by Portia Gray
"Smells good, babe," he said softly, close to her ear.
"Good," she answered, giggling as his hands began sliding over her, the dress shifting easily because of the satin underneath.
"What’re you wearing under this?" he asked, lips on her neck.
"That's for later," she replied, smacking at his hands as they tried to pull up her skirt. "It's for later!" she chastised as a squeal when he didn't relent.
He stopped his roaming hands, giving her a tight hug. "Arielle," he whispered, and it almost sounded like a thank you. She stilled at that, wondering that he didn't seem entirely himself.
"Go inside. These are done. Go sit and have another beer."
"You got it, bossy."
Arielle turned off the grill, set the steaks on the plate she had waiting and carried them inside. She plated a steak and potatoes for each of them while he watched her from the table, leaning on his elbows and drinking his beer lazily. She felt his gaze and it was making her twitch in a good way.
She set a plate in front of him and he grabbed her wrist tight, pulling her down for a kiss. "Thank you, babe," he whispered hoarsely, and she thought he was going to cry again.
She perched on his knee, putting her hand to his cheek. "You deserve it and more," she assured him with another kiss. A shadow passed over his eyes, and she frowned as he shook his head and suddenly smiled.
"Like, whatever's under this dress," he said on a grin, running a hand up her thigh. She caught that hand on another giggle.
"I told you, that's for later."
"Do I get to unwrap it?"
"Of course."
After another long pause where Quentin looked at her like he'd never seen her before, her kissed her again slowly and softly. Before he could get her all worked up she darted off his lap and returned to the seat next to him. She poured herself some champagne and they set to eating.
Quentin was quiet, and Arielle wrote it off to emotions. She felt terrible that people didn't cook nice meals for him. That something so simple touched him like this. Like she needed that soft spot she harbored for Quentin Bayle to get any bigger.
He told her how good everything was. Kept thanking her repeatedly with long looks and half-smiles that weren't as wide as normal. For most of the meal he even held her hand while they ate.
Bliss. The best‘date’ she'd ever had. All because it was with Quentin.
After the food was done, Quentin started gathering up plates. She stopped him by putting a hand on his arm. "No dishes on your birthday, remember?"
"When, then?" he asked, smile getting a bit bigger.
"Tomorrow," she said softly, standing next to him and pressing her front into him. "But I think it's bedtime, honey."
There he was. The Quentin she knew. His gaze flared with heat, and his hands slid around the small of her back. Then he froze, holding her like that, his forehead resting on hers as he squeezed his eyes shut.
"Quentin?" she whispered, really worried now.
"I'm sorry, babe."
Arielle didn't ask if anything was wrong. If it was club stuff she didn't need to know about he wouldn't tell her. If it was something she needed to know, he would. Clearly, this was club stuff bugging him.
"I'm a lucky man," he finally mumbled, lowering his head to kiss her mouth.
Arielle ducked away from him, grabbing his hand and leading him down the hallway. She had the nightstand light on already, the room glowing golden. She dropped his hand and turned in the centre of the room to face him. His eyes were still running all over her, and she felt bolder and prettier than she ever had in her life. She twisted her fingers somewhat nervously as the silence continued.
"Are you going to take this off or should I?" she asked shyly.
"You do it," he answered roughly, rubbing his chin.
She reached back to the zipper, slid it down, pulled her arms out and let the dress fall to her feet, slipping easily along the satin. Then she watched his face. It was exactly what she wanted to see. He groaned first, then moved forward, licking his lips and his eyes continued on that hot trail all over her.
"Jesus, babe," he growled, hesitating, then putting his hands on her hips.
The roughness of his hands snagged the material, so it couldn't slide. Instead his hands rubbed the satin on her skin, and she closed her eyes, smiling.
Yep, it felt amazing, like she knew it would. "Quentin," she whispered as his lips touched her neck so softly she might have imagined it.
"What’d you want me to do?"
