The Sweet Under His Skin

by Portia Gray

  There was some shared chuckling among them that he didn't get, and it was that bastard Dillon that spoke for the group. "We're in love," Dillon shared, "with your girl-next-door."

  That made everyone crack up, and Quentin felt like he was a little too on display right then.

  "Fuck, Quentin. You got major dirt on her or what?" Gage asked. "No way that girl should ever have anything to do with the likes of you."

  "It's only 'cos of your pretty-boy looks," Dillon said, smirking.

  He shook his head as his brothers yucked it up, feeling himself grin, too.

  "Okay, enough," Bishop eventually snapped. "I can feel myself growing breasts from this cuddly talk. Can we get started?" There was a mumble of agreement. "Joel brought his dealer in. Reuben's scheduled to be here tomorrow. We're waiting for the call for the meeting, should come in around eight or nine tonight."

  "Where's the dealer?" Quentin asked.

  "Ring room. Joel's got an eye on him, don't worry. Now, the dealer confirmed that the junkie gave up Arielle as someone who might pay back her debt." Quentin's jaw cranked down. "They have her name and her address. I'm suggesting that as of tomorrow, at every given moment one of us is on Miss Arielle's ass until we know for a fact Reuben is gone—either moved on or six-feet-under. Yeah?" Bishop cast his gaze around the table.

  There was another chorus of grumbled accord. Quentin nodded, feeling how his brothers were ready to rally for Arielle in the air of the room itself. "Thanks guys," he said quietly, feeling Dillon knock his shoulder.

  "Me, Quentin, Joel and Colton will wait with the dealer for Reuben's call. The rest of you are cut loose for the night. But keep your phones on and stay close while we figure out how to handle Reuben," Bishop said. Then he jerked his head in Quentin's direction. "Care to meet our guest?" he asked sarcastically.

  Quentin felt himself grin. "Hell yeah."

  They had the dealer tied to a stacking chair in the centre of the boxing ring. The guy's face was pretty swollen, but not so much he couldn't talk. The dealer saw the new members walk in and started scrambling his feet on the floor like that would get rid of all the zip ties binding his hands to the chair and miraculously set him free.

  "Jesus, man," he sputtered at Joel. "I don't know anything else, I swear it!"

  Joel chuckled and tossed his cigarette butt to the ground, grinding it dead with his boot heel. "Relax, asshole. We're just waiting for that phone call."

  Everyone except the dealer assumed a posture of relaxation, leaning against walls or tool chests, lighting cigarettes and breaking off into small conversations. Quentin opted to stand right in front of the bastard, thumbs hooked on his belt as he studied this piece of shit.

  The asshole was tall, white and scrawny. Just like the rest of them. Even under the swelling and bruising Quentin could tell Stretch wasn't a user, he was strictly in distribution. And he was okay with dealing on the same block as an elementary school. Of course that just brought Calvin to mind.

  Quentin was freaking out the string bean, but he didn't care, he just kept eyeing him up and chewing the inside of his lip, thinking of the best way to end the fucker once he'd served his purpose.

  When the cell rang it was like the lights coming on in a roach motel. Everyone scrambled upright, Bishop the only one outwardly calm as he pressed talk on the cell and held it to the dealer's ear and mouth.

  "Hello?" Bishop nodded, letting the dealer know he sounded good. There was a pause while everyone collectively held their breath. "Blackgate Road? What am I looking for?" More silence. Quentin clenched and unclenched his right hand, knuckles cracking softly. It wasn't a nervous gesture, it was anticipatory. "How the fuck do I know what a dairy farm looks like?" Stretch had his eyes on Bishop, who was still nodding. "What's a silo?" Bishop and Quentin shared a look and Quentin nodded. They knew the spot. "Green roofed house. That's all you gotta say, man. I can find that." Stretch licked his lips, eyes darting from Quentin to Bishop now. "The sister? Yeah, I saw her."

  Both of Quentin's hands tightened as the dealer continued, "You sure the bitch said her sister had forty grand? 'Cause I saw the house and car, and I don't see forty grand between the both of them." More pause, and the guy's eyes were on Quentin now, swallowing. "The sister? Fuck yeah, she's hot. Looks like Jolene but a lot fucking hotter, I can tell you that."

