Quentin (The Bourbon & Blood Series Book 4)

by Seraphina Donavan

  “I like to unwrap my presents slowly, Lowey… I want to savor every second of it.”

  “Savor it a little faster, Quentin… I need you inside me.”

  His cock hardened to the point of agony. And she’d done it on purpose, he knew. He’d wanted to romance her, to make love to her, but like every time he was in her presence, the need simply took over. Shoving her pants down, he spun her around so that her back was pressed to his chest. He bent his head, his lips pressing against her neck. Then he bit down, his teeth scraping the skin.

  She gasped, but it wasn’t pain. He knew that sound, knew the pleasure that prompted it.

  “I want you on your knees,” he whispered hotly against her ear.

  She shivered against him and Quentin smiled. It was what they both wanted—what they both needed. Romance would wait. After two months, he just needed to sink into the heat of her, to feel her body closing around him. It was worse than a drug, the way he wanted her. She was like an addiction for him. For the past two months, since he’d been stupid enough to walk out, she’d been on his mind every waking second and even in his dreams.

  When she climbed onto the bed, kneeling in front of him, her perfect ass displayed like he’d somehow been granted the gift of living out his favorite wet dream, Quentin knew that he was sunk. He wanted this—he wanted her—forever.

  Ten

  Lowey could feel him behind her, the weight of his presence tangible even before he touched her. But then he did, his fingers digging into her hips as he pulled her back against him. The hard press of his cock against her pulled a shattered moan from within her. She dropped her head onto the bed, arching her hips back against him, a silent entreaty for more.

  “I’ve dreamed about you just this way.” The confession rasped out of him, his voice deeper and gruffer than usual. It shivered over her and stoked the flames.

  “Then, God above, Quentin… what are you waiting for?” she asked. The need to feel him moving inside her, filling her up and taking her the way that only he could was too intense, too all consuming, to allow for patience.

  It was like she’d flipped a switch. She heard the rasp of his zipper, so loud in the silent room. Then he was there, the blunt head nudging against her as he parted her with his fingers. He slid two inside her. It was unnecessary. Foreplay, while a wonderful thing, was wholly redundant. She’d been wet for him since the moment she’d laid eyes on him.

  It wasn’t pleasure, when he entered her. That was too mild a term. It was relief—intense, overwhelming and consuming. For just a moment, it assuaged the awful need that was like a constant and unrelenting torture. Then he moved, thrusting inside her and the need flared to biting, scratching life again. It clawed within her as her fingers clenching the bedding. She screamed his name as the tension within her suddenly ratcheted higher, to the point she felt as if she might simply shatter with it.

  Each thrust, each powerful surge of his hips as he drove into her only heightened the sensation. She was crying out insensibly, her body shivering beneath his as she climbed. The sounds that escaped her were more animal than human but she was beyond caring.

  “Please,” she gasped. She didn’t even know what she was asking for.

  His hand moved from her hip, his fingers trailing up her spine until they tangled in her hair. He closed his fist then, tugging her hair taut and pulling her head back. It changed the angle of penetration just slightly… just enough. A broken sob wracked her, left her shuddering. And then he thrust into her again—harder, deeper—and she broke. Her body trembled as the pleasure washed through her, every muscle quivering as the waves crested again and again.

  Lowey was still shaking when he abruptly withdrew from her. He flipped her onto her back. His hands were rough on her, but she craved that from him. She needed to feel that desperation from him, to believe, even if it was just for this moment, that he was as consumed by it as she was.

  When he came down on top of her, his weigh settling between her parted thighs, he kissed her again. His mouth was hot on hers, his tongue surprisingly gentle as he slipped it between her lips. It glided tenderly against hers—soft, sweet. It wasn’t the kind of kiss you got from someone who just wanted to fuck you. It was the kind of kiss you got from someone who loved you.

  But there was no time to question it, no time to ask him to explain. He was sliding into her again, easing his cock inside her and thrusting deep. He pulled back then, breaking the kiss and looking down at her. Their gazes were locked together as intimately as their bodies.

