The Sweet Under His Skin

by Portia Gray

  His body fell into hers, her knees reflexively and eagerly pinned to his hips. He slid into her without preamble, and the thought that he climbed into her bed with a condom already on almost made her giggle; he knew very damn well she wouldn't say no. His mouth returned to hers, her heart rate increased and her brain scrambled. She gasped against his lips, not from having forgotten how big he was but rather from forgetting how good it felt. Even though it hurt slightly; she might have been bruised the night before, but the more he moved the easier it was to forget about.

  He dropped his head to the pillow next to her, his panting breath hot on her shoulder, hand rising to cup her breast over the nightgown. The thin slip of cotton didn't hinder the sensation of that hot palm on her hard nipple, his thumb sliding over it. She trembled, gasped, raising her head so her mouth was against his shoulder. She shocked herself by biting him, not hard, just lightly. Just to keep from making noises.

  "Jesus, Arielle," he whispered, close to her ear. "I like that." She bit harder, and he chuckled. "Baby, I'm gonna have so much fun with you."

  Before she could reply to that he was rolling them both, her ending up on top. Instinctively she sat up, astride his hips, unable to muffle a moan as she realized how he filled her like this.

  Then she froze, hands braced on his chest. Her own inexperience made her suddenly feel silly. She didn't have it in her to do this. She was going to make a fool of herself.

  His hands slid from her thighs to her hips. "Arielle?"

  She covered her face. "I don't know what I'm doing. I can't do this." That just made it worse. Jesus, she was ruining everything.

  "Arielle, babe." He lifted her by the hips a bit, then pushed upwards while lowering her again. Arielle gasped, hands going to his, nails digging in. He did it again and they moaned in unison, then she covered her mouth. "You can do this," he assured her softly, something in his voice warming her body again. "Just find it, babe. Make it feel good."

  Her breathing became ragged. She leaned back more, then rolled her hips. She did it a second time, he pushed into her and she closed her eyes, covering her mouth again, biting the flesh of her thumb so she wouldn't get loud. Holy shit, that felt fantastic.

  She did it again, he moved against the roll of her hips, and the new surge of heat was more than thrilling. "Quentin," she whispered, wanting to tell him to keep doing that, but she had no words in this situation.

  "You got it, babe. Jesus, please don't stop now."

  That was absolutely the best thing he could have said right then. She moved again, and he moaned. She did it again, he grunted, and she found that felt just as good.

  Arielle's worries all fled. She swung her hips, hitting a rhythm she wanted, smiling when Quentin's hands dug into her waist and he gave a long, low moan. She had him under her control completely; he was as undone as she was. There was something incredibly rewarding about that.

  Before long her skin was slick with sweat, her breathing was the loudest thing in the room, and she was frustratingly close to finishing but for whatever reason she couldn't reach it. She didn't mind; the rest of felt fantastic, and if she brought the man with her to orgasm that would be satisfying, too.

  Reading her mind, again, he let go of her hips, sliding his hand up her ribs under the nightgown slowly and with purpose, cupping her breast and rolling her nipple. She twitched, biting her lip as she rose the slightest bit closer. His other hand went lower, and it was dark so she didn't bother looking to see where it could be going. But when her rocking motion brought her clit in contact with something harder she knew it was his thumb, and it made her throw her head back, trembling now.

  "Almost, babe," he grunted. "Take it, Arielle."

  She did. She took all of it, closing her eyes and letting it all feel good. The sensation of his hands all over her like this was almost overwhelming, but when she gave over to it everything felt amazing. This orgasm thundered through her, and she fought not to make noise because it would have been loud. Far too loud.

  As it worked through her she collapsed to Quentin's chest, gasping for air and her equilibrium because it was all gone. His hands traced lightly over her back, just his fingertips, cooling the heat of her skin under her nightgown, soothing the amazing sensations she'd just experienced.

  "Jesus," he eventually whispered, one hand running along the back of her exposed neck.

  "I think I just used you," she mumbled. "And I don't even care right now."

  He chuckled at that, turning his head to kiss her forehead. "Wrong, babe," he said. "It's not using if I liked it as much as you. Or, almost as much as you."