  The only thing keeping his teeth in his head was the fact he almost sounded like he was calling Reuben off of Arielle as far as cash went. "Yeah, you could likely make a few grand off her pussy, man." The guy's voice cracked. "More than you would with Jolene."

  Quentin felt an arm go across his chest and didn't even realize he'd stepped towards the prick until he heard Dillon mutter close to his ear, "Easy there, big boy."

  Quentin knew his face was likely dark and stormy, Stretch couldn't look away from him. Likely why his voice cracked when he said, "You got it. Tomorrow at two. I'm there." There was a hesitation, then the guy nodded at Bishop, who ended the call.

  As soon as Quentin heard that beep all he saw was red. He didn't black out on this one. He was completely lucid as his fist connected with the asshole's jaw. It snapped his head to the side in a way that would likely cause some damage, and there was also the satisfying sound of his rings hitting teeth.

  Stretch didn't even straighten up. He remained slouched to the side, facing down at the floor, blood and saliva dripping from his lower lip as he caught his breath.

  "Feeling better?" Bishop asked.

  "No," was the easy answer. This Reuben prick so much as knowing Jolene had a sister was more information than Quentin was comfortable with.

  "Get to her now and don't leave her side unless someone else is there to watch her," Bishop advised, grabbing Quentin's upper arm. "If we hear Reuben's here early, we'll call. You feel like something's off, call for back up. Yeah?"

  Quentin nodded. "Got it. But what about him?" Bishop knew he meant the dealer.

  The president gave a cold grin. "Sorry, Quentin. If Reuben calls back we want him around to answer."

  Quentin nodded, backing away. "Okay. Gotcha."

  "Later," Bishop promised, too low for the dealer to hear. But it was all Quentin needed.

  Without a backwards glance he was at his bike, pulling on his helmet, and pointing the Dyna towards Arielle's house. He still had her key on the Kermit the Frog keychain and he dug it out of his pocket, wondering if it was weird that he'd attached it to his own house keys.

  Her place was dark and he was disappointed. He'd hoped to find her dozing off in front of the TV, maybe in a sexy top and her underwear. Or just her underwear. But no such luck.

  He shut the door silently, then moved through the darkened front rooms to make sure all windows were closed and locked, even the bathroom. Arielle's bedroom door was shut, and he paused right outside. There was no light coming around the edges and it was as silent as the rest of the place. Then he returned to the living room, shrugged out of his kutte and unbuttoned his shirt, setting them over the back of the armchair. He wedged a cushion against the armrest of the sofa, sat down and pulled his boots off. Then, in his jeans and a T-shirt he leaned against the pillow, heels on the opposite sofa arm, listening to the sounds of the street and the house.

  He heard the creak in the hallway, but didn't move. Too much to hope that Arielle was coming to get him. When he heard her voice ask, "Quentin" he jackknifed upright.

  "Arielle? Everything okay?"

  He could just make her out at the mouth of the hall. The T-shirt she wore only came down mid-thigh, and he forced his eyes off her chest because he was pretty sure she was braless, even with her arms crossed and covering her breast.

  "Yeah. What are you doing?"

  "Don't want you left alone with that dealer out there, babe. I'll be watching out for you, okay?"

  She did that cute thing where she pressed the toes of one foot onto the top of her other foot. It was the marking of a shy girl, and he fucking loved it from her.

  "Do you have to be ou
t here to watch out for me?"

  He had to swallow. To tell his dick to behave. "Uh, no. Why? You want me to leave?" He wasn't sure if he was giving her an out or making her say it to satisfy his own ego.

  "Quentin," she said, laughing almost huskily with it,"I'm asking you to sleep next to me. I wouldn't mind. I think…I'd like that."

  She was too sweet to be fucking with him, right?

  "Are you sure?"

  There was a pause, then she turned to head back to her room saying, "Sorry, you don't have to."

  Shit. Asshole—get off your ass. "Arielle, I'd like that. Just…" he got up, heading her way as she stopped and turned to him. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

  "I'm the one asking, Quentin," she pointed out, then headed to her open bedroom door.

