something brought in for comfort rather than state. But the damask matches the room completely. “I can’t believe you live here!”

  “Well, it’s here, so why not? Want a tour?”

  “Hell yeah!”

  I spend an hour taking her through the parts that aren’t private or used by the military. In the formal dining room she gapes at the twin chandeliers.

  “This is fucking unbelievable.” Tish shakes her head, a tiny frown between her eyes.

  “I know, right?” Personally, sometimes I feel a little lost in here. But it is absolutely stunning; there’s no doubt about that.

  Tish moves into the room. She strokes the back of one of the chairs and stares at the ceiling. “This is definitely a step up for anyone. All the Barrys live here, I’m guessing?”

  I nod. “Some of the upper cadre too. I guess it makes it easier to house everyone in the same place.”

  She sighs. “Please tell me it’s not squirrels and beaver every night.”

  Dinners back in Knoxville weren’t always gourmet. But then, no one has it good—except the Barrys. “Actually the food isn’t bad. Were you able to see that tall building in town? They have this twenty-story greenhouse, and they grow everything.”

  Tish eyes my backside. “I guess so. Look how fat you’re getting!”

  I cross my arms over my chest. I’d like to hide my butt behind a piece of furniture. She’s teasing, I know, but she’s right. I’ve gained at least fifteen pounds since I got here, and most of it landed in my butt. That and my chest. I clear my throat and offer a timid smile. Timid because this is Tish, after all. My extroverted, bigger-than-life sister. “Kent likes me this way.”

  She rolls her eyes. “I don’t doubt that. Guys are such shits. He doesn’t want anyone looking at you.”

  Heat fills my cheeks. Is that what he’s doing? “Do I look that bad?”

  Letitia blinks. “Oh no! Of course not! You could never look bad.”

  I’m not convinced, but I let it slide.

  Patricia finds us and announces Tish’s rooms are ready. We set off to find them.

  Just outside her door, Tish squeezes my hand. “I’m so sorry Nico freaked and ran.”

  I recoil. “Oh. Don’t be. It’s fine.”

  Tish eyes me like I’m a brave girl, and enters her temporary home. She sweeps the room in a glance and wrinkles her brow. “If it weren’t for—you know—I’d say you hit the jackpot.”

  I cock my head. “If it weren’t for what?”

  Tish bites her lip and winces. “I get it that you did it for the treaty, but look what you ended up with. That guy is so gross, and you have to sleep with him. It’s not too awful, is it? I mean, does he…understand? You know, about
your problem?”

  My problem? God, why did she have to bring that up? I swallow. I swallow again. “There’s nothing wrong with Kent, and what happens between him and me is none of your business.”

  She huffs. “Oh, come on!”

  I feel bad. She just got here, and I’m being such a witch. “He’s my husband. I’m sorry, Tish, but I’m not going to talk to you about this.”

  She rubs my shoulder and gives me an understanding smile. “I understand,” she says gently.

  I’m tempted to smack her. She feels sorry for me? Who does she think she is, talking smack about my husband? She doesn’t even know him. It only took an hour, but the old Bianca-Tish dynamic has returned. Big sister, always so much smarter, so much better than me. Before I came here, I bought into it. Kent has changed me, though, and I want to keep it that way.

  I love my sister. She’s always been there for me, but she makes me feel like an old shoe.

  ~ ~ ~

  I meet Tish just outside of the dining room at precisely eight o’clock. It’s not the room with the big chandeliers, but it still looks like a place where Marie Antoinette would eat.

  “You look so pretty,” I tell her. It’s true. In a post-makeup world where the rest of us look ghostly plain, Tish’s bold coloring makes her stand out.

  “Thanks!” Then she eyes my dress. She raises her brows and bites the side of her cheek.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. It’s nice.” She gives me a cheery smile, but it’s fake. I know her. “Smooth your hair, Bee. It’s frizzing.”

  She rearranges a few of my strands and frowns. “You look nice with your hair up. Why did you stop?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Right before my workout this morning, Patricia helped me do one of those hot oil treatments she talked about. We used precious olive oil to do it. I did my entire cardio session with all that goop in my hair. We washed it out after, and when it was dry, my hair was soft as a kitten’s ear. Shiny, too. At least, I thought so at the time.

  My butt feels like it’s the size of the moon as we cross toward the table. I smooth my hair, but it’s no use. There’s no containing it. Is everyone staring? My eyes sweep the room and I catch Col. Ernshaw eyeing me up and down, and he quickly averts his gaze. Is it true? Is Kent making me look stupid so other men won’t want me?