"It's your birthday," she reminded him. "What do you want to do?"
His teeth pinched a bit. "I want you to boss me around some more."
She wrinkled up her face, his stubble tickling her. "That's what you want?"
"As long as you keep this on," he answered, hands sliding to her ass, squeezing. "And the wig."
"Mmm," she moaned as his tongue ran up the side of her neck. "I can do that."
He backed away, smiling broadly now but it still wasn't quite reaching his eyes. She had to take that worry away. "So, tell me what to do," he rasped quietly.
She bit her lip, her face warming a bit. But that could be the champagne. "Take off your clothes."
The clothes came off easily, Arielle providing just the distraction he needed to feel…not better because his guilt would never be better. But this was something that was preferable to focus on.
Tell her, a foreign voice was scolding him. You just watched her sister get plugged, you have to tell her right now.
He couldn't. She couldn't know. It would kill her and maybe make her even more ill. And he knew she was in danger. But instead of drug dealers now Bishop could hurt her, and he was even closer than some street thug; a bigger threat, a more likely danger.
Quentin had barely been able to eat, but she'd cooked for him. There was no way to measure how much that meant to him.
Nope, the silence was to protect her and the kid. Even if she found out one day and hated him, he'd still know this was the only option. Until Bishop was out of the way, that is. He knew Colton and most of his brothers wanted it, hell, it could happen. Then he could tell Arielle.
Until then, he watched her like a hawk and tried not to let on anything was wrong. And the best distraction came when that dress hit the ground. This satin thingy she had on was…fucking fantastic. Underneath that fabric she felt even more amazing.
Right then his body was online, mind was shut down. There was just Arielle and her smell and hands and smile.
Arielle led him by both hands backwards to the bed, turned him and leaned over him so his back was against the pillows. He couldn't stop rubbing this nightie over her hips and stomach, and he could tell she felt sexy in it. It was in her posture, the way her eyes were lit up, her smile. Fantastic. All of it.
She reached up to the bedpost, pulling one of her scarfs towards her. A silky white one. She ran it through both hands as he kept petting this bit of negligee, then she grabbed his wrist and tied one end of the scarf to it.
Quentin had to grin. "Babe, what’re you doing?"
She pushed his arm up so that hand was on the pillow over his head, no resistance from him, then reached up to do something else with the scarf. She took his other hand off her hip, pressed it to the pillow as well and he felt the silk wrap around that wrist.
"Whatever I want," she finally answered quietly, kissing him hard, wet. Hot enough that he pulled at the ties.
When she parted their mouths he gave a chuckle. "Babe, I could rip this scarf in half or break your headboard."
She licked her bottom lip and stood up next to the bed again. "I guess you better be careful." Then as he watched she lifted the satin revealing the scrap of lace underwear, pushed her fingers into the sides, slid them off her hips and down her thighs. She stepped out of them, straightened while balling them up in her hand then leaned over and shoved them in his mouth.
Holy. Shit. He felt his dick twitch at that, and he made a growling sound that had her lic
king her bottom lip again. She propped one knee on the mattress, swung her leg over his chest so she was astride it but facing his feet, then took his erection in her hand.
Quentin grunted again, smiling around her cute little gag and staring up her back. That damn nightie was too long to see anything, but he could feel her against his chest and—
Jesus. Oh Christ. Oh God.
She leaned forward, and as all below was revealed to him he felt her tongue on his cock, teasing the tip and the ridge, her hand reaching down to cup his balls.
Shit, keep it together.
He could finish immediately. Everything he was feeling, seeing and smelling was enough to make him come. He fought as long as he could, closing his eyes but having to open them again because of what was there.
He couldn't reach far enough to get his mouth on her otherwise he'd spit out the panties and do it. This was reminding him why he didn't like being tied up. But for some reason Arielle doing it kept him from following through on his threat and wrecking her bed.
