Safe (Law & Order)

by Shara Azod

  was only true in Bobby’s mind. For some reason, he kept comparing everything he did

  to Quentin, who was three years older and understandably more advanced. Once it had

  been firmly planted in his diseased mind, Bobby saw Quentin as the sole reason why he

  would never amount to anything, and blamed his parents for showing preferential

  treatment. He had conveniently forgotten the reason why he was always in the

  shithouse was because he was always fucking up. Hanging out past curfew, drinking,

  taking drugs, skipping school. What parent in their right mind would trust a kid like that? Yet to Bobby, it was the teachers, the principle, their mother and father, and

  Quentin himself who were to blame for his attitude and inability to do a damn thing

  right.

  Then Bobby had gone and done the unimaginable. He had drug an innocent into

  his world of shit.

  “You don’t deserve to rest in peace here,” Quentin spit at the ground, crushing

  the pipe beneath his shoe. “You don’t deserve peace anywhere.” Unzipping his pants,

  Quentin did the only thing he could think to do other than digging up the body, which

  he would have done. This place was too good for Bobby. And unmarked grave in a

  shitty run down cemetery was going to have to do for Bobby’s “eternal rest”.

  Satisfied he had done something, Quentin returned to the car to go home to

  Briony, his future.

  “Tell me you didn’t just do what I thought you did,” Richards muttered pulling

  away.

  Quentin just shrugged. One day Richards would understand. Someday, he

  would meet a woman who made you want to piss on a dead man’s grave for slighting

  her. Quentin only hoped he would be there to see it. Richards was way too uptight for

  his own good.

  *****

  “Hey, baby.”

  Briony had no chance to reply before she was swept up in to Quentin’s strong

  embrace. His lips silenced any attempts to return the greeting, his mouth and tongue probing, nipping, melting her against his hard frame. Her arms wound around his neck,

  a soft sigh escaping as he lifted her with two big hands cupping her butt checks and

  backing up against the kitchen counter. Her body went from hot to scorching in a

  heartbeat, his insistent kiss sending sharp pangs of need through her body. Her hips

  were grinding themselves against the hard bulge in his slacks tenaciously, seeking relief

  only Quentin could provide.

  “Put your legs around me, baby,” Quentin ordered in that sexy drawl of his.

  She shivered as she did as she was told, already panting for him. In the week she

  had been in his home, Quentin had probably made love to her in every room of the

  house. He had the uncanny ability to set her off by a simple touch, a word, or even a

  look. He turned those burning azurite eyes in her direction, sweeping her from head to

  foot, and she was a goner.

  It seemed this time Quentin was opting for the big bed in the master bedroom.

  He carried her without pausing in his lip worship of her mouth, her face, her neck-

  anywhere his lips could reach. His hands were removing her clothes even before he laid

  her down. Not frantically, not like the frenzied rush to feel skin against skin they both

  experienced the first time. With each layer he removed, she removed one from him,

  trading a kiss or caress as each new patch of flesh was revealed.

  “Lay back and stretch your arms up over your head,” Quentin rasped as soon as

  he slid his panties down her hips.

  His eyes glittered, glued to her freshly shaven mound, a treat she had planned

  for after diner. Quentin seemed to have a developed quite a fondness for eating her out. He did it before he left for work every day, when he came home, before they made love,

  and occasionally just because. She loved every second of it.

  “Bri, do you trust me?”

  “With my life,” she answered without hesitation, without doubt.

  Something flickered in his eyes, something she couldn’t define. Picking up his tie

  from where she had thrown it to the floor, Quentin crawled up the bed, up her body,

  allowing his lips to linger on her calf, her thigh, pausing at the juncture of her thighs to

  blow teasing wafts of hot hair across her pulsating, stiff clit before kissing her belly, the

  valley between her breasts, and finally taking her lips in a devastating kiss. She didn’t

  realize until he lifted his head he had bound her by the wrists to the headboard with his

  tie.

  “Still trust me?” he smiled.

  Lord, that smile never failed to send her heart thumping double time against her

  chest.

  “Yes.” There was no other answer. Quentin had been there for her from the

  moment he laid eyes on her. Being tied and at his mercy didn’t frighten her, it excited

  the hell out of her.

  “Spread your legs for me.”

  Her thighs fell open, allowing his body to sit comfortably between them. With a

  hiss of appreciation, he slid one finger down her sodden slit, rubbing the bare lips of her

  labia. “You did this for me?” There was a catch in his voice, one that sent more

  moisture to flood her passage.

  “Yes.”

  Leaning forward, Quentin ran the flat of his tongue in the same pattern his finger

  had recently taken.

  “Please,” she begged, her hips bucking off the bed.

  Damn it, he was deliberately ignoring her clit, sending red hot molten desire

  shooting through her, teasing her.

  “Shhh, I’ll take care of you. I promise.”

  His voice was thick, so deep. It coated her body like rich honey, making her

  sticky and wetter. He had a firm hold on her thighs, forcing them open while his tongue

  toyed with her, lapping up her cream but not giving her the satisfaction she craved. She

  was a whimpering mass of nerves before finally, he speared her with his wicked

  tongue, fucking her with it before curling it around her clit and sucking softly.

