Honey House

by LAURA HARNER

  As soon as our gazes locked, he came. His seed was white-hot against the back of my throat, and I swallowed convulsively. He never looked away, never closed his eyes, and the moan of his release shivered through me. When he was spent, I gentled the pressure, and finished with licks and kisses, savoring the taste of him, capturing every drop with my tongue.

  We stayed like that for a while, Quinn leaning back on the bed, my face pressed against his groin. When he finally sat up, he pulled me to him and kissed me long and hard, and I knew he could taste himself on my tongue.

  “My turn,” he said when he finally let me go. I knew then that he understood that what we’d just done had been as much about my pleasure as his. I’d wanted him in my mouth and I hadn’t wanted to stop. Now he would bring me pleasure, and from his words and the look on his face, I knew he would enjoy it every bit as much as I would.

  He brought me to my feet so that I stood in front of him, naked from the waist up. His eyes lit up at the trace of blue silk that peeked out from the waistband of my jeans. I slowly turned so he could get a better view from behind and undid the front of my jeans, pushing them partway down, revealing more of the thong. From the appreciative sound he made from deep in his chest, I guessed Quinn was a man who admired lingerie. Or maybe it was just bare ass cheeks he found so attractive.

  Slipping his hands around my waist, his tongue explored my lower back, pausing to nip at the sensitive skin, pulling at the silk with his teeth. He pushed my jeans the rest of the way down and I stepped out, completely revealing my ass to him. He bit one cheek, and then the other, drawing a little yip from me at the sharp bite of pain.

  Quinn turned me to face him. “Gives a whole new meaning to turning the other cheek,” he said, and his voice was a deep rumble against my lower belly.

  I laughed and pulled his head tight against my stomach.

  Quinn slid to the floor, kneeling in front of me and turned me so that my back was to the bed. “Stay there,” he ordered. “I want to look at you.”

  His gaze raked my body. He paused to lick or kiss at every spot that captured his attention. It took him a long time to meet my gaze. We were nearly the same height with him on his knees and me standing.

  “Delicious,” he said, and he raised his mouth to mine for another long, hot kiss. Then he began the return trip.

  When he got to the patch of blue silk between my legs, he inhaled deeply. His finger scraped against the fabric just over my mound and I shuddered in anticipation. Quinn gave another one of his growls and pushed me back onto the bed, leaving my feet dangling over the side. He pulled the thong from my hips and pushed my knees further apart. Lowering his mouth to my thigh, he began trailing kisses up one side, coming close to my center, before switching to the other leg. It was an exquisite torture.

  His mouth was hot against my skin, the shadow of his beard scraped against the tender skin of my inner thighs. The open-mouth kisses became velvet tongue as he moved to my mons. He lightly flicked at the moisture pooling between my legs. Then his mouth closed over my lower lips, and my hips bucked hard. His tongue separated the folds of my pussy, stroked me, pierced me. He grabbed my ankles, put them over his shoulders, and placed his hands under my hips. He raised me to his mouth, languidly running his tongue from front to back, intimate, intoxicating.

  Quinn’s tongue found my clitoris and he circled and flicked against the hard nub. My back arched, and I pushed my hips harder against his mouth. I was so close to the edge.

  “Wait,” I gasped. “Inside me. Want you.” I was nearly incoherent with desire.

  He rose to his knees and let my legs fall to his forearms. He rubbed the head of his cock in the wetness of my desire. He pushed against my swollen folds, pushed through the tightness, pushed until his cock was buried to the hilt. Slowly, he began to move. He glided back until he was nearly out, before he thrust deep and hard. I met his thrusts, lifting my hips, reveling in the perfection of his body in mine.

  He was kneeling on the floor, his hips perfectly positioned, and he raised my ankles back to his shoulders. The angle he entered, on a slight upward tilt, rubbed against a spot that sent pleasure rolling in waves that connected to a small spot behind my navel and began to build. It was a pleasure that bordered on pain, on too much sensation, on an overwhelming need for release.