  It was different, she thought. He was different. Whatever was between them had changed, morphed into this strange thing that neither of them fully understood or was prepared to deal with. Then conscious thought fled and she was left with only the ability to feel.

  ***

  Quentin gritted his teeth, trying to hold back his own release until he could watch her come for him again. The need to see that, to see her head thrown back and her lips parted on a silent cry as she shuddered beneath him, was something he couldn’t ignore.

  Dipping his head, he pressed a kiss to the soft skin between her breasts and followed it with a lick. He could taste the salt of her skin as she strained beneath him. The muscles of her thighs trembled, her belly quivered, and he knew that she was close. He slipped one hand between their bodies, pressed one finger inside her, stroking her clit with deliberate precision. Her neck arched, her head fell back, and her lips parted on a soundless cry as she clenched around him. The rhythmic clenching of her body around him pushed him over the edge. He thrust deep once more, surging into her and gritting his teeth with the force of his release as he came inside her.

  Collapsing onto the bed, resting his weight on his elbow so he didn’t crush her, Quentin struggled to regain his breath. Regaining his equilibrium was a lost cause. She rocked him to his soul and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

  Lowey was beyond beautiful, but it wasn’t just the perfect face or the curvy body that haunted his dreams that drew him to her. It was the hint of vulnerability beneath all the barbs. He wanted to take care of her, to be the man she didn’t think she deserved.

  “If I didn’t know better,” she said, rolling onto her side and curling against him, “I’d think you missed me.”

  He grinned as he rolled onto his side to face her. Looking at her was a joy in and of itself, but looking at her this way, with her face still flushed, her lips still swollen from his kisses, that was something special. “You know I did. And you missed me. Don’t bother trying to deny it.”

  She turned her head to stare up at the ceiling. “I wouldn’t. For better or worse, Quentin, no one makes me feel the way you do.”

  Quentin’s grin faded slightly as he took in her profile. There was still a sadness in her and he had to wonder if it wouldn’t be there for ever. Lowey had struggled her whole life. She was still struggling. At least he had his siblings, even if they did drive him crazy sometimes. She was alone in the world and he had to live with the fact that he’d exploited that to his advantage. He’d used that to worm his way into her life with every intention of just leaving her behind when he was done.

  Coming face to face with his own ugliness was a hard thing to do, but it was time to own it. It was time to stop hiding behind everything that he’d pretended to be, everything he’d tried to be, and just accept what was.

  “We’re going to try for better. I can’t promise we’ll succeed,” he said softly, “But I can promise to try.”

  “What is this, Quentin? This isn’t you.”

  “It is,” he protested. “No more walls. No more hiding. I want you, and not just for sex… amazing as it is. I want all of it. Body and soul.”

  She looked at him directly then, those dark eyes of hers peering right through him. He couldn’t have hidden anything from her in that moment even if he wanted to.

  “If I give that to you,” she replied in a low, steady tone, “You have to give it back. I’m tired of this being a one way street.�
�

  “Whatever I have, baby, and whatever I am. It’s yours.”

  Eleven

  Ciaran walked into the small and ugly brick building that housed Fontaine’s small Sheriff’s office. He’d been asking questions and he had an idea that while Silas Barnes would be perfectly willing to overlook Joey’s busting up Lowey’s place, he had serious doubts that the man would be willing to overlook the massive influx of a dangerous drug into his tiny little town.

  “Silas Barnes?” he asked, stepping into the office.

  The ancient, bespectacled woman behind the counter jerked her head toward the closed door to her left. Her eternally teased and shellacked hair didn’t move.

  Ciaran nodded his thanks and crossed the small room. He knocked on the door as he opened it, not allowing the man to send him away. He’d spent the better part of his morning running in circles trying to track down Harlow Tate’s piece of shit ex-husband and he was done. It was time to use the resources available to him.

  “We need to talk,” he said.

