The Sweet Under His Skin

by Portia Gray

  "Fuck!" Flynn shouted, cringing.

  "Keep it down. You'll wake the kid," Quentin snapped.

  All eyes turned to him, and he met every single set of them.

  Flynn laughed first. Then Dillon, Colton, T-bone and Gage joined in. Flynn's dark eyes met his, and he was shaking his head. "Fuck, never thought I'd see it. But Papa Quentin is alive and well."

  Quentin shook his head. "Shut up. Just…stop being a whiny bitch. And keep your fucking voice down."

  "Can I have a glass of milk before bed?" Dillon asked, setting reading glasses on his nose.

  "Can I stay up an extra half hour tonight?" Gage joked with a choking laugh.

  "Fuck all of you," Quentin said, hands out. "If anyone needs me, I'll be in my room, looking out for my woman. All right?"

  A few catcalls followed him down the hallway. Strangely, for Quentin Bayle anyway, it was quite rewarding to spend his night sitting up in the sagging armchair in his room, Beretta resting on his thigh just in case.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  "Good bye, Aunt Arielle," she heard Calvin's whispered farewell in sleep, and had to pop one eye open to confirm it had even happened.

  "You got ready for school on your own?" she croaked, throat dry.

  He nodded, grinning down at her from beside the bed. "Quentin made me breakfast and Brittany packed my lunch."

  "Who's Brittany?"

  "I gotta go—Quentin's taking me to school on his bike!"

  And he was gone, leaving a trail of just-woke-up-confusion and nine-year-old-boy excitement. Arielle rubbed her eyes and rose up to one elbow, someone else causing the mattress to sag as they added their weight to it behind her.

  "Do not move," Quentin growled, kissing her neck, freezing her in place.

  Even half asleep she was still capable of becoming aroused in less than three seconds. Good to know.

  "Who's Brittany?" she repeated as hands rolled her to her back.

  Quentin grabbed both of her wrists gently, at odds with how rough his hands were, pulled them over her head and pinned them to her pillow as he kissed her good morning.

  "Don't leave this bed," he instructed, mouth moving to her neck. "Don't get dressed. Don't get up. Don't do anything unless the building is on fire."

  "Did he say you're taking him to school on your bike?"

  "Promise me."

  "Promise you what?"

  "You'll be right here when I get back."

  Her eyes closed as he licked the skin behind her right earlobe. Oh good Lord. "I promise," she whispered, losing the train of thought she just had. He chuckled, low and private, and she shuddered.

  "I'll be careful with him," Quentin assured her, rubbing his nose along hers before letting go of her arms and standing up. "Stay here."

  "I am," she replied, exasperated. He cracked that wild grin and leaned over to kiss her forehead, but she raised her chin to hit his lips, biting the bottom one.

  It surprised him, and he just stared at her blankly for a moment, long enough for her to give herself shit for being a freak. Then the smile was back and he was climbing on the bed, covering her on the opposite side of the blankets, kissing her hard and deep.

  "Q! I'm gonna be late!" Calvin was in the doorway, staring at them like this was something he regularly saw his Aunt Arielle do.

  Quentin raised his head and said with male authority, "Charlie, you never interrupt this situation. Trust me. Someday you'll understand."

  Calvin just huffed and stalked off down the hall, leaving Arielle giggling. "He's right. He'll be late. He hates being late for stuff."

  Quentin rolled off of her, standing up again. "You better be naked when I get back," he instructed, closing and locking the door behind him.

  She rolled back onto her side, heart still running a bit quick to fall asleep, but she closed her eyes anyway, finding that warm and comfortable spot between being awake and unconscious. She had never expected to be comfortable here, but being surrounded by these maniacs actually gave her peace of mind.

  Arielle fell asleep eventually, which she only knew because she came awake to the feeling of hands on her back, pushing her T-shirt up slowly and deliberately. Even as cotton-headed as she was she knew very damn well what was happening.

  "What are you doing?" she groaned, rubbing her eyes with one hand.