  I dropped my feet, and Quinn smoothly pushed me farther onto the bed and covered me with his hard, hot body. His mouth found mine even as he changed the rhythm and angle yet again. Quinn surrounded me; his hair was a silky curtain, his scent an exotic mixture of earth and musk, and he filled me. Dear God, he filled me. The pool rippled and began to overflow, drawing from the kiss, from his fingers on my nipple, the feel of his skin against mine.

  “Oh God, I can’t—”

  “Come for me, Katie—”

  The pleasure started to spill, to push back out from the center of me, following nerve endings to every part of my body. I closed my eyes and stars exploded behind the lids, my hips bucked and my back arched. I shuddered as muscles and nerves trembled in places that had never been awakened before. Higher, harder, deeper.

  I think I screamed. Neither of us went quietly. His deep, guttural voice escaped in moans and growls, in whispered soothing comments. Then my hands were at his back, pulling him close. I wanted to hide my face, hide the tears that suddenly filled my eyes and spilled into my hair.

  Quinn was too perceptive, too aware. He rolled us to our sides, and with the difference in our heights, I was cocooned against his chest. His hand gently brushed a tear from my cheek, and then he cradled me tightly against his chest. He didn’t ask; just let me know by that simple gesture that whatever I was feeling was all right. I couldn’t have explained, even if he’d asked. I was simply overwhelmed by the beauty of the moment, the perfection of the loving.

  A gentle hand stroked my hair, my back, my shoulder. I felt the kisses he pressed to my head. I took a shuddering breath and looked up into the most perfect face ever created. Of course, I’d already noticed the eyes, and, yes, I’d noticed he was an attractive man. But I’d not spent much time thinking about him as a man, only thinking of Quinn as a cop. It was as though I was seeing him properly for the first time. His proud, beautiful features. Straight nose, strong jaw, perfectly kissable lips. How had I failed to notice the beauty of the man?

  “You’re not so bad yourself, Katie,” he said, as though reading my thoughts.

  “No one’s ever called me Katie before. What’s your real name? What do people call you besides Quinn? And do I detect a bit of Irish? It’s there sometimes in your speech.”

  He grinned. “Aye, there’s a wee bit of Gaelic mischief in me,” he said outrageously, making me laugh. His face turned more serious and he brushed his hand lightly over my skin, from my knees to my throat, causing me to shiver. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he asked.

  I realized that despite the pounding he’d given me, I wasn’t sore. I felt wonderful, every inch pleasured, every inch hungry for more.

  I gave a shaky laugh. “God, no.” My voice was embarrassingly breathless.

  Quinn gave a purely masculine smile. “Good. Turn over,” he growled, and with his hands firmly on my hips, he pulled me onto my hands and knees. He slid slowly in, long and hard, and apparently inexhaustible.

  *

  Hours later, he carried me to the shower, and as he had between each of our bouts, he rubbed his hand across my body and asked if I was okay. I was. I shouldn’t have been. I should have collapsed into a puddle of boneless flesh. I didn’t know how he was still walking, let alone still hard. One look in the mirror showed he was more than ready to go again. What did that make? Six? Seven? More?

  We hadn’t wasted much time with small talk; I knew no more about Quinn now than when we’d started the evening. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. I knew he liked being dominant. I suspected he would enjoy a little spank and tickle, maybe a little bondage, if we ever got around to it. He liked to hold my hands above my head, liked
to prevent me from touching him until he wanted it.

  Of course, I thought with a wince, now that I could see his back in the mirror, he might have just wanted to keep me from scratching him again. Long, angry welts crisscrossed his back and arms where my nails had dug into his flesh.

  “Let me wash your back, I think I might have hurt you with my nails,” I said, gently wiping with the soapy sponge. He gave a little hiss, and then arched his back harder against the sponge, as though seeking the sting. Oh yeah. This one was definitely a little rough around his edges.

  He shampooed my hair. I shampooed his. He didn’t complain when I spilled the crème rinse on his cock and gave it a slippery ride. We dried each other off, but only after Quinn dropped to his knees in front of me, and worshipfully licked the water from my breasts and lower, relentlessly bringing me to yet another screaming orgasm.