  He had to force himself to let her lead the way. Then he felt that same nervous pause while she climbed in under the covers, barely visible through the moonlight flooding the room. He heard her yawn while she did it, sliding close to the wall and getting comfortable.

  She's too tired for what you're thinking about, he scolded himself, unbuckling his belt and undoing his jeans. He somewhat folded them, set them out of the way and slid into bed in T-shirt and shorts. He could do this. He could totally sleep here without anything else happening.

  Quentin was almost proud of himself and he pulled the covers up, then his cockiness was gone. Shit. He was completely enveloped in her scent; sweet and flowers and whatever else that made up the smell that was Arielle. It wafted from under the blankets and surrounded his head via the pillow it was resting on. He was drowning in it, and like the animal he was his body reacted, hardening despite his mental coaching.

  Fuck.

  Arielle flopped over his way, and before he could prepare she tucked herself into his side. Like he cuddled a woman every night his arm lowered on reflex, cradling her head in the dip between his arm and chest, bicep like a pillow. Her leg wound around his, low enough she wouldn't catch on to what the throbbing—mind of its own—part of him was doing. He dropped his hand to her shoulder, feeling her inhale and nestle close. Out of the pure reflex of having her wrapped around him Quentin kissed the top of her head, wrapped her in his arms and closed his eyes.

  Chapter Twenty

  Arielle woke wrapped in a warm, breathing cocoon. Her face was resting on a T-shirt clad chest, her arm stretched around a cuddly mid-section. And its owner was snoring. Arielle had to smile. It wasn't a loud, buzz-saw snore. Just a bit of snuffling. It was actually…cute.

  Cute. To describe anything about Quentin Bayle... She must be getting soft in the head.

  She craned her neck back, gazing upward to his face. Moonlight flooding through the uncovered window was almost as bright as day. It cast him in a grey-blue glow. That face was completely relaxed in sleep, mouth open. Seeing him this way was so private. She couldn't even be sure it was really happening. She might still be asleep herself.

  Unaware, she raised her hand, letting one finger touch his lower lip. All she could do was think of those lips, that mouth, remembering what he was capable of when he combined them with his tongue and teeth. She grew warm and felt a ghost of a smile.

  She was sleeping with Quentin Bayle.

  He jolted quite suddenly, his hand grabbing her wrist quick enough to startle her into emitting a small cry. His eyes searched the room for a threat, and finally saw only her.

  Arielle froze, on her side, wrapped around him with the exception of the arm he was holding in place. "Are you okay?" he whispered.

  She nodded. "You were snoring."

  "It’s a man thing, babe," he whispered back, squeezing his eyes shut and opening them again with a head shake, dimples teasing. "I usually only snore in my own room when I'm alone. I know; I wake myself up."

  Arielle smiled. "It wasn't that loud."

  "But it woke you up," he pointed out, running his other hand over his face.

  "I oddly… liked it," she said, and he titled his head down towards her, giving a small smile. She liked his smile, how it just barely curled his lips and only reached his eyes when he really meant it. He meant this one.

  "You feel good like this," he shared quietly.

  Arielle's smile faded a bit. She was wearing a saggy, sad T-shirt and white cotton panties. Her head was completely bald. She should not feel sexy right now. But from that smile and his words, she did.

  Something changed in the room. A cosy, comfortable cocoon became something more heated and…exciting.

  She wasn't the only one to feel it. As she held her breath he rolled her onto her back slowly, his leg sliding between her thighs, eyes not straying from hers for anything. One of those warm, rough hands cupped the side of her throat, and she swallowed nervously, holding eye contact. She almost couldn't take it.

  His blue eyes ran over her face with anything but coldness. She could taste that he wanted her, and it lit her skin off with heat. Her hands slid around his shoulders, one wrapping all the way around and the other getting lost in his hair.

  "Arielle," he whispered, quite hoarsely.

  "Quentin," she answered, then he was kissing her. His tongue was in her mouth, his lips were holding hers hostage. His hand was at the small of her back, searching for skin under the hem of her T-shirt. She arched her back, pressing her incomplete chest into his, thrilling at the moan he gave.

  She let her hand free of his hair, running it down his chest and under his shirt, up across his stomach and the hair of his chest, smiling as he hissed in a breath with that masculine chuckle.