  “Yes, yes, please more!” She was panting, sweat glistening all over her body.

  Briony didn’t have vast experience when it came to sex. She had only had one

  other lover besides her husband, none of it especially great. Quentin worked her like no

  other. The man made her breathless. He ate her pussy as if it were the most delicious

  thing he had ever had in his mouth.

  “You taste so good, Bri,” Quentin murmured against her quivering flesh. His

  pinched her clit, before sucking into his mouth once more. “I could eat you for every

  meal.” Oh, hell yes! She felt her body tightening, climbing higher and higher toward the

  inevitable combustion. Her hips moved with his tongue, seeking deeper penetration.

  “Do you like this?” He rasped, pinning her with those searing eyes. “Tell me,

  baby. Tell me what you need.”

  “Oh, God, Quentin, please eat me. Put your fingers inside me. Suck on my clit.”

  And he did just that. One finger slipped into her soaked channel, his tongue

  steadily lapping at her juices. Then there were two, until finally he was stretching her

  with three thick digits, stroking her happy place with each deep thrust.

  “Yeah, baby show me how it makes you feel,” Quentin groaned against her

  sensitized nub. “Come for me.”

  She felt a gentle probing around her back entrance. Just a brush at first, then one

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p; finger sinking slowly inside, pushing against the rosette of her ass, then a burning

  stretch before he was buried inside.

  “Oh my Gawd!” Her stomach cramped down hard, spots danced behind her

  closed lids. “Oh, damn! Oh, God!”

  Briony exploded from the inside out, her body spasming, burning up even as she

  flew apart.

  “That is so fucking beautiful, baby,” Quentin rasped, the fingers in her pussy still

  plunging, still stroking. “Don’t stop. Keep coming.”

  *****

  Quentin had visualized this a million times in his fevered dreams, but nothing

  could ever come close to having Briony falling apart in his hands. His dick was so hard it hurt, throbbing to be where his fingers were right this second. Waiting until her

  tremors died down, he moved up her body, untying her hands.

  “Turn around,” he instructed, not waiting for her to do so on her own.

  Gently turning her on to her stomach, Quentin lifted her hips until she was on

  her hands and knees, taking the time to run his tongue down the gentle slope of her

  back.

  Damn, he loved the way her back dipped in then flared out to the most

  unbelievably sexy ass! He couldn’t resist a quick bite followed by a small smack. The

  move elicited a tormented moan of pure pleasure, making his cock jump in response.

  “I love your ass, Bri,” he breathed, cupping the full globes in his hands. “Can I

  have you there, baby? Would you let me take you here?” His question was followed by

  a finger tracing the outline of her rosette. Her body shook underneath his exploration,

  her back arching into his touch.

  Not tonight, he sternly reminded himself. She wasn’t ready for that yet. But he

  knew where to get the plugs to prepare her for him.

  “You can have me anyway you want me,” her honeyed voice washed over him.

  “Aw, hell.” He surged forward, burying himself deep within the snug cocoon he

  could spend the rest of his life inside. Her walls sucked him in deeper, convulsing

  against his flesh. “Shit, Bri! My pussy is so damn tight! So good!”

  He slid almost completely out, then slammed back as if pulled by an irresistible

  force. Her cries only spurred him on, inciting the blinding passion already burning

  through his veins. “Yes, Quent, please!” Briony egged him on. “Harder! Fuck me, please!”

  Quentin was helpless to do anything less. It was too perfect, too right. Pulling her

  up into his arms he plundered her, driving inside her like a man possessed. His mouth

  clamped down on the tender skin of her neck, sucking, biting, his hands full of her

  perfect breasts. Her hips rolled back to meet every thrust, their cries mingling together

  in a perfect chorus.

  “I can’t get enough of you,” Quentin confessed, lost in the haze that was Briony.

  “I never want to get enough. Stay with me Bri. Promise me!”

  It wasn’t the most romantic of requests, but damn it, he needed this woman. He

  needed her in his bed every night; he needed to wake up with the taste of her on his

  tongue every morning.

  “Yours,” Briony sobbed her pussy clamping down impossibly tight all around

  his dick. “Always yours!”

  With a roar of sheer male completion, Quentin came deep inside her womb,

  burying his seed and praying it would take root. But he was a long way from being

  done. Sliding his still rock hard erection from her warmth, he gently laid her on her

  back, holding her legs open as he slid back inside.

  ‘I’m going to hold you to that,” he told her, taking her slowly this time, rolling

  his hips until he was buried to the hilt. “Always mine.” Chapter Seven

  Briony woke missing the solid warmth she’d become so accustomed to. She sat

  up with a start, short shiver racing down her spine. She could have sworn she heard the

  slight creak of the floorboards.

