by Tia Sirrah
Victor grabbed a tumbler of vodka from a passing waiter and tossed back the entire glass like a pro. "I'm Victor, by the way. Quentin's younger, more attractive, more athletic, and more intelligent brother. And you must be Fatima?" He extended his hand, and I reluctantly shook it. He was jacket-less and tie-less, and his shirt sleeves were carelessly folded back to his elbows, revealing intricate tattoo sleeves across both veiny forearms.
"I am. Nice to meet you, Victor."
Quentin joined us at that moment and took Victor's empty tumbler from his hand. "Don't let mom see you with this," he muttered, before turning to me. Victor glared at his big brother, before schooling his features into a placid expression. I knew that Quentin missed nothing, his lawyer eyes always at play, but he chose to ignore Victor's subtle and hostile reaction. "Sorry about that. It took me a while to get away." Quentin wrapped an arm around me, resting his hand on my lower back.
"No problem." We both smiled at each other adoringly, and I couldn't help but lean into him.
"Damn. That's beautiful," Victor deadpanned.
I pursed my lips at him, and Quentin ignored his sarcasm, staring at him blankly.
"Alright, bro. I'm out." Victor said, scratching his silky black hair, further adding to its messiness.
"You're leaving?" Eleanor asked as she approached.
"Yeah. Gotta date."
"Really?" You could hear the excitement and hope in Eleanor's voice. "Anyone, I know?"
"No. But she's a really nice girl—a church girl. You'd really like her."
Quentin chuckled before disguising it with a cough. The look on his face read bullshit.
"Oh, that's nice," Eleanor beamed, clearly not that quick on the uptake when it came to her rebellious son. She then turned her attention back to Quentin. "How are you holding up, son?"
"I'm fine." His eyes said the exact opposite. I knew it. And so did Eleanor.
"The service was beautiful, especially the eulogy. Adeline would be so proud."
"Thanks, mom. Love you."
"Love you, too."
I watched the heartfelt moment between mother and son, before looking over at Victor. He stared at the two of them with icy, flat eyes and a tick in his jaw. He must have felt my stare, and our eyes met momentarily before he quickly looked away, seemingly ashamed.
"Fatima, it was so lovely to meet you, dear. Don't be a stranger."
"Yes, ma'am."
Eleanor air-kissed the sides of my cheeks and embraced Quentin once again before linking her arm around Victor's. "I"ll walk you out."
"No need," he said, before unlinking their arms and kissing her on the cheek. Without another word, Victor disappeared into the crowd.
"I'll go talk to him," Quentin finally said, as if out of obligation, though I could tell his armor was slipping and his façade was fading. His thoughts were a million miles away from his troubled baby brother.
"Just let him go. You know how he gets," Eleanor said while staring off at Victor's retreating back. "Well," she sighed. "It's good to have you back."
"It's good to be back."
She smiled thoughtfully at Quentin and squeezed my hand before excusing herself to stand by the Senator's side.
Chapter 36
FATIMA
I DISCONNECTED FROM MY call with Aunt Helena. "No babies yet," I relayed to Quentin as I walked barefoot across the cool hardwood floors over to a thick shag carpet near the glass wall. I untied my bun, letting my locs fall free and stared out at the spectacular ocean view.
"How is she? Do we need to head to the hospital?"
I stared at Quentin's reflection in the glass. He was across the room with his back to me, discarding his jacket and tie and flinging them onto a bar stool.
"Nope. We're good. She's having some pretty bad back labor, but unfortunately, they don't think the babies are coming tonight."
The sound of Quentin's cufflinks hitting the counter made my eyes nearly bug out of their sockets. Was he taking his shirt off? Despite my best efforts, my libido began working in overdrive, and I couldn't help but openly ogle his reflection through the glass. I thanked the heavens that I didn't have a delicious view of his abs. That would have been cruel and unusual punishment, especially while I was really trying to be a supportive friend, instead of an insensitive Jezebel who wanted to comfort him by sitting on his cock.