  "I thought I told you to be naked," a gruff voice answered, and in one quick swipe her shirt was gone. Asleep to fully turned on took less than five seconds.

  "I was sleeping," she informed Quentin, rolling to her stomach when his hands tried to get hold of her chest. He tried to roll her over by her hips but she squirmed to resist.

  Quentin's now familiar kisses were pressed to her back, right between her shoulder blades. "All right," he said, chin stubble scratching as he dragged those touches out down her back. "We can do it your way."

  Hands suddenly gripped the edges of her underwear, which was startling because the kisses were really, really feeling good; so soft and gentle. She heard the sound of tearing and rose up on her elbows. The feeling of underwear was suddenly gone and in its place was the coldness of very naked, very private skin.

  "Did you just tear off my underwear?" she gasped, looking back over her shoulder as his arm shot under hers, running up the centre of her chest and grasping her by the chin. He kissed her like that, over the shoulder, his weight coming down partially on her back.

  Arielle's blood quickened further. He was naked, too. The covers were at the foot of the bed, and he had, indeed, torn her panties right off.

  Okay. So that was hot.

  He let her mouth go, which was good because she was breathing hard by this point. His lips pinched at her neck, the skin where it joined her shoulder, and his hand let go of her chin to cradle her neck. His knee pushed her legs apart. She was as helpless as she'd ever been in her life, no way she was getting away from that. No way she wanted to.

  Yet as he kissed her shoulder, neck, and nipped at her ear he was staying put, waiting for something. She had no idea what, but the more his heat soaked into her and his kisses amped her up, the more she needed him to just get to it already.

  Arielle arched her back, feeling where he was waiting, fully at attention, gasping only when he growled from the slightest of contact.

  "Quentin," she whispered, eyes falling closed, her need actually a throbbing ache.

  "Say it," he moaned, his teeth nipping at the shell of her ear.

  "Quentin," this was more of a whimper, because she really liked him biting at her ear like that.

  "Not until you say it, Arielle."

  She loved how her name sounded right then, like she was maybe causing him the same kind of pain. She knew her face was flushed, but she was beyond embarrassment. He made her completely lose her mind just undressing her and kissing her skin. "Please, Quentin…"

  "Please what?"

  She swallowed, which was difficult with his hand on her throat like it was. "Please…fuck me."

  It was barely out of her mouth and she was gasping, eyes flying open, head going back as he filled her, pushing against her brutally with his hips. She stopped breathing, her back arching more, giving him more to take from her, and he did.

  He withdrew and pushed again, rocking them both forward on their elbows. She couldn't help it; she threw a hand up against the headboard to prevent hitting it and to give herself the leverage to push back against him as he thrust again. He growled, teeth in her shoulder, and it didn't hurt. She loved it.

  Quentin's hand that wasn't on her neck came up to curl around hers, both of them holding the same bar on the headboard. She turned her head to the side again and his mouth was there, but this was not a position for a deep kiss. This was the brushing of lips, an assurance that everything was very, very okay with her. She just wished he'd speed up.

  This pace was slow, but still rough somehow. She tried to push against him more, rise up to her knees, but he kept her pinned in place and his control intact.

 
"Faster…please."

  "No."

  She made a sound of frustration which brought out a chuckle, which had a remarkably pleasant effect.

  When he let go of her neck his arm looped around her abdomen, bringing her hips to a different angle. She felt each thrust against her cervix, a pleasant, dull sensation that made her moan and meet each movement eagerly, even if he wasn't speeding up. It made all the difference. She could feel it building, it was going to be spectacular.

  "Oh, Quentin," she breathed, head still to the side.

  "Tell me, baby girl."

  "That feels so good."

  "Yeah?"

  "Yeah."

  "I wanna hear it, babe."

  She gave a groan, not because of climax but because she liked that he talked to her this way.

  "Arielle, I wanna hear it."

  She wasn't saying anything because she was right on the edge, eyes fluttering shut, one more thrust to take her to the brink and another to push her over. Her head came up to a nearly-impossible angle, the sound she made unholy and loud, but she couldn't stop. It rolled through her violently, making every muscle tighten and quiver. When she had a sense of which way was up she let her face hit the pillow, taking a long shuddering breath.