  *

  We were in opposite corners of the bedroom, me searching my closet, he searching the room for his discarded clothing, when it all came crashing down.

  “Is there something you forgot to tell me?” Quinn asked, his voice low and dangerous.

  My back was to him, so I didn’t see what he was doing, but I heard the strange note in his voice. Gone was the low growl, the sexy lilt. This voice was colder, harder. Shit.

  Was he expecting me to tell him I loved him? Is that what he thought I forgot to tell him? We’d had the best night of sex in my life. I think I’d told him that, in between orgasms three and four. Did he think we had more than that? For Christ’s sake, he hadn’t even told me his real first name when I’d asked. Did he really think I forgot to tell him I loved him?

  I was working myself into a good snit. The warm, pleasurable atmosphere was shattered, replaced by something colder, something cruel. I finished pulling my shirt on before I turned to face him, needing the thin layer of cloth as a piece of armor against the icy fury I felt emanating from his corner of the room.

  “I—”

  “Save it Miss Carmichael. It’s always a fucking scam with you, a fucking con.”

  He reached me in three long strides, his face twisted with rage. He grabbed both my shoulders, and I began to feel the first tendrils of fear creep up my spine. This man could break me. I reacted with a fury of my own.

  “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. Let go, you’re hurting me!”

  The growl returned, but it wasn’t sexy, it was deadly. “You didn’t complain when I hurt you last night, though, did you? You like it a little bit rough. You like to let your control slip just a little. I should have known it was all an act, just something to distract the local sheriff. Tell me, was I a good lay or am I just another mark to you?” he snarled.

  I couldn’t think of a single thing to say to that. Of everything that could have happened this morning, a fit of male ego wasn’t on my radar. He was expecting me to tell him he was the best fuck I’d ever had. If it hadn’t been for this hissy bit of temper, I might have. Except I’d been busy trying to figure out how to get him to leave, no strings attached.

  My thoughts were interrupted when he held the letter up to my face, and suddenly, all the pieces fit together. He wasn’t fishing for compliments or even a return invitation. He’d seen Jason’s note. I’d left it on the bureau, in plain sight, because I’d not been expecting anyone in my bedroom. Fuck.

  Chapter Eight

  I sat sipping my coffee and wished I could just hook up an IV. Why waste time? The paper was on Quinn’s usual table, unread. I was alone, waiting for delivery of the baked goods. I heard the kitchen door open, and knew Aaron would leave the trays on the large counter, ready for me to serve when I was ready.

  Most mornings I would greet Aaron, a local high school senior who earned extra money delivering for G&O. I wasn’t in the mood this morning. Today, I planned to put out the trays, an extra carafe of coffee and return to my apartment. I didn’t want to see anyone.

  It occurred to me that Aaron was taking longer than usual. I heard the refrigerator open, then close, water running in the sink, a clang of metal, and then the door swooshed open behind me. Gregory swept in, carrying the bagels and muffins, and set the tray on the sideboard. “Stay there, I’ve got it,” he sang out as he returned to the kitchen. A minute later, he had the yogurt and fruit, jams, butter, and cream cheese elegantly displayed. He filled his cup, blithely informed me another batch of coffee was brewing, grabbed a muffin, and flopped down at my table.

  “Aaron’s on his way to Flagstaff this morning; he’s visiting the campus up there. I don’t know what Owen and I will do when he goes away for college. He’s been—

  “Holy shit, KC! What happened to you? You look like you were rode hard and are still waiting to be hung up. What did you do after you left our house? Are you okay?”

  I smiled tiredly. “I’m okay,” was all I said. I went to refill my coffee, and when I returned, Gregory was staring at me. I put a finger under his chin and gently closed his mouth.

  He shook his head. “Oh no. This is too good. Spill it KC. Who’s in your bed? Don’t make me go down the hall and look, because you know I will. I have no shame.”

  “No one’s in my bed.” At his disbelieving look, I added, “I swear.”

  “KC, do not tell me no one was here. You were well and royally fucked last night. For God’s sake, your hips are rolling and you practically look bowlegged. Look at your arms! And you have bite marks on your neck! Not hickeys, teeth. Someone bit you hard enough to break the skin on one of them. Goddamn, girl, you must like it rough! I hope you gave as good as you got.”