I suddenly felt warm all over and wondered if Quentin had added too many logs in the fireplace. Fanning my neck with my hand, I tilted my head to the side unwittingly, as I watched the muscles in his back flex as he took off his dress shirt. I focused on the crashing waves of the ocean—and not on Quentin's reflection—when he turned around and casually leaned his back against the breakfast bar. I raised my eyes to the vaulted ceiling before taking a deep breath and turning around to face him. The two thousand square feet between us felt like mere inches as we stared at each other from across the room. The soft cotton of his white undershirt stretched across his torso, and I could literally count the ridges of his abs beneath it. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.
"Fatima," Quentin said, breaking me from my impure thoughts. He looked at me expectantly and folded his arms across his chest.
"I'm sorry. Did you say something?" I was the worst friend ever.
His lips curved into a crooked smile. "I asked if you wanted a beer."
"Oh. Sure. A beer sounds great." God, please forgive me for my wayward thoughts in Quentin's time of need.
"Cool."
Quentin took off his shoes and socks and headed to the fridge. Even his toes were perfect. Goodness, gracious. Lord, give me strength.
∞∞∞
QUENTIN SAT DOWN ON the plush carpet with two cold beers in his hands. I adjusted my skirt and lowered myself to the floor beside him. "This view is as amazing as I remembered it to be," I said, leaning back against the front foot of the sofa.
"I know. The views from my penthouse can't compare to this."
We nursed our cold beers in silence. The house was quiet and dark, save for the glow from the fireplace.
"Today was a lot. How are you holding up?" I rested my hand on Quentin's thigh, and he immediately laced our fingers together.
"I'm good."
"Q, it's me you're talking to."
He stared down at our joined hands, refusing to meet my eyes. "Sometimes, I'm doing okay. Like I can breathe. Like I can function. And other times, the grief feels like two tons of weight crushing my chest and shoulders. And I can hardly move."
Tears pricked at my eyes, and when I blinked, a few fell. I lifted our joined hands to my lips and kissed the back of his hand before leaning my head against his shoulder. He kissed the top of my head before tilting his head to mine. We stayed like that for a while, in silence, both looking out at the dark starlit sky. "I've been thinking a lot about Faye," he finally said. "And how you must have felt when I told you what really happened to her. It must have felt like you lost her all over again."
"My grief and anger are like fresh wounds. In time, they'll heal, but I know I'll have some nasty scars."
"Fuck," he muttered under his breath. "She should be here. It's so fucking unfair."
"It is," I smiled sadly. "It's all unfair. Death is unfair. Adeline should be here too." Tears slid down my cheeks on their own accord, prompting Quentin to wipe them away with the pads of his thumbs, before kissing my forehead and cradling my jaw.
"I don't deserve you. Not after what he did to her."
Quentin's eyes were uncharacteristically bright as my pain became his pain and his pain became mine. "I love you," I said matter of factly. "And my love for you is stronger than my immense hate for your grandfather."
"But I've made so many mistakes. And I've wasted so much time."
"I've made mistakes, too. Hunter—"
"Stop," he interrupted. "I married Amy for fuck's sake."
"You've got a point there," I said with a sad chuckle.
"To get that text from you…to know that I haven't fucked t
hings up completely…" he paused and took in a deep breath. "You’re the strongest woman I know—the girl I've loved since I was fourteen years old. You’re my best friend. The only woman that's ever been able to call me on my shit. The only one that's ever managed to revive my fucking heart. I'm in awe of you. I'm in love with you."
Our mouths met, and Quentin breathed life into me with his kiss, filling the cracks in my heart. Kissing Quentin felt like home. It fueled me and revived me. My body became pliable under his touch, and he easily pulled me onto his lap to straddle him.
"I downloaded that Klymaxx song you sent me," he said against my mouth as our foreheads touched, and his long lashes brushed against mine.
"You know I love my old school."
"I remember."
"What did you think?"
"I think we found our song, Princess."
Our song. I smiled against his lips. "I like that." I kissed the tip of his nose before nuzzling it with mine. "I downloaded your song, too. Legit, Your Guardian Angel is one of the most beautiful songs I've ever heard. So, I think we have two songs."