  "You liked that?"

  He cradled her head in his hands, pulling her head upright so he could kiss her. "Fuck, Arielle. I more than liked it. I want you to always do that."

  "Really?"

  "Anytime you want, baby girl." Then he rolled her to her back rapidly, catching her by surprise. He was still hard, buried inside her, and he started moving his hips. Her orgasm was almost immediately forgotten. She tightened her grip on him and he chuckled again, which was quickly becoming her favorite sound. "Live wire," he repeated, kissing her now.

  Then he was thrusting into her with agonizing precision, and she just held on, let her mind go blank, and enjoyed it.

  "So…how'd you end up with Calvin?" Quentin asked quietly. Arielle was playing with his hand, linking her fingers in his before tucking them both against her body.

  "Jolene's an unfit parent."

  "I get that. But…you went the legal route, right? You didn't want her to take him at all."

  "Our parents died in an accident a while back. They'd started a trust fund for Calvin before that. I wanted to make sure she didn't smoke or inject his college money."

  Quentin nodded, in the dark, one hand behind his head, the other wrapped tight around the amazing little body next to him. He wasn't tired, wasn't horny right now. He just wanted to stay this way for a while, listening to her talk in the dark. "What about you? You went to school, right?"

  "Book keeping," she answered, readjusting her head on his chest. It caused her scent to float up and he had to smile. "Math was easy for me."

  "How come you never got married?"

  She exhaled, not annoyed, but it sounded like she was thinking, not annoyed. "I don't know. No one asked?"

  "That might have something to do with it, yeah."

  "Were you ever married?" she asked, laughing softly.

  "Engaged, once." She got quiet. He gave her a slight squeeze. "She got pregnant. We were good in bed. Thought that would be enough, and it wasn't."

  "Disagreeable temperament?"

  "That's a nice way of putting it."

  "I meant you."

  "Hey!" He squeezed her tighter again and kissed her head. She ran her nails over his chest, a sign of submission. He eased up. "She was a bitch, to tell you the truth. And she didn't get that way. I thought she'd lose that."

  "And you had a baby with her?"

  "The baby died when my bitch of a fiancétook coke during..."

  "I'm so sorry…"

  There was a pause. "Not gonna lie about it. Fucking killed me. It was likely better off without me anyway."

  "No. No way, Quentin. Calvin and I would be lost without you."

  She let go of his hand and slid her arm across his stomach to wrap herself damn near right around him. She was quiet again. He let his free hand trace across her head, down her neck and back and up again.

  "I'm serious about you, Arielle. I don't think I've been this serious."

  She was still at that. "I've only ever cared about Calvin anywhere near…" she trailed off.

  He waited. "Near what?"

  She sighed. "Nearly as much as what I already feel…for you. It's different, but it's... the same amount. Like, I'd do anything for you both. Anything." His blood stilled at that, and his eyes closed. It was all to keep himself from hollering out with absolute fucking joy. "I mean, I don't know what this is but—"

  "A
rielle," he cut in and she stilled, falling quiet. "I don't just want this. I told you that. I keep telling you that. Baby, I want it all."

  "Quentin—"

  "Shhh," he whispered to her forehead, wrapping both arms around her in a hug. "Don't overanalyze. Don't try to find signs I'm making shit up. Just lay here with me, okay? This is good, right?"

  "This is very good," she agreed and he was grinning again.

  "Then let's keep it, okay?"

  He felt her kiss his chest, then she whispered back. "Okay."

  That was it until he heard her fall asleep. Once he knew she was out, he found the peace needed to do the same.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Quentin's one eye cracked open to survey the room. The sunshine was flooding in through the see-through curtains on the windows. But all he saw was Arielle, curled into his side, still sleeping, sweet face relaxed and content. It made him smile, then he saw the purple marks on her shoulders where the neck of her nightgown was pulled to the side.

  "What the fuck?"

  Okay, that was likely too loud. She started, coming out of sleep quickly and with a whole lot of what-the-fuck on her face as well. "What?" she gasped, seeing him, blinking, and rubbing her eyes. "What's wrong?"