  Not that she was going to be allowed to rest and recover. Immediately he pulled out and away, rolled her to her back by her hips, body too limp to cooperate or struggle.

  "So fucking sexy," he mumbled, raised up on both arms staring down at her face, eyes blazing a hot trail down her torso. "All along this was living next door to me and I could have only hoped."

  She gave a weak laugh at that, and he rested back on his heels to pull her knees up, pushing them to her chest, parting her legs and holding them that way. She had enough time to just feel the start of embarrassment at being so fully on display before he plunged back into her hard, wrenching a moan from her and forcing her head back into her pillow.

  Jesus. Christ.

  When she risked opening her eyes, he was looking right where she knew he'd be; where their bodies connected, watching as she accepted him inside, his face almost reverent. And hungry.

  Suddenly it wasn't embarrassing, it was erotic and close and private and hot as hell.

  "Quentin," she whispered, and his eyes came back to her.

  "Babe." She smiled, then bit her lip, letting her hand trail down her chest, stopping to touch her nipple. His eyes got wider, his smile downright sexy. "Babe," he repeated, voice straining in a way she really liked. She brought her other hand up and he ducked his head, reading her mind. He closed his mouth around her first two fingertips, licking and sucking at them. Then he pulled back, his grin getting naughtier, waiting.

  Like he was daring her.

  Arielle's hand went right between her own legs, circling her clit with those wet fingertips, her mouth dropping open like she was surprised to be touching herself. His eyes were on it, smile gone, growl sounding in the room.

  God, it felt so good. The way he was hitting her inside, the way she was pinned with her knees up at her shoulders, all of it. At the sound of that growl she had to close her eyes. For Arielle, this was the dirtiest, most fantastic sex she'd ever had. Nothing compared to the way he'd made love to her the first time, but this felt like another level of closeness.

  "Jesus, Arielle," he moaned out of nowhere, opening her eyes again. His mouth was open, he was panting like she was, still refusing to speed up but she didn't need that anymore.

  His eyes found hers and the heat in them made her shudder in spite of the fact she was already drowning in amazing sensations. "So fucking beautiful," he muttered.

  It made her close her eyes again just as her orgasm surprised her, bowing her back, tightening her legs against the hold he had on them; a fight she didn't win. He didn't stop, it was then that he sped up, angling over her now. She kept her knees where they were. Now he was fast. And rough. And so much like her first impression of him it was almost overwhelming, but that was when she realized she still hadn't touched down from that orgasm and was already off and floating on another one.

  This one was brutal, making her convulse like she had never done before, not crying but nearly screaming out with all her breath, shaking through it like it was a violent assault. She might have shouted "Q!" She had no idea why she would change his name like that, but it was entirely possible she'd done it all the same.

  Quentin was buried in her deep, still, panting, and she thought he might have moaned while she was having her…attack. He rested his forehead on hers, his breath hot on her face. She dared to open her eyes, catching a vision of him smiling, face slack and relaxed, absolutely pleased with himself. Or maybe her.

  As they held eye contact and shared exhausted, small smiles, she became aware of a cat call, a wolf whistle, and then clapping outside the door. Her eyes got wide as he turned his head away to shout, "Shut the fuck up!"

  She covered her face, the heat racing down her neck and to her chest almost negating the afterglow.

  Almost.

  "I have never been more embarrassed," she whispered.

  "See, I have the exactly opposite feeling," he answered, kissing the side of her neck.

  "How loud was I?"

  "That was loud, babe."

  "Oh my God."

  "They're all just jealous."

  "Oh my God," she repeated.

  Quentin slid off her to the side, bunching a pillow under his head and sighing, loud and happy. "Babe," he said, taking a deep breath and letting it out again with a chuckle and his hand fell to her belly. "We're grown-ups here. It's okay."

  "I have never been this embarrassed," she whispered, yanking the pillow out from under her head and pressing it over her face.

