by Tessa Adams
“And it’s not yours, either.” She repeated the words she’d told him two nights before. “You didn’t make this disease, Quinn. You can’t hold yourself responsible for it.”
“I feel responsible.” His eyes roamed over the diner, searching every nook and cranny of the place instead of risking meeting hers. “I’ve never not been able to fix something before.”
“Maybe you weren’t meant to fix this.” She reached for his hand, squeezed it. “You aren’t Superman, you know.”
“Oh, believe me. I know exactly what I’m not.”
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I miss him, you know. It’s only been a couple of days and already I miss talking to him. He used to tell the best jokes.”
“Really? That surprises me.”
“I bet.” His smile was self-deprecating. “But he wasn’t anything like me. Or Liam, our other brother. Life was one big party to him. He always had a million things going on—and he was always smiling.”
“He sounds great.”
“He was.” His eyes grew distant and blank, and she knew he was tormenting himself again. Amazing how quickly she’d learned to read his expressions, especially when she hadn’t even known she was studying him.
“Tell me a joke.”
“What?” He pulled his gaze back to hers, looking confused.
“Tell me one of Michael’s jokes. I think we both could use a laugh, don’t you?”
For long moments, he just stared at her until she was certain he was going to refuse. And then, as if a switch had been flipped inside of him, Quinn started talking. And talking. And talking.
He told her Michael’s jokes, one after another, pausing to interject a comment about his brother or to tell a funny story of some trouble they’d gotten into as kids, so many years before.
When the waitress came, they ordered huge slices of pie with ice cream and coffee, which they ate in between jokes. Jasmine laughed until tears rolled down her cheeks, wishing desperately that Quinn could do the same. Though he looked relaxed, she knew he was holding himself together by a thread, and she worried that with one wrong move he’d shatter into a thousand pieces.
When the last bit of pie was eaten, Quinn reached for her hand and squeezed it so hard she was afraid her bones would break. “Thank you,” he said.
“For what?”
“For knowing I needed to talk about him when I didn’t have a clue. For listening while I did.”
“I enjoyed every second of it. Your brother sounds like he was an incredible person.”
“He was. And he didn’t deserve to die like that, Jazz. He really didn’t.”
“I know. I’m so sorry.”
He reached for his wallet, threw some money down on the table. “Come on, let’s get out of here.” He held out a hand to her.
“Where are we going?”
The look he gave her was so full of pain and vulnerability that she knew, whatever his answer, she’d be going with him. Something inside of her literally ached with the need to soothe him, deep down in a place she’d never known existed inside of her.
“My place.” He crooked an eyebrow, daring her to refuse.
The thought didn’t even occur to her. Tonight she wouldn’t worry about protecting herself, about whether she was going to get hurt. After everything he’d been through—everything he’d done for his clan—he deserved to be put first.
She grabbed his hand with an encouraging smile and let him pull her out of the booth. “Let’s go.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
They were barely out of the restaurant and around the corner before Quinn was on her. Pulling her hard against him, he lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her like a man on the brink of madness.
His lips devoured hers, biting, sucking, licking at her until need was a fiery maelstrom within her. Moaning, Jasmine opened herself to him. She thrust her hands into his hair and gave him everything he demanded.
His response was electric. With one hand on her ass and the other tangled in her hair, he walked her backward into the small alley between two buildings. He moved them until her back was up against the wall and his lower body—hot, hard, and aroused—was pressing into her.
Then, in a move that was as shocking as it was titillating, he reached between them, fastened his hand on the collar of her simple cotton tank top and yanked, his large, powerful fist ripping through the material like it was so much fluff.
She gasped in surprise, her body shuddering as excitement ricocheted through her. She’d never had a man rip her clothes off before, had never driven one to such a state before. It was thrilling and tantalizing and oh-so-amazing. She opened her mouth to tell him so, but he was already pushing her bra out of the way, drawing her nipple into his mouth with a suction so strong she couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. She was drowning in pleasure, drowning in the feeling of belonging to him. It was better than anything she’d ever imagined, better even than the times he had already made love to her.
Arching her back, she whimpered, begged for more. Begged for everything she could take, everything he wanted to give her.
Quinn lifted his head for a moment, looked at her in the dim light with eyes that had turned almost completely dragon. She shivered, but instead of scaring her as before, the look ratcheted up her arousal to the boiling point. It was unbelievable, especially considering he’d barely even touched her.
“We should stop,” he said, and even his voice was different. Lower, more gravelly. Lust slammed through her like a lightning storm.
“Don’t,” she whimpered, arching her back in an effort to press herself even more firmly against him. “Please, don’t stop.”
“We can go to my place.”
“I can’t wait that long.” Her body was wigging out. She wanted him, needed him with an intensity that bordered on insanity.
“You deserve better than this.”
“There is nothing better. Quinn, please. I need you.”
They must have been the words he was waiting for, since Quinn stopped protesting—instead lowering his mouth to bite down gently on her nipple. She nearly came unglued, her body bucking violently against him as she gave a strangled scream.