  "Where’d these bruises come from?" he rolled up to his side, hand sliding across her shoulder to move the thin cotton out of the way. The marks were older, purple and blue in color, and he had a sick feeling. "Jesus, did I do that to you?"

  She rose up on an elbow too, and he saw the other side had the same mark. She twisted her neck to see what he was talking about, but all he saw were marks that looked a lot like a hand and his stomach rolled. "Maybe," was her innocent reply, eyes swinging back to his. "The other night?"

  "Fuck," he muttered. "Arielle, I'm so fucking sorry."

  "Quentin, it's okay."

  "No it's fucking not. Look at this. I hurt you." He was going to start panicking if he didn't pull it together, but those bruises on her skin were all he could focus on.

  "Quentin, it doesn't hurt."

  "Doesn't matter. Look what I did." Jesus, what a fucking lout he was. He felt like cutting off his hands just to prevent this from happening again. "Arielle, I'm so fucking sorry."

  She sat up and grabbed his face with both hands. "Quentin," she repeated, not sounding soft and sweet anymore. "Calm down. They don't hurt. It's the chemo. I bruise and bleed easily from it. You didn't hurt me."

  As she spoke the calmness washed through him, and he tried to remember how many times she'd been able to talk him down when he was losing his mind.

  He blinked and the blood stopped pounding in his ears. "Sorry Arielle, I just saw them and—"

  "I know you'd never hurt me, Quentin. I trust you."

  He breathed deep, then sat up and cuddled her tight to his chest. This time he was just going to keep his fucking mouth shut and not say anything, but he was still cursing himself out for it. What the fuck was he doing? She was going through chemo for fuck's sake.

  His train of thought derailed when he felt her kiss his shoulder. Then she kissed his neck, then his jaw, and by the time her mouth was up to his he was smiling, the train totally flipped over and certainly off the rails.

  She brought her mouth to his softly, but it lingered until her tongue slid out against his lips. Then he met it with his own, pushing her to her back and half-covering her. One of her hands was in his hair, the other was sliding down his chest and stomach. When she took him in her hand he was already hard, and he caught himself before he could moan.

  He pulled his head back to look down on her, and she kept working him with that sure, tight grip. "Fuck, Arielle," he growled, kissing her again and letting his hand release her hip. He pulled back far enough to trace his finger along her lips, smiling when she licked at it. He slid his finger in her mouth and she closed her eyes, sucking and swirling her tongue around it.

  Jesus.

  He pulled his finger free and immediately sent it between her legs. She was opening wide for him and moaning, and he circled her clit softly, finger wet from her mouth. She liked it. She was gasping already, and her hand increased its pace on his cock.

  He slid his finger lower, finding her drenched, his thumb taking over on the clit so he could slide inside. The heat, snug fit and wet nearly crossed his eyes. She felt so fucking good on his hand it completely blew his mind he'd even wanted more than this.

  Her hips started moving with what his hand was doing, and her grip on him matched the motion of her hips. They were both breathing heavy when suddenly the bedroom door knob shook.

  "Hey. The lock's fixed."

  Arielle and Quentin both froze, eyes on each other, before she burst out in a laugh, her face lit up with that gorgeous smile and he couldn't even be mad.

  "You gotta be fucking kidding me," he muttered, sliding his fingers out of her, making her gasp during laughter.

  "Who fixed the door?" she whispered, cheeks flushed and so beautiful it halted his heart for a second. Her eyes flashed again as he sucked her off his fingers, and she quivered under him.

  "Me and Flynn, yesterday," he returned, knowing he was smiling back because it was impossible not to grin at her like an idiot.

  "Why's the door locked?" Calvin was still shaking the door knob.

  She covered her mouth, giggling. He rested his head on her collarbone, trying to get himself back under some kind of control.

  "Chuckles," Quentin shouted, "what time is it?"

  "It's seven-thirty. I have to go to school today. What are you two doing?"

  "I have to make him breakfast," Arielle whispered.

  "Shit," Quentin whispered himself, rolling onto his back again. Like a slippery little fairy she slid across him and ran for the bathroom, only giving him time to appreciate her back end wiggling before she pulled on shorts that matched the cute night shirt she had on.