  Listening, head cocked to the side, eyes closed, she tried to figure out if the

  sound was real or merely her imagination. With covers yanked up to her chin, she

  suddenly became all too aware of her nakedness. The king sized bed felt large and

  empty without Quentin. The enormous house seemed cozy when he was home, but

  now, now it seemed too big and hollow. Whenever he left for work, she found herself

  counting the hours until he returned home. Home. This was the first house she had ever

  inhabited that felt like home. Shoving the covers back, she swung her legs around to the

  edge of the bed, stretched and moaned in lazy pleasure.

  What would she do today? She didn’t have to worry about hiding money from

  Bobby Ray or cleaning up his vomit from around the bathroom sink after one his nights

  out. Nope. All she had to do was figure out what she wanted for breakfast – cereal,

  oatmeal, or eggs with bacon. She walked to the bathroom, muscles a bit sore from her

  bedtime fun with Quentin. God, she loved that man.

  As her hands touched the door’s knob, she paused.

  Creak.

  There it was again. She stopped listened. Nothing moved, just the continued

  hush of the air conditioning. Shaking her head, she smiled. Sighing, she mentally shrugged, breathing deeply to calm her racing heart. Wiping her hands on her thighs,

  she laughed nervously and went on into the bathroom.

  She found herself relaxing as she slid underneath the warm spray of the shower.

  She had to get to work soon, or else she’d go stark raving mad cooped up in this house

  day after day. Suds slipped along her body, gliding as Quentin’s beautiful fingers had

  done just minutes before he left for work. Her lips stung from the fierceness of his

  kisses, and she touched them now, smiling at the memory.

  Only the rumbling of her stomach turned her mind away from Quentin. That’s

  one hunger, he couldn’t fill. Stepping out of the shower, she snatched her towel and

  dried off quickly. She glanced in the mirror and noticed how her hair had grown longer

  in the last few weeks. With a smile, her skin seemed to glow and she set about getting

  dressed. Maybe she’d go to the store to get new sheets to match the guestroom’s décor.

  One of the stores was having a white sale and she wanted to get the sheets at the sale

  price. Then she could start the crock-pot for that pot roast she planned to make for

  dinner tonight. With mashed potatoes, collard greens and a sweet cornbread, dinner

  would be yummy. She liked cooking and she enjoyed it more having Quentin to cook

  for.

  She hurriedly yanked on a tank top and shorts before the air conditioned chilled

  her damp skin. With her hair wrapped up in a high ponytail, she looked ready for high

  school. Laughing at the steam-smeared reflection of herself in the mirror, she picked up

  her comb to begin working her hair into something manageable. Excited to get started now that she had a plan, Briony didn’t notice the shadow

  until it was right upon her.

  “You sure are one sweet lookin’ honey,” the drawl sounded grotesquely wrong

  in her ear.

  “Who the hell–” She screamed as the horrific parody of a man came into focus.

  A mass of stringy black hair and a kaleidoscope of tattoos and piercings took up

  the bathroom’s doorway. He leered at her from bleary eyes framed by thick untamed

  brows. A bushy beard shot through with strands of gray obscured half of his face. Black

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p; leather stretched over his hulking frame. Muscles and height all tensed with fury. His

  eyes weren’t looking at her a way a man would look at a woman, not even one he

  hated. Bobby Ray had those same eyes and it made her heart beat fast in her chest.

  God, help me.

  “Take, take what you want,” she said, body quivering inside, her mind whirling

  for solutions and escape routes. The big brute of a man with his overly hairy arms

  reached for her, and she quickly bounced out of his reach, leaping onto the closed toilet

  seat. “I have money, jewelry, a new entertainment system. Take it! Just take what you

  want.”

  “Oh, I am. See, I gotta collect on what your husband owed me, and he didn’t lie

  about how fuckin’ good lookin’ you are.”

  “What? Bobby Ray is dead!” she gasped. Shit, shit, shit! She had to do something!

  Snatching up the toilet brush, she swung it at him. It caught his arm, not doing much

  damage. He simply swatted it across the room. “I know, sweet cheeks. I killed him.”

  The next thing her hand landed on was much more solid. The mop pole felt good

  in her hands. She swung like it like a MBA slugger.

  Whack!

  “Ah fuck! Ow! Ow! Fuck!”

  “Get the hell out of my house!” she swung again, but this time he grabbed the

  end of it in his enormous hands. He wrenched it from her and threw it aside.

  Fear’s icy fingers clutched her heart and plunged into her stomach. She couldn’t

  breathe, and her world titled on its axis. This man killed her husband, not that he was

  much of one, but she had never wished him dead. And she had every reason to! If he

  could kill just because Bobby Ray owed him money….

  What the hell was he doing here? Oh, God what had Bobby done?

  He lunged into the small space, eyes all crazy and ferocious, like he meant to

  shoot heat vision with them. Terror shoved her backward as she scrambled off the toilet

  seat and into the tub, running as far as she could, but too quickly the walls closed in.

  She slipped on the slick, wet surface and nearly fell. She grabbed hold of the towel bar

  and pulled herself up.

  “Get the hell outta here!” she screamed and picked up the first thing her hands

  landed on – a brush, and threw it at him.

  She wasn’t going to let him kill her. She would scratch out his eyes first.