“We’re in public,” he growled against her breast. “If you don’t want to get arrested, you should probably work on being quiet.”
“Then you should make it easier on me,” she gasped between breaths.
His laugh was wicked. “Oh, sweetheart, you’re not the take-it-easy type.” And then he stopped talking altogether, as his tongue licked around her areola, again and again.
Jasmine sighed, tried to bring him closer. Tried to deepen his caress so she wouldn’t go insane right in the middle of the alley. But it was no use and she knew it; Quinn wasn’t going to let her rush him. She’d thought tonight would be about him, but here he was again, making sure her pleasure came before his own.
It bothered her because he was the one in need of loving—the one in need of care and affection—and she wanted to give it to him. Needed to give it to him.
“Quinn,” she murmured, stroking her hands down his chest and stomach to the waistband of his jeans. “Let me love you.”
“Later,” he said, grabbing her wrists in one of his big hands and anchoring them against the wall above her head.
“But I don’t want—” He chose that moment to suck her nipple deeply into his mouth, and she forgot all her concerns, forgot everything but the need to orgasm, which rose sharply with each pull of his mouth on her breast. Her body spun out of control, her need for him overwhelming everything else.
Moaning, sighing, she pressed her breast more firmly against his mouth, relishing the feel of his tongue around her areola. Loving the occasional nip of his teeth against her rock-hard nipple.
“Quinn, please,” she begged, spreading her legs and pressing her lower body against the hardness of his thigh. She needed him against her, inside her, like she’d never imagined needing anything.
With a groan, he gave her just a little of what she craved. Sliding his thigh between hers, he let her ride him until she was nearly insane with the need to come. She was wet—hot and aching—and so ready for him that one touch of his finger on her clit would send her soaring into the stratosphere.
But he was so much better at holding off than she, and he pulled away from her just as the climax started swelling within. Just as her body was one thrust away from ecstasy.
Jasmine whimpered, tried to follow him, but he held her in place with one hand against her stomach while the other anchored her wrists. “What are you…?” She couldn’t finish the question, her need ruining any hope for coherent thought.
“Say you belong to me.” Quinn whispered the words as he licked from the valley between her breasts to the hollow of her throat.
“What?” she asked, her entire body straining for completion.
“Tell me that you belong to me. That you’re mine.” His teeth sunk into her shoulder, hard, and she screamed as pleasure shot through her. “That no other man will touch you while you belong to me.”
“Quinn!”
“Jasmine,” he prompted, his tongue tenderly licking away the bite marks. “If you want to come, you know what you need to say.”
“Fuck you!”
“You wish.” He nibbled his way down her throat, licked along her collarbone.
“Come on,” she pleaded. “Don’t make me say it.”
His eyes met hers, and once again she saw the dragon in him. The beast was wild. “I need this, Jasmine.” His voice was barely human. “I need to hear you say it, if only for tonight.”
Hearing him admit that, listening to him expose his own vulnerabilities, made it so much easier for her to admit her own. “You do things to me no one else ever has or ever will,” she whispered. “I belong to you, Quinn.”
Abruptly, he lifted his head, stared at her with eyes that glowed electric green. “Thank you.”
Before she could figure out how to answer, the hand resting on her stomach moved. Slid inside the waistband of her yoga pants and found her sex warm and ready for him.
“Fuck, sweetheart.” He slipped one long finger inside her, curved it so he touched her G-spot with the first stroke. Then pulled back and did it again. And again. On the third stroke of his finger she started to come, wave after wave of sensation swamping her.
He moved his thumb, circled it around her throbbing clit. Once, twice. She glanced up and into his dragon eyes and shot over a higher, steeper edge, her body completely out of her control as ecstasy whipped through her nerve endings. Her muscles spasmed, clutched at him, wanting to take him deeper and deeper inside her until the pleasure was all-consuming, never-ending.
Quinn held her through it, swallowing her cries with his mouth as his fingers continued to stroke her, prolonging her climax. Taking her higher. When she couldn’t take it anymore, when her body was so sensitive that she was almost at the breaking point, Jasmine yanked her mouth from his. She rested her forehead on his broad chest and pleaded, “Stop, Quinn. Please stop. I can’t take any more.”
“There’s always more, Jasmine.” But he slid his finger slowly out of her, pausing to stroke her labia once, twice. She whimpered, arched against him, so exhausted and shaken that she could barely move. Had she really pleaded with him to take her? Had she really told him, of all people, that she belonged to him? She could barely wrap her head around it.
And yet the panic she expected didn’t set in. Maybe she was too relaxed, too satisfied. She didn’t know, and for the moment, she didn’t care. There would be time enough later to worry and wonder about this night. For now, she just wanted to enjoy it. To enjoy Quinn.
As if he could read her mind, Quinn murmured, “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”
A part of her wanted to argue, to say that she didn’t need his help, but any protest she made would sound pretty hollow as his arms were the only things keeping her ass from hitting the ground. God knew her legs didn’t stand a chance of supporting her.
“Let’s go,” he whispered, running a hand across the back of her neck. “Let me love you.”