  The door opened and Quinn stormed in, heading straight for the coffee. He missed half a step when he saw I was sitting with someone. “Morning Gregory, Miss Carmichael.” He recovered smoothly. He went straight to his usual table and buried his face in the paper.

  The heat rushed up my face as I got a good look at the scratches on Quinn’s arms and there seemed to be a hint of teeth on the side of his neck, too. Gregory choked on his coffee. He rose to leave, I think to give Quinn and me some privacy, but I restrained him with a hand. “Don’t leave me,” I hissed.

  He looked from the blackness surrounding Quinn and back to me. “Hey, KC,” he said casually, “Come into the kitchen. I brought you something. Remember those dishes Owen was talking about last night?” Gregory rose, taking his coffee and muffin with him, and I followed with a reluctant glance over my shoulder at Quinn. He sat staring at the paper, studiously ignoring me.

  Gregory was on me as soon as the door closed behind us. “Oh My God, Oh My God! You and Quinn! I can’t believe it. I have seriously fantasized about that man. Spill it. Was it good? What am I saying? Of course, it was good. Honey, you better kiss and tell, because if you don’t, I’m going to ask him myself, man to man.”

  “Shut up Gregory. He’ll never buy the man to man thing,” I said with a tired smile.

  Gregory grinned. “That’s why you have to tell me. Seriously, as far as I know, you weren’t expecting him to come over last night. What happened?”

  I recognized the futility of trying to avoid his questions. With a sigh, I told him about Quinn showing up to ask about Jason, about his walk through of my apartment, and about the dead coyote on the back porch.

  “Quinn was offering some comfort and one thing led to another. That’s all,” I finished lamely.

  Gregory made the appropriate noises while I was telling the story, but when I tried to leave it at that, he glared. “Oh no you don’t, girlfriend. Okay, nothing too personal.” He paused for effect. “How big is he?”

  I nearly spit my coffee. “Big enough,” I answered when I could speak.

  “Oh God, I just knew it. As big as he looks in those jeans?”

  “Bigger.”

  He gave a happy sigh, and I hoped he was finished with me. He grabbed my arm as I started to turn back to the dining room. “Unh, unh. Not yet. How many times?”

  “Gregory!”

  “More than once?”

 
He kept going and my discomfort spurred him to new levels of outrageousness. He finally relented when I admitted it was more times than I could count, that Quinn had stayed all night, and that we’d not gotten any sleep. Gregory pretended to fan himself and I punched his arm.

  “Okay, okay, no more intimate details. For now. But what happened? Why’s Quinn so black and calling you Miss Carmichael?” He gave a quick gasp. “Are you some kind of dominatrix? Do you make him call you that? Oh God, Quinn on his knees, you in leather. I could die a happy man with that picture in my head,” he said with his eyes closed, a beatific smile on his face.

  “Gregory! Enough! You don’t understand. Everything was fine until he was getting dressed. He found the note from Jason. He knows I was holding something back. He thinks I was running a con on him last night to keep him from being suspicious.”

  “Shit,” he said.

  “Exactly,” I agreed.

  ****

  I sat at the desk in the library, put my head on my arms and thought about all that had passed since yesterday. Joanne had said it was time I knew what I was. Amelia had said to listen to the House, listen to my heart. Well, today my heart hurt and so far, the House was mum.

  I certainly hadn’t expected to fall into bed with Quinn last night, but what a tumble it had been. I’d never have believed in a million years that I would take a cop to my bed. There were way too many bad memories associated with that. Horrors I’d locked away long ago. Last night had just happened. I’d needed comfort and he’d given it. I would have preferred we walked away from it and not look back, each remembering a very pleasant night and nothing more.

  It hadn’t exactly worked that way. By the time we’d been in the shower, I’d started thinking of excuses to keep Quinn visiting my bed, which was not good. Not good at all. He was dangerous, he was a cop, and he was someone who would always think the worst of me. He had the power to hurt me, which meant he needed to go.