  "Aunt Arielle?"

  "I'm coming Calvin, sorry," she called back through the door, pushing the privacy lock button and pulling the door open.

  Quentin gave Calvin a wave, wondering what the kid's reaction was going to be to seeing him in Arielle's bed. Calvin grinned. "Are you having breakfast with us?"

  Quentin swallowed hard and smiled. "You bet, Chuckles. Can’t think of anything else I’d want to do more, right now."

  "Kale? What the fuck is kale?"

  Quentin's tone mirrored her feelings exactly, but Arielle felt the need to not appear foolish. "I think it's a leafy vegetable."

  "I doubt if anywhere in Portus Felix has fucking kale."

  She had to laugh. "We can look. What else do we have to do?" Wrong thing to say. Such a terrible thing to say.

  Quentin backed her into a shelf of organic cereal, dropped his voice obscenely low and grabbed her around her waist. "We have lots we can do at home, babe." Then he kissed her. Not a cute, peck-on-the-mouth-because-we're-in-a-public-place kiss. A hard, open-mouth lip lock with plenty of tongue that she was able to resist for maybe a full second before melting into it. She was grasping the edge of his vest, letting him do what he wanted with his hands and mouth when a voice cleared beside them.

  The woman standing next to them was a stranger, thank God. And apparently they were making out on the cereal she wanted. Arielle felt her face go red and she pushed Quentin away. With a chuckle he backed off, hooking his arm around her neck and pulling her down the aisle with him.

  She tugged the grocery list out of his hand, desperate to change the subject. "Okay. I'm pretty sure these are all meant to be fresh, so we need to go to the produce department." He wordlessly let her lead the way. "Can you go and find me broccoli and leeks?" she asked. "I'll find the kale."

  "What the fuck is a leek?"

  She sighed. "Broccoli?"

  "Okay." He wandered off, looking so remarkably out of place in an organic produce department she had to stop and watch him. Dark jeans, dark shirt, leather vest with that frightening patch on the back, weaving between bins of tomatoes and apples hol
ding a wire basket. He looked back over his shoulder at her, and he raised an eyebrow. "You checking me out?"

  She shook her head, cheeks coloring, and headed for the lettuces. They did have kale. Then she found leeks and headed for the fruit bins.

  The list in her hand was supplied by T-bone. He was a bit of a health nut, and he'd come up with a few things Arielle had to eat every day to up her antioxidants and cancer-fighting juju. She had no idea if it would work, but who could go through life avoiding fruits and vegetables?

  She was picking through the pears when she heard her name and turned, hand freezing and brain running out of operational capacity. So she just stared at Doctor Foster for a moment, blinking and trying to form some kind of greeting. "Doctor Foster," she stammered out eventually. "Hi." He smiled, and she dropped the pear in her hand in the paper bag she was holding.

  "Arielle, it's good to see you again. Doing a bit of grocery shopping?"

  "Uh, yeah," she replied, setting the few bags she held on the edge of the pear bin and turning to him. "You too, I see."

  "Yeah." Doctor Foster, on the other hand, looked perfectly at ease in an organic produce selection in jeans, loafers, sports blazer and a V-neck T-shirt. He was nodding and smiling in a way that made Arielle wish that men would start ignoring her again.

  "So…" she began, unsure where to go next, when an arm wrapped around her belly from behind and the familiar smell of leather and pure man, hit her nose a moment before she was leaning against the body behind her.

  "Arielle," Quentin said from behind her. "Introduce me to your friend."

  "Oh. Um, Quentin, this is Doctor Foster. He was overseeing my radiation treatments. Doctor Foster, this is Quentin--"

  It was amazing she kept talking, because as soon as she said "Doctor Foster" the first time, Quentin let her go, yanked her behind him and took a few very purposeful strides toward Doctor Foster, who seemed to shrink away. Arielle was stunned. Her mouth was open but she'd run out of words, apparently.

  "This the Doctor that put his hands and mouth on you?" She felt herself go cold, just a bit. How the hell...? Mandy. The only explanation.