When she finally took him in her mouth entirely that was all he needed. He groaned loud, hips bucking as a warning, and the relief surged through him warm and intense. She didn't stop playing with her tongue until he wasn't shaking anymore. He was grunting her name but it was muffled. When she swung her leg over to kneel next to him again he finally got his eyes uncrossed enough to look at her.
Her cheeks were flushed, her smile was gorgeous, and she was biting her lip again. "You want me to ride you, Quentin?" she asked innocently, because that was her way. It wasn't an act.
He nodded, eyes taking everything in as she was suddenly astride his hips. He frowned, eyes going to his half-erection.
"I think you need a few minutes to recover," she mumbled, scooting back over his thighs a bit and resting her weight back on her heels. He began nodding then froze as her hand slid down between her legs, vanished under the hem of that nightie and her eyes closed as she gasped.
"Fuck me," but all she heard was muffled grunts from him. His eyes were on that hand, then her other one as she dragged it upward, catching the nightie and pulling it up a fair bit, her hand stopping on her nipple to pinch and roll it with her thumb and finger. The nightie raised meant he could see both hands.
He could have wept. His entire body wanted in her; hands, tongue, his recovering dick. Her breathing increased and so did his. Not being able to put his hands on her was killing him.
"Quentin," she whispered, eyes still closed. "I'm wet. I'm so turned on. Please, be ready soon."
Fucking. Right.
He growled, making her open her eyes. She looked down where he was back on board, hard, throbbing and ready, then smiled. "Good," she breathed as she pulled the gag out of his mouth, replacing it with wet fingers.
He sucked them clean, moaning at the taste. Then she reached for the drawer of the nightstand and pulled out a condom. She rolled it on quickly, expertly. One second he was in her hand, then he was sliding inside her tightness, closing his eyes at the excitement all that anticipation had caused. Quentin breathed himself through some semblance of control, watching his girl swing her hips, play with her nipple and throw her head back. He could talk now, make noise, but he didn't. He just enjoyed the show until her movements grew frantic, her noises desperate, and she slammed down onto him completely he grunted deep, fighting off the orgasm that was aching his balls something fierce. When the "Quentin!" came he was grinning, feeling as relieved as if he'd let go with her.
She came down softly to him with more kisses, murmured endearments which he returned, then reached up to untie him. "What's my next assignment?" he asked, lazy and happy, grinning and not caring if he looked like a schmuck.
"Doggie," she answered immediately, and he felt the grin widen enough to crack his face wide open. As soon as he was free she was under him, hips up, chest to the mattress. He slid the satin up out of the way, pushing into her immediately and feeling the quiver of her body still recovering from that last orgasm.
"Quentin, honey," she gasped.
"Right with you, Arielle. Jesus, you feel amazing." His hands were running over her ass cheeks, loving how they'd rounded out. He let his fingers trail inward, running the tip of one over that other opening he hadn't explored yet.
She froze, gasping his name, and he took his hand away. "I'm not going in, babe. I promise. This feels good too, though."
"It does?"
"Yeah. Just relax, lemme show you."
There was a pause. "Not in, right?"
He grinned, then wondered how much that champagne had affected her. "Not in, baby. I promise." He left out the bit where she was welcome to do the same to him if the mood ever struck her.
"Okay," she gasped, and he didn't wait.
He kept up that rhythm, sliding in and out, his thumb easing to this new spot, noting she tensed but didn't pull away from him. As he continued with what she knew mixed with something different, he heard her agreement in the soft sounds she was making, her hips starting to move against him in her trust. He sped up with the thrusting, didn't push her comfort level with where his thumb was, smiling when she came undone, squeezing and shuddering around him.
"That does feel nice," she admitted as he pulled out, pushed her hip to the side and guided her to her back. Immediately her legs came up, he fell into her hold, gliding into her and kissing her with all he had until he couldn't hold back. Her heels were at his ass, digging in. Her nails sunk into his back. She smelled good, felt amazing, and she'd made him supper special just for his birthday.