"Go big or go home, right?" He smiled lazily as his knuckles lightly grazed up and down my cheek. His probing eyes threatened to crack my chest wide open and offer myself to him.
"Right," I said, almost breathlessly.
"I also got your other text."
Nervous energy suddenly coursed through me. "I figured as much."
"Things got a bit hectic that night with my mom. Sorry I didn't get a chance to respond."
"It's totally fine. I get it. I mean, I put you on the spot. And I had no idea what you were dealing with." I was rambling and suddenly felt ridiculous, so I stopped talking.
"I should have responded, especially after she passed, but texting or calling didn't seem like the appropriate means of communication for what I wanted to say."
"Okay," I drawled nervously.
There was a sudden shift in the air. "My mother died in my arms," Quentin finally said, looking tormented.
"Oh, Q. Baby, I'm so sorry."
Quentin shook his head. "Watching her waste away like that and not being able to save her showed me just how powerless I am. My money, my strength, my family, my connections—it couldn't save her. I couldn't save her. It was sobering. And it taught me not to take those who I love for granted. It taught me not to take you for granted. Because you think you have time. You think you have the entire world at your fingertips. Then one day, it's all gone, and it's nothing but a memory. Or worst, a regret."
"I read a quote once. 'When you kill time, remember that it has no resurrection.'"
"A.Z. Dozier wrote that. And he's right." He buried both hands in my hair, massaging the roots, before raking his fingers through my locs. "I told my mother about us."
"Really? What did you say?"
"I told her everything. Our entire story. How we met. Why we broke up." He carefully searched my eyes. "And how I want you back."
My heart fluttered, even as I remained calm on the outside. "That's one hell of a story."
"It's like something out of a Shakespeare tragedy."
"Yeah. Seriously. So…what did she say?"
"She gave me her blessing. She told me to hold on to what was most important."
"What’s that?"
"Love. She said love was eternal, because she knew beyond the shadow of a doubt, that her love for me would go beyond the grave."
"That's beautiful, Q. I believe that wholeheartedly."
"Speaking of go big or go home." I furrowed my brow as Quentin reached into his back pocket and pulled something out.
My eyes widened at what was clasped between his two fingers: a diamond-encrusted band with a rather sizable three-stone diamond centerpiece. The ring looked queenly and antique in its design—like it was fit for royalty. I'd never seen anything so beautiful in all my life. I dragged my eyes from the ring to Quentin's serious and anxious—yet hopeful face. "This belonged to my grandmother, Adrienne Belcourt. Mom said my grandmother refused to give it to my father because she never thought him worthy of her oldest daughter. Go figure." Quentin chuckled nervously. "I know I'm doing this all wrong. And your father will probably hate me even more for not asking for his permission. But I can't wait another minute. I've had this ring in my pocket for weeks now."
"Seriously?"
"I asked my mom for the ring the day after Thanksgiving—after your text about wanting to try again."
I pressed my lips to his in a kiss, even as I felt the tears leak from my eyes. I didn't want to stop kissing him, but he reluctantly pulled away. "Okay," I said, more to myself, as I wiped my tears and calmed my giddiness so that he could continue.
We were both excited and impatient, as Quentin crushed his lips to mine for one more kiss, before taking a deep breath and finishing his spiel. "I know you can do so much better than me, but you're the only one for me. I promise that if you give me a chance, I will spend the rest of my life, making myself worthy of you. So what'll you say, Princess? Will you marry me?"
"Yes! Of course, I'll marry you."
He slipped the ring on my finger, and all felt right. "You're mine?" he asked, almost disbelievingly.
"I'm yours."
Quentin kissed me hard, parting my mouth with his. I ran my fingers through his silky tousled hair and gripped it as we kissed hungrily, devouring each other's mouths. Quentin made quick work of my blouse and tugged it down over my shoulders, only tearing his mouth from mine to kiss, lick and suck on my neck, collar bone, and cleavage. I hurriedly undressed him, pulling his undershirt over his head. Our mouths joined in another kiss, as our fingers competed over unbuckling his belt and unfastening his slacks. We giggled through our kiss, at our mutual eagerness. He won in unfastening his pants, and I won in pulling out his hard length. But it was a win-win when I pulled my lace thong to the side and sank down on his cock.