A million arguments entered her mind, a million reasons why going home with him was a bad idea. But she had already made her decision, and there was no use second-guessing herself now. Quinn deserved better than that—and so did she.
“How far away is your place?” she finally answered.
He could have taken her to his house and probably should have. Only a few blocks from the lab, it was close, convenient, and human-friendly.
Quinn knew it was the right choice even as he steered her back to the lab parking lot and into the SUV he kept in the corner of the lot. Knew it was the right choice even as he passed his housing complex and headed out of town. Knew it was the right choice even as he turned off the highway and onto the black desert sand. And still he didn’t make it.
He glanced at Jasmine out of the corner of his eye, expecting her to protest—or at least to ask where they were going. In the few days he’d known her, he’d learned that curiosity was definitely her middle name, and it seemed completely out of character that she was so passive now.
He wasn’t sure he liked it. Sure, when he’d been younger, he’d always assumed his future mate would trust him to do what was right for her. He’d wanted that, wanted a woman who was content to let him take care of her. Not an automaton, certainly, but not a woman who went haring off into the back of beyond to chase contagious diseases either. Not a woman who risked her life on a daily basis in countries that were politically and economically unstable, not to mention deathtraps of famine and disease.
That was before he’d met Jasmine. Before he’d held her in his arms. Before he’d seen her reach, without hesitation, into his friend’s broken body and do her best to heal him. To think about his ideal mate now that he had Jasmine, now that he’d made love to her and listened to her unravel some of the mysteries of the disease that was ravaging his people, seemed not just wrong but blasphemous. She deserved so much better than that.
He reached over and brushed a lock of hair off her forehead so he could get a better look at those crazy purple eyes of hers. “Hey, you doing all right?”
Her smile was relaxed and dreamy. “I’m doing just fine. Why?”
“You’re awfully quiet.”
She laughed. “And that’s not like me?”
“Not really, no.”
“I was just looking out at the sky and thinking how incredibly beautiful it is out here. I’ve been all over the world, and I don’t think I’ve ever felt about another place the way I feel about this desert.”
His heart pounded a little more quickly at that revelation. “How do you feel about it?”
“It feels like home. Isn’t that strange? I’ve never really had a home, never had a place where I felt completely safe or comfortable. And yet—”
“Not even as a child?” he interrupted.
“God, no. Especially not then.” She sighed, laid her head on his shoulder. “My dad wasn’t exactly the nurturing sort.”
Quinn’s whole body went rigid at the studied casualness in her voice. “Did he hurt you?”
“I survived.”
“That’s not what I asked.” His hands clenched the steering wheel.
“He controlled me—and my mother. Every little thing we did, from what clothes we wore to what we ate to what time I was allowed to take a shower. His word was law and his punishments when I messed up were…creative.”
Quinn felt his dragon awaken, the beast raising its head as much because of what she’d left unsaid. “Did your mother leave him?” he asked.
“Not quite.” Jasmine laughed, but the sound lacked the warm humor he was used to hearing from her. He tensed, anger welling up inside.
“My mom isn’t exactly what you’d call a liberated woman. She spent her entire life trying to please my dad, trying to be perfect so he wouldn’t beat her. It didn’t work, of course. Because
no matter how perfect she was, there was always something that set him off. Something she didn’t do right. Potatoes for dinner when he wanted rice. Ivory soap in the bathroom instead of Dial. Buying the wrong kind of beer, even if it was the same beer he’d been drinking for years. She should have known without him having to tell her that he wanted a change.”
She turned and looked out the window, but not before he glimpsed the sorrow and shame she was trying so hard to hide. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”
“It’s okay.” His voice was lower, darker than usual, but he couldn’t stop it. Not when his head was filled with images of Jasmine and her mother at the mercy of a monster. “God knows, I’ve dumped on you since we met.”
“It’s not the same.”
“Sure it is.” He paused, tried to figure out what to say to make her pain better. The scent of it permeated the car, and it was driving both his dragon and his human half crazy. “How did you get out? College?”
“Something like that.” Her tone said there was a lot more to it.
“Come on, Jazz. Talk to me.”
She shrugged, and the silence stretched between them as he took the SUV deeper and deeper into the desert. Each second that passed stretched his control, so that he was hanging by a thread—imagining all kinds of atrocities—by the time she finally started to speak.
“By the time I was a teenager, my mom was completely worn out. My father broke her bones so often he took her to different hospitals to throw suspicion away from himself.
“I hated seeing her like that, scared and in pain all the time. I started provoking him so he’d take his temper out on me instead. I was faster, so he didn’t get as many licks in, and healthier, so my bones didn’t break as easily. One day he came home from work and I wasn’t around—I was at school working on some biology project or something. He’d spent all afternoon drinking at the corner bar and had worked himself into a hell of a rage by the time he got home.
“She told me later that he started on her as soon as he’d walked through the door. She didn’t tell me what he did, but then, she didn’t have to. By the time I got home she was half dead, crumpled on the kitchen floor in the fetal position, unable to get away as he whaled on her. I tried to stop him, tried to help her, and he turned on me. Broke my arm and four of my ribs.”