  The sheriff put down his cell phone mid text and glared at him. “Well, now that you’ve let yourself into my office like it’s your goddamn right, who am I to say no?”

  Ciaran smiled. It really didn’t matter to him whether or not Silas Barnes hated his guts. “Your cousin made some interesting friends while he was at Blackburn,” Ciaran began. “The kind of friends you’d probably like to keep out of your pretty little town.”

  Silas sat back in his chair and propped his feet on his desk. “You’re a Darcy. It took me a minute to place you. The accent threw me. I’d heard there was another one of your lot running around.”

  There was no love lost there, Ciaran thought grimly. Clearly the man’s association with Samuel hadn’t endeared the Darcy clan to him. “Some of us are a bit more palatable than others.”

  “Say what you need to say about Joey and then get the hell out of my office,” Silas demanded.

  Ciaran made it a point to sit down in the chair across from the desk, even though he hadn’t been invited to do so. “Your cousin was cellmates with a nice Russian fellow by the name of Sergei. Sergei, who has since shuffled off the mortal coil, put Joey in touch with some associates of his who are looking to move a very nasty drug into your little area… Ever heard of Krokodile?”

  Silas’ expression hardened, his already thin lips disappearing behind his mustache. “I’ve heard of it. And the little shit knows better.”

  “He knows better than to handle a firearm as a felon on parole, too,” Ciaran reminded him gently.

  “I’ll talk to him,” Silas said. “I don’t think Joey would be that stupid, but I’ll make damned certain of it.”

  Ciaran nodded. “While you’re at it, make certain that he leaves Harlow Tate in peace. Now, that I’ve been accepted into the clan I’m feeling very protective.”

  “What the hell is Harlow Tate to the Darcys?” Barnes demanded.

  “Apparently she’s now with Quentin. It seems her taste in men has improved significantly… It’d be a shame to have some hot headed idiot ruin your long standing relationship with the Darcys, now wouldn’t it? Now that Samuel is no longer running the show, the people of Fontaine might not be as forgiving when you turn a blind eye to things.”

  Ciaran closed the door but he could hear Barnes cursing him from behind the closed door.

  ***

  Silas waited half a heart beat after the newest Darcy left his office before picking up his cell phone again. Discarding the half written text to the very married hairdresser he’d been fucking for the last few months, he pulled up Joey’s number and called him. When the little shit answered, Silas didn’t hesitate before chewing him a new asshole.

  “What the hell are you into, you little fuck?”

  Joey sputtered. “What the fuck, man? You’re not my father!”

  “No, but I am the sheriff of this town and if you’re bringing in the shit that I think you are, I’m gonna put your ass back in prison!”

  Joey laughed. “The fuck you are. You’ve been balls deep in the dirty goings on in Fontaine for so long that the dirt on you would fill Commonwealth Stadium! And I know more of it than you think I do.”

  Silas cursed. “Krokodile, Joey? That shit will tear this town apart!”

  “You think I don’t know that? But thing is, Silas, these aren’t the kind of people you turn down. They ask you to do something for them and you just do it… otherwise you wind up with a few extra holes in you. And that’s if you’re lucky.”

  “Promise me you’re not bringing that shit to Fontaine… I don’t want to have to send you back to prison. It would kill your mama.”

  “Don’t make me play hard ball with you, Silas. You’re family, but I’ll throw you to the damned wolves if I have to.”

  Silas didn’t doubt that for a minute. Joey had no notion of loyalty. And he was a sniveling little shit. It was going to get ugly, and there was no other choice. But the upside was, he had Harlow Tate to take the fall. It wouldn’t be too difficult to make her look guilty.

  “We need to talk this out face to face. I can help get you out of this, if you let me,” Silas lied.

  Joey scoffed at that. “Yeah, right. There’s no way in hell we’re getting out of this… Me and Tommy are in deep.”

  Silas covered his face with his hands. The last thing he needed was for his baby brother to get dragged into it. A cousin was one thing, a sibling was another altogether. Voters didn’t much care for a sheriff with a drug dealing brother.

