I do as he says. I place my thumbs at the sides of my pants and move them around behind, then slowly to the front. I lower the front of my bottoms, arching my spine as I do so. I am not wearing any underwear.
“Yeah,” he breathes.
I push them down my rear, enjoying the tingling scrape of cotton against skin. Sliding my hands to my front, I ease my fingertips under the band and run my palms down my thighs. The pants follow. I stop mid-thigh and peer over my shoulder, just for a tease. Kent meets my burning gaze. “The rest. Do it.”
I slide the pants down, down, down, bending as I go. I touch the floor. Warm air caresses my exposed pussy.
The bed squeaks, and then his hands smooth my rear. His lips trace the path of his hands around the curve of my ass, my hip, down my thighs. Everywhere but where I crave it the most.
“Turn around.”
I straighten and shift position. He gets to his feet, his hands sliding up my body as he does until he’s towering over me. He cups my breasts. “Are you all right?” he asks.
I nod, so in the moment that I can’t even speak.
He squeezes my behind until I’m full up against him, and he nuzzles my neck. “You vowed to obey me.”
My heart tingles, and so does that place between my legs. Somewhere in that mess of emotions I feel tears. “I’ll try.”
He retreats a step, cups my face, and leans his forehead against mine. “Why?”
It’s a simple question, and it could mean a million different things, but I know he’s asking about why I held back on him yesterday. The way he’s standing, the fire illuminates the good half of his face, leaving his scars in the shadows.
My soul whispers through the cracks in my armor. “I’m scared.”
He pulls me closer and smooths his hands over my spine. “What are you afraid of?”
I close my eyes, and the tears nudge at my throat. I swallow. “Anger. Loud noises. People who might hurt me.”
I can’t say any more, and my throat closes shut. Kent presses a soft kiss to each of my eyelids.
“Look at me,” he commands.
But I’m shaking and I can’t.
“Bianca,” he says, and he uses that authoritative tone again. He lifts my jaw so I’m staring up at him. He traces my lips and then presses his finger between them. When he gives a terse nod, I relax my jaw and let him push past my lips. Instinctively, I latch on to him and try a gentle suck. He draws a breath. “Do you know what you do to me?”
Slowly, he withdraws his finger. Judging by the hard bulge pressing through his sleep pants, I have a pretty good idea. It’s the same thing he does to me. I reach up and touch his cheek, the scarred one. His brow furrows, and he shuts his eyes.
“Kiss me,” I beg. He never has, not even once.
His eyes fly open and he shrinks back, but I lean into him, press my breasts to his chest, and wrap my arms around his neck. “Please,” I whisper. I lean up as far as I can and press my lips to the corner of his mouth. The side with the scars.
With a groan Kent turns his head and covers my lips with his. He is not gentle. He buries his hands in my hair and sinks his tongue between my lips. Another flood of moisture coats my pussy as he grabs my ass, forcing me so urgently against him that the hard outline of his cock scorches my belly. His tongue masters mine in tandem with the rhythm of his hips as he grinds himself against me. I cling to him. When he pulls away and shucks his clothes, I ache with need. He scoops me up, and instinctively I wrap my legs around him. His member burns against my cunt, and in that moment I think I could do anything for him. Anything. I can feel his cock, his balls, and the stiff, wiry pubic hair as he rubs against me. For a moment I tense, but this is Kent. He needs me, now more than ever. He sets me down in the center of the bed and crouches over me. He grips my hands and pins them over my head. “It’s time, Bianca.”
Fear spreads its roots, but it’s mixed with lust and something I can’t quite identify.
“Are you ready?” he asks.
I’m wet all the way down to my thighs, and that channel inside me begs to be filled. I don’t know if I’m ready, but I want to do this for him. So very badly. I nod.
His face darkens, and he takes my mouth again in a savage kiss. I want it. Oh, I want it.
He releases his vise-like grip on my hands, and I wrap my fingers around his girth. He’s so big, so strong. How could I not be safe with him?
“Do it,” he tells me. “Show me you want me.”
I think I might incinerate myself. I’m so wrapped up in this magic haze, and I don’t want it to end. Ever. I slide my hand over his member, feeling the smoothness, the bulges of his veins. His balls are full and firm, and the tip of his cock is moist and slick. I guide him where I need him most.