We both groaned into our kiss as he thrust up deep into my walls. Our mouths dragged across each other's faces and necks as we ravished each other in front of the wall of glass. My breasts spilled out of their C cups and bounced in his face as I rode him hard, impaling myself with his thick erection.
Quentin suckled on my nipples as if he were feeding. He massaged my clit with his thumb, causing a tightness to bloom within my belly. He loved and cherished my body, feasting on my breasts, the swells of my cleavage, and my throat as our bodies connected in the most beautiful way. He also used me, like I was a hole to fuck, as he flipped me off of him and entered me from behind, smacking my ass hard and pulling my cheeks apart as he drove into me, rough, needy, and reckless. It was what I wanted and what I needed. To be pushed to the brink of my morals, while opening my body and my heart to him. It was just like old times. Passionate and desperate. But it was better. More unrestrained. More intense. More raw. More primal.
We were like animals in heat—fucking on the floor, on the sofa, up against the wall, in a chair, and on the table. Our bodies glistened with sweat, as he penetrated me in various positions, while periodically pulling out of me to feast on my pussy or feed me his cock. We made up for the last two months in a couple of hours, until I was sore, depleted of orgasms, and he was completely drained of his seed.
Chapter 37
FATIMA
I WOKE UP IN Quentin's arms with my cheek against his chest, and my thigh wedged between his long legs. Even in slumber, his arm nestled me close to him, and his hand possessively rested on the curve of my ass. At some point during our sex acrobatics, we made it to his bed, where we continued to make up for lost times and get reacquainted with each other's bodies. The night brought a roller coaster of emotions, and Quentin's passion and grief came in waves. At times, we fucked like rabbits, and at other times, I held him tight against my bosom, while we stared out at the twinkling stars in utter silence.
Sleep eventually found us in the wee hours of the morning. And though I was now wide awake, Quentin was sound asleep and breathing evenly. Pale light seeped through an open
ing in his curtains, casting a glow on the contours of his face. I itched to touch the day-old stubble on his jaw and longed to run my fingertip along a thick silky brow. His dirty blond hair was disheveled from a night of wild sex, and his delicious mouth was slightly agape, relaxing the masculine bone structure of his face. He was beautiful—an image of perfection. He looked so peaceful; all his stress lines and sadness vanished away under the cloak of sleep.
Careful not to wake him, I slipped out of his hold and eased myself out of bed. He didn't stir an inch as I pulled the covers over his bare chest and throat, before softly kissing the top of his head. It was nippy, the chill of the salty morning air blowing through an open window near his bed. After closing the window, I tiptoed to Quentin's master bath and grabbed his robe, swaddling myself in it. The thick plush robe smelled like him—like aftershave and soap. I was fully aware of the creeper in me as I held the flap of the collar to my nose and inhaled deeply, but I was too far gone to care. After rolling up the extra-long sleeves, I held out my hand and admired my engagement ring. It really was fit for a princess or even a queen. Running a finger along the sparkling diamonds, I briefly wondered how my father was going to react. Would he be disappointed? Would he be furious? Would he be hurt? Most likely, all of the above. But with or without his support, I was going to marry the shit out of Quentin. And there was nothing he or anyone else could say or do, to change that.
After freshening up with a few spare toiletries that I found in Quentin's medicine cabinet, I headed downstairs to the living room. I needed to check on Novalee and anxiously searched for my phone until I located it underneath an ottoman, near our scattered clothes and empty beer bottles. My phone was dead, and after plugging it into the wall with Quentin's charger, I searched the kitchen cupboards for everything I needed to make a pot of coffee. While my phone charged and the coffee brewed, I turned on the heater and tidied up the living room and disinfected the surfaces that we had compromised the night before.