He held her eyes with his, watching the sweet softness come over her face, her lips titling up in a slight smile. That was what made him come this time. The sweet, lovely softness of Arielle and her trust.
"Fucking beautiful," he grunted, kissing her again as the rush left him.
When he came back from cleaning himself up he curled her into his side, naked now, wig put away. She rested her head on his shoulder, and he closed his eyes.
Having her here felt good. No doubt about it. His heart was at a normal pace again and it felt whole. He didn't feel like ripping anything apart with his bare hands anymore. Arielle was the calm spot in whatever storm he had raging.
But his blood grew cold as he thought of Jolene again. As Arielle eased slowly into sleep next to him he vowed she'd never have his club so much as frighten her. He'd play it Bishop's way and keep quiet. But in the meantime, he had to come up with a contingency plan.
For the sake of the woman he loved.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chemotherapy was hell, but not going through it alone was a lot less terrifying. Arielle was in a vinyl recliner, arm extended with an IV feeding poison into her vein. Her opposite arm was also propped up on the recliner's other armrest, but Quentin was sitting on that side, alternating between tracing his fingertips up and down her arm and just holding her hand.
So much better than being alone.
"Remember it's early dismissal today," she suddenly said out of nowhere.
"Mm hmm," was the easy response along with a hand squeeze. Just like any other normal couple. Except her man was six feet of intimidation capped off with wild black hair and startling blue eyes that could take another man down to his knees with just a glare. But still…it was nice to have this closeness. "How you doing?" he asked softly, and she turned her head to the side.
"Ready to climb Everest."
He grinned. "Yeah?"
"Absolutely."
"So tough," he teased, kissing her hand. "I'm gonna get a coffee. You want some water?"
Arielle nodded. "That would be great. Thanks." He kissed her forehead before he left. He always did.
While Quentin was gone the nurse came to remove the IV and put an adhesivebandage over her newest‘track’ mark. Arielle slid the recliner to an upright position since standing upright immediately seemed to be messing with her equilibrium this time around. Or maybe it was just the extreme nausea.
Quentin returned with a ta
ke-out coffee cup and bottle of water. She leaned on him as they reached the elevator, he held her in a tight hug on the ride down to the main floor, and he was all but carrying her by the time they got outside. Usually the fresh air helped, but it was a bit warm at the moment. Incredibly sunny. Her stomach hitched but she knew she wasn't going to get sick yet. So she used the water to keep that gag reflex in check on the ride home.
Moving in with Quentin had been a smooth transition. As expected, Calvin was on side with that plan as soon as Arielle asked the question. Aunt Thelma had taken more convincing. To Arielle's surprise Quentin had taken the phone from her during that conversation and disappeared out onto the patio to chat. When he came back in and handed the phone over Thelma seemed convinced.
"It may be a scary situation," Thelma told her, "but in spite of all that, I trust him to take care of you guys."
Arielle still had no idea what Quentin had said to change her aunt's mind. She decided to believe it was magic. Some things didn't need explaining.
Calvin's bed made the trip over, and so did Arielle's kitchen table. The rest of the furniture was in storage, to be sold or used somewhere else. Whatever would be would be, and that felt like a good decision, too.
By the time they'd pulled into Quentin's driveway Arielle could feel the sick coming on. They had this down to an art by now; Quentin would help her to the bathroom, then leave her be while her stomach emptied itself, trying to placate her confused body which was just trying to figure out where all these toxins were coming from.
While she was doing that he was drawing the blinds in the bedroom and running the air conditioner to cool the place down because she always had the sweats after being sick. He'd put ice water by the bed along with a pail for the next time she had to puke.
Once she was cleaned up she was a weak, shaking and miserable mess. He'd come into the bathroom, scoop her up in his arms and carry her to bed. The sheets would be wonderfully cool as he tucked her in, then he'd shut off the AC because the noise bothered her. He'd leave her alone, shutting the door behind him and getting out of the house so she had a few hours of quiet.