I burn with a mixture of fear and desire, and it’s perhaps the most thrilling moment of my life. When the tip of his cock presses against my entrance, I fling my eyes open wide. Panting, my eyes plead with him. Help me.
He cups my face and traces sweet kisses over my brow, my cheeks, and finally my lips. “No one will hurt you,” he tells me. “You’re mine now.”
And with that, he presses his dick past the lips and pushes through. I tremble and arch against him as I feel him spread me, fill me, and master my body. I moan as he hesitates, and my pussy clenches around him, urging him deeper.
“Baby,” he whispers against my neck. “Please say you’re all right. I don’t know if I can stop.”
He’s so big he’s practically splitting me in half, and I revel in it. “I need you,” I whisper as I curve one of my legs around him.
A shudder rocks his whole body, and he begins to work his hips in a slow, rolling movement. I’m tight and I’m not accustomed to him, so his movements sting ever so slightly. I can’t believe I’m finally doing this. I’m letting him fuck me, and it feels good.
So unbearably good.
And then some asshole knocks on the door.
~ ~ ~
I swallow down about three mouthfuls of pancakes with butter and start a letter to my sister—a real one this time. It’s well past light-time, but Kent’s not back from the hospital yet with Nico. Apparently when Nico got in last night, he tossed his things into his room and wasted no time in finding Kent.
Every time I picture Kent wrenching the door open and the shocked look on Nico’s face, I want to plow under the covers all over again. Kent wasn’t naked or anything. He did yank his pants on first, but the raw smell of sex filled the room, and Kent had a raging hard-on. There had to be no doubt he’d interrupted something.
Anyway, Kent took Nico back down to the hospital, and that’s the last I’ve seen of either.
Hey, Tish! How’re things at home? You still seeing Marcus, or has Dad figured you out?
“Well if it isn’t my little sister.”
I drop my pen with a start and find Nico standing in the doorway like he owns the place. Which he does, of course, being a Barry. I don’t know whether to crawl under the table or punch him in the kidney. The dick fled Asheville just so he wouldn’t get stuck with me.
And he knows. Other than Kent and my sister, he’s the only other person who knows about my past. About what it did to me. Maybe I should have just stayed in bed this morning.
“Oh good. You’re back.”
Nico laughs, revealing dimples in both cheeks. “Not so shy these days, are you?”
I narrow my eyes. Is he referring to the sarcasm or last night? Both, probably. I give him a thin-lipped smile.
He looks me up and down, and even though I’m seated at the table in the breakfast room, it feels like he’s taking in all of me. Like he’s picturing me naked. I almost married this guy. Ick.
He cocks his head. “You look better with your hair down.”
I let out a breath and make the duck face. “How’s your brother?”
“Kent?”
“Lawrence!”
He sucks in his lips. “I don’t know. He’s still unconscious, and I think they�
��re monitoring an infection.”
“An infection?” There’s no such thing as antibiotics anymore.
He sits opposite me and picks at the empty place mat. “You must think I’m an asshole.”
I eye him sideways. “Congratulations on the epiphany.”
A laugh bursts from him, but then he sighs. “Look, I know. I fucked up bad. I pissed off a lot of people, not just you.”
I trace my finger over the now abandoned letter to Letitia. “You left the entire treaty hanging. I know I’m young, Nico, but even I knew what a big deal it was.”
He runs a hand through his thick dark hair. “I know.”
“People die out there every day, and you—”
“I said I know!” His clipped voice reminds me of Kent. So does that V-shaped crease between his eyes.
I look away. “Good.”
I pick up my pen, hoping he’ll get the hint and leave.
“It’s… Look, I know I let everyone down, but it’s barbaric, having your future decided for you. Medieval. I felt like the family sacrifice. Then when you told me—”
I dart him a glare.
“—about your problem, I panicked. I didn’t think; I just ran.”
My face flames. My problem. He makes me feel like I have herpes. The tension in this room wavers like an almost visible force field. I just want him to go.
Away.