  “Meet me at the diner on 27,” he said.

  “I’ll meet you at Mama’s,” Joey said.

  “No. There’s a Darcy in town looking for you… he’s already been to your Mama’s once. He’ll be watching for you there.”

  Joey capitulated with a sigh. “Fine. But Silas, I trust you as far as I can throw you… I’ll be coming armed.”

  So would he. “You’re family, Joey. Family comes first.”

  “What the fuck ever, man.”

  Twelve

  Lowey woke up slowly, slightly disoriented. The weight of Quentin’s arm draped over her ribs was a little uncomfortable, but she was reluctant to move. He still slept soundly beside her and for the moment, at least, she wanted to enjoy it.

  She didn’t trust him. He wasn’t the kind who’d stick and she knew that, but it was nice to lay there next to him and pretend just for a little while. Craning her neck, she looked at him, taking in all the details. He was beat all to hell, but he was still the best looking man she’d ever seen. Even battered and bruised, that bone structure was perfection. With the perfectly trimmed beard and always meticulously groomed hair, Quentin probably spent more time and effort n hi appearance than she did. Not that he needed to. Now, laying there in the bed, his hair mussed, she was seeing something of him that she never had before.

  They’d had sex more times and more ways than she could even count. But never once had they slept together.

  As if he’d heard her thoughts, his eyes opened slowly. “Stop thinking,” he said.

  “Not possible,” she replied.

  “Stop overthinking,” he retorted.

  “That’s not possible either,” she shot back.

  “We’re good for right now. You, me. This bed. The pain in my ribs has let up just enough that I think maybe we can have more hot amazing sex in the next century, at least.”

  A giggle escaped her. Immediately, she clapped her hand over her mouth. Giggling wasn’t her. She was not that girl. More to the point, she and Quentin were not that couple. It was all hot sex with just enough kink to make her blush when she remembered it. Laughing, teasing one another, cuddling in bed—they didn’t do that. But it was happening, and God help her, it was more tempting even than his perfect body.

  “You’re doing it again,” he said. “Overthinking.”

  “Can’t help it. You look like Quentin Darcy, but you sure as hell don’t act like him.”

  He rolled her onto her back, and set
tled on top of her, kissing her cheeks, her nose, the line of her jaw. But then his lips settled on her neck and the sweetness of the moment morphed into something else entirely. Suddenly it was all heat and need again.

  “If you need me to prove that I’m Quentin Darcy,” he said, “There’s only one way to do that.”

  “You’re pants are a little far away for you to be showing me your driver’s license.”

  He frowned, clearly not appreciating her humor. “I was thinking more along the lines of having someone vouch for me… I thought, if you wanted to go, I’d take you home.”

  “To your fancy condo?”

  “No… to my family’s home,” he said. “Dinner with Mia and Bennett? Maybe get Clayton and Annalee to come over and bring the munchkin.”

  Panic. That was the only word to describe what she felt. He wasn’t just talking about showing her the house. He was talking about introducing her to his family. Yes, sure, she knew them. Fontaine was the kind of town where everyone knew everyone. But he was staking a claim, he was willing to state openly and to everyone who was important in his life that she was too.

  “Slow your roll, Ace,” she said. “I don’t know that any of us are ready for that.”

  “I’m not thinking about this stuff anymore, Lowey. I just want to do what feels right.”

  “And it feels right to you to take me to meet your family?” she demanded.

  “It feels right to me to stop hiding the fact that we’re together.”

  Together. That was a loaded statement, she thought. It implied things that she wasn’t quite sure he could manage. “But we’re not together… not really.”

  He kissed her again, his beard rasping over her skin in a way that made her shiver. “Meeting my family seems to be a good first step. Go with me, Lowey.”

  “Jesus! It’s like we’re in fucking middle school again!”

  “When you were in middle school… well, it wouldn’t have been illegal, but it would have been seriously questionable for me to be having these kinds of thoughts about you.”