  He pulled it away, leaning over her on one arm. "Why be embarrassed?"

  She turned her head to him. "I don't know how to handle this stuff," she whispered. "I walk around assuming people never have sex. I'm not even aware when men are attracted to me."

  Quentin brushed his hand down the side of her face. "You be exactly how you are, babe. I wouldn't want it any other way. But don't be embarrassed over this. It was too fucking fantastic to regret."

  She felt a smile that she didn't volunteer. "It was," she agreed.

  "You called me: Q," he teased.

  "I did?" she hissed, mortified. "I did, didn't I?"

  His smile was slow and sexy, but she was too exhausted to get all in a titter about it. "I liked it a lot."

  "I liked all of it," she admitted, feeling her face grow warm again.

  Quentin kissed the end of her nose and rolled to his back, dragging her with him so she was plastered to his side and secured under his arm. "I liked all of it too, babe."

  Quentin was woken when Arielle rolled away from him to her side, and he was struck with fear by the film of sweat she'd left along his ribs, the air highlighting it by rushing between them to fill the void, suddenly cold.

  He rubbed his face down, rolled up to one elbow and put his hand on her shoulder. It was soaking wet; she was sweating like she'd just run a marathon. "Arielle?" he whispered, running his hand down her arm, alarmed now. "Babe, you okay?" She mumbled something he couldn't make out and his heart froze. "Arielle," he repeated, firmer. "What's wrong?"

  No response.

  Fuck.

  He got up, pulled his jeans on and crouched next to the bed in front of her. He cupped her face in his hands. "Arielle? What's wrong?"

  Eventually she blinked, eyes focusing. "What?" she whispered, covering one of his hands with hers. "What's wrong?"

  "Jesus, you're sweating like crazy. And you're out of it."

  She wiped her forehead. "It's probably a fever," she mumbled, closing her eyes. "It's one of the side effects."

  Shit, what had he done to her?

  "What do we do about it?"

  She shook her head. "Nothing. It goes away. I'm okay, Quentin. I promise."

  "You're scaring me," he whispered, pressing a kiss to her forehead.r />
  She opened her eyes again, smiling. "Can you run me a slightly-warm bath?"

  "Okay." He was immediately up and at it, flicking the bathroom light on and heading for the tub. He plugged the drain, turned the hot and cold on, feeling the temperature with his hand. It felt room temperature to him.

  Then he returned to the bedroom just as Arielle sat up on the edge of the bed. He was struck then by her scars, the missing breast. When he made love to her he scarcely noticed it, but now he did. A brutal reminder of why she was sick on the first place. And he couldn't just give her a day to sleep? That thought was further beaten home by the fresh bruises on her hip bones and arms.

  Fucking. Idiot.

  "Hey," he scolded her, leaning down to scoop her up in both arms. "Let me do that."

  She smiled and wrapped her arms around his neck, resting her head on his shoulder. He had a moment to realize she probably was fine. She was letting him take care of her to calm him down, give him something to do.

  Clever little minx.

  He set her on her feet next to the tub. She stepped over the edge and he held her by the hips like she might fall. He hovered while she eased down into the water, hands on both sides of the tub, sighing as she settled into place.

  "Is the temperature okay?" He was fretting like a fucking new parent.

  "It's fine. Quentin, please, relax." She held her hand out. "Sit down."

  He did, kneeling next to the tub, taking her hand in his. "Want your soap?" he asked.

  Arielle kept that kind smile on him. "Sure." Then she pointed. "The white bottle."

  He popped the top and squirted the clear-pink crap into the stream from the tap, the smell hitting him and making him feel better. Once he'd put the bottle back Quentin leaned back against the wall and settled on his ass, knees up in front of him to rest him arms on. He pinched the bridge of his nose. Panic felt exactly the same as his chest being crushed.

  "Are you okay?" she asked, head tilted towards him.

  He clasped his hands together. "I'm fine, babe. Just worried about you." She sat up and reached out to turn the taps off, then leaned back again.