But he’s not going anywhere. I’m not stupid. I’m the outsider, not him. He’s a Barry. He can make mistakes. I’m a Mason, and if I piss enough people off, that nice little treaty could go away. I straighten the pen so it sits perfectly parallel to the side of the paper and shrug. “It’s no big deal. The treaty’s safe. We even have mail delivery now.”
I nudge the stationery, pushing the pen out of alignment.
He reaches over and clutches my hand. I stiffen, and only the strictest willpower keeps me from snatching it away.
“I know you hate me. I’m really sorry. I’m a shit bag. Everyone’s always saying it, and it’s true.” He gives my hand a squeeze and lets go. “I just thought you deserved an apology is all.”
I finger comb my hair and tuck it behind my ears. I can’t look at him. I know that every time I do, I’ll picture that look of revulsion he wore when I told him about the attack. What he did humiliated me. I know to the rest of the world it looked like he took one glance at the plain girl and said no way. That’s bad enough. The fact that he rejected me after I told him my most private secret flat-out left me feeling unnatural, perverted, and about as feminine as a pair of used sweat socks. I’m not mad about the treaty. I’m angry about what he did to me.
And that’s about as selfish as him running off after taking one look at me. I can’t afford to be nasty. We’re going to see each other all the time, and it’s not like things didn’t turn out okay. Again, I’m the outsider. If I were to drag on a grudge, it wouldn’t be him that looked bad. It would be me, and I’d be a huge embarrassment to Kent. I make myself meet his eyes. I even force a halfway-convincing smile. “Don’t worry about it, Nico. It’s done, right?”
He lifts his chin and blinks. “Really?”
He looks so anxious, like what I think actually matters. I snort. “It’s fine. Let it go, okay?”
If I have to sit here and discuss my problem and how it made him feel and how he’s all sad now because he couldn’t man up and take on a crappy wife, I think I’ll claw my way out of this room and all the way back to Knoxville.
His face relaxes, and he grins. “Phew! You made it so easy. I pictured lots of groveling on my part. Maybe a few knives thrown at me.”
“Yeah, well, I hate violence, so…”
He flings himself back in his chair and gives a shout of laughter.
“What’s so funny?”
“You. With Kent.” He turns in his chair and gives another peel of laughter.
My blood pressure shoots through the roof, and I cross my arms over my chest. “I take it back. You’re not forgiven.”
“God is punishing you both. You know that, right?”
My eyes shoot poison-tipped fuck-you darts. “For what?”
“Kent’s heavy into BDSM, and you hate sex.”
I gape at him and shake my head. He really is a douche.
“Don’t worry,” he says, snuffling his laughter and getting to his feet. “I’m sure he realizes you’d chew his arm off if he tried to spank you.”
I’m just getting to my feet when he moseys out of the room, still laughing.
CHAPTER SIX
“I’m sorry I’m late, Patricia. I got carried away reading to Mrs. Wick.” I’m out of breath. I practically ran all the way back from the nursing home.
“No worries. I’ve got everything ready,” she says and gestures to a tray. “I had them make his sandwich with focaccia bread. He’ll love it.”
“Thank you.” Sunflowers. I smile and run my finger over the textured center. Asheville grows them for the nutrition in the seeds. The fact that they’re pretty is a bonus.
“I’d better hurry or I’ll be late.” I fling off my coat and toss it onto the back of a chair. I kick off my boots and jam my feet into a pair of four-inch heels and reach for the tray.
“What happened to you?” she asks.
I follow her glance to the bruise just above my wrist. Kent gave it to me last night when he pinned my arms over my head. Just thinking about it sets my heart racing. I raise the tray and pretend great interest in its contents. “Just an accident.”
Patricia spikes a brow, but she doesn’t pursue it.
“Do I look okay?”
Kent sent a message after breakfast with a list of things he wanted me to accomplish today. I don’t mind. I don’t know this territory and I don’t know this house or these people, so it’s nice to have a little direction. One of the items was to bring him lunch at precisely one thirty, and he asked me to don the dress I now wear. With a crisp bow at the waist and a flair skirt, it reminds me of something from the early 1960s. I never would have chosen it myself, but I love the caged netting that fills the three-inch gap between the neckline and the rest of the dress. But my hair. It’s so damn curly. It needs to be braided, badly.
“Sit down for a sec.”