  Ticklish. She remembered.

  She yanked up on his T-shirt. He left her for a moment to pull it off over his head. She reached down to do the same, felt herself pause, but he was right there with her.

  He lifted up on the fabric and she sat up silently, hands over her head, heart hammering for a different reason. He was the first to be naked with her as she was now, other than a doctor. Arielle decided then and there she wasn't scared, not of him.

  She let the T-shirt come off over her head, dropping her arms and fighting the urge to cover herself up. Not making a big deal of it, he leaned into her, coaxing her back to the mattress again, eyes back on hers, cradling her head with one hand while the other cupped her right breast, squeezing it gently before his thumb passed over her nipple.

  "Quentin," she gasped at the touch, her back arching, filling that hand completely. He groaned, which felt fantastic, then he was trailing those long, dragging-lip-touches out along her neck as she slid her legs up along his hips. When she realized he was wearing boxers it was because her crotch came in contact with his erection.

  "Arielle," he groaned back, pushing against her, and it made her laugh deep in her throat. He was a teenager in some ways, mostly this way. It was all wild instinct and want with him; he had no interest in impressing her. He just wanted her. Plain and simple. Didn't care to dress it up with teasing.

  "Tell me you want this, please," he whispered, pulling at her nipple, making her bite her lip.

  "I want this," she gasped back immediately, bringing her eyes to his. His look was pleading, hungry. God, that alone would have been enough to turn her on.

  His fingers looped into the edges of her panties, pushing downward. She lifted her hips, letting him pull them over her bottom, missing his weight and heat as he rose up to pull them off her legs. Then he got off the bed; she could tell because the mattress sprung back up from his weight leaving it. She heard the rustling of fabric, and when he crawled back under the sheet next to her he was naked.

  Completely naked. And she didn't know what she wanted to touch first.

  So she touched all of it. His stomach was tightened and laden with ripples forming an eight-pack, as she let her hands go lower, finding his erection incredibly hard, straining. He groaned as she closed her palm around it, freezing on his hands and knees over her, eyes falling shut.

  Arielle let her own eyes close. Jesus. She'd only had access to so many in her lifetime. This
had to be exceptional, there was no way other men were made like this. Her palm and fingers were the only form of measurement she had, and unless treatment was shrinking her hands he was…blessed. She slid that soft skin upward, feeling a heat uncurl in her belly as he groaned, really used his gut to do it and didn't hold back, trying to appear cool.

  No, there was no show here. He was as wanting of her as she was of him. That felt good. That felt so damn good it almost made her stop. She kept stroking him like that, his hips moving in a counter-motion, his breath hitching. He moaned her name, moaned things like "Perfect," "fuck, Arielle," and "Oh Christ." She loved hearing it, her own heart rate increased as his arousal did.

  "Wait," it came as a hoarse plea, his hand grasping her wrist. She stopped the motion, but he didn't pull her hand away right away. "Arielle," he whispered, and she brought her eyes up to his, feeling herself smile at the heat she saw in that gaze. "Fuck, that smile," he mumbled, dropping his hand from her wrist and closing it softly around her throat, kissing her deep, hard.

  She stroked at him more, but he let go of her to pull her hand away, still kissing her, his weight and warmth falling into the cradle of her arms and legs, hand returning to her neck. She couldn't move away from that kiss if she wanted to. She flung her legs around his waist, the heat of his arousal on her belly, the warmth of his kiss growing the ache between her legs, the need to have him fill her was urgent.

  "Quentin," she pleaded on a whisper against his lips. "Make love to me, please."

  He chuckled, the sound again causing a quiver in deep, dark places, answering with "That's what I'm doing, babe."

  Her heart set off at that, racing and floating while he brought those kisses down her neck, across her collarbone, and down to the scar tissue of her left breast. Part of her brain panicked, but her skin was incredibly sensitive as his stubble scraped along the smooth planes of her chest, his lips causing slight trembles with each kiss. If anyone had told Arielle her scar tissue would be an erogenous zone she would have told them they were insane. But as Quentin kissed, caressed and worshipped every ridge and valley Arielle could have wept for how beautiful it made her feel. Her hands were in his soft hair, keeping him in place, and he obliged with great eagerness.