I cast a glance at the mantel clock. “But it’s almost—”
“Sit!”
I do, and Patricia retrieves a few things from my dressing table. When she returns, she drags a brush through my thick snarls. “Honestly, Mrs. Barry, I think we need to do a hot oil treatment.”
“What’s that?” Sounds like some dark-age torture.
“Something my mother used to do when she was young.” She gathers my hair up in two twists on either side of my face and anchors them with bobby pins. Then she pinches my cheeks.
“Ow!” I pull back and clutch my stinging flesh.
“That’s the price you pay for beauty, Mrs. Barry. Now look.”
She drags me in front of a mirror, where I find that she’s cleverly arranged my hair in a World War II–type style. Long in the back, twisted up on either side of my face, and thanks to her, pink cheeks. Since I’ve never tried to draw attention to myself, it’s better than any result I’d have gotten on my own. But Kent wants this, and I want to convince him I’m doing my best to not give him any more trouble. I’ve spent the last four years showing fear, and I want him to see I’m at least trying to get it under control.
“Thanks. Now I’d better run!”
She hands me the tray. “Shoulders back, chin up. Remember, you are not a servant.”
“Thanks, Mom.” I scrunch my nose at her and set out.
Like I said, his office is all the way on the other side of the mansion, and the Biltmore House is huge even for a mansion. I’m not accustomed to wearing high heels, and by the time I reach his clerk’s desk, my toes pinch so badly you’d think someone had smashed them with a sledgehammer. Sgt. Aguilar isn’t at his post. A quick glance at the clock tells me it’s just past one thirty. I take a deep breath t
o calm my flutters. I knock and open the door.
Instantly, my heart sinks like concrete. There are five men clustered around Kent’s conference-room table, the shoulders of their uniforms loaded down with stripes and epaulets. I gasp. “I’m sorry! I thought…” I meet Nico’s eyes, and there’s just enough rebuke in them that my cheeks go nuclear.
I take a step back and let out a puff of breath. “I’ll just leave this outside.”
Damn it. I do nothing but fuck up. My heart hammering in my chest, I grasp the tray in one hand and reach for the door handle.
“No!” Kent shoots to his feet. “I mean, please. I asked you to come, but then I got caught up.”
I hesitate, a rabbit caught in the wolf’s stare. I flash a look at the small buffet table behind him. He nods once, and he smiles out of the good corner of his mouth.
Feeling like a complete idiot, I close the door behind me and make my way to the corner.
“It’s clear,” Nico says. “I don’t know why you don’t admit it. The shooter was obviously sent by Balenchuk.”
“No, it is not clear, Nico. We don’t have all the facts yet,” counters Col. Wagner.
“We pissed him off,” Nico insists. “Or Lawrence did, anyway. We kidnapped his daughter. We tried to use her to lure him into a trap. Why wouldn’t they try to take Lawrie out?”
“Nico’s right,” Kent says, his voice calm. “But we also just slaughtered a large cannibal settlement near Old Charlotte, and we aren’t exactly popular with the people down in Chattanooga. We can’t fight a war on three fronts, so I suggest until we have more information, we hold off on any retaliation.”
Nico crosses his arms over his chest. “I think you’re so in love with peace that you’ll take it up the ass just to avoid war.”
The room fogs with silence, and I keep my focus on preparing Kent’s rose-hip tea. Old Charlotte. The thought of even going near the place gives me the chills. In fact, the thought of going anywhere east of the Appalachians frightens me. Most of the Eastern Seaboard is rubble. DC, Philadelphia, and New York City were bombed to hell and back three and a half years ago when rioters overran troop trains, slaughtered the soldiers, and took the relief food and supplies. Rampant cannibalism erupted in all three cities, and gangs started bleeding out into the countryside and attacking the outlying communities. In an effort to control the outflow of cannibalism and savagery, the president bombed the shit out of all three cities as a warning. There’s nothing left. Charlotte took a hit when a relief train carrying the first lady’s nephew was attacked. The soldiers again were slaughtered and all the food and supplies taken. The president’s last act before disappearing entirely was to flatten Charlotte, Cleveland, and Atlanta.
The Other Brother (Snow and Ash Book 3) Page 6