40. Epilogue - Three Months Later
Jacob
The speaker drones on and on. He’s a Brother who has spent years working with subatomic particles, watching how they interact with each other, and apparently, his discoveries are ground-breaking. Judging by Gabriel’s rapt expression, they probably are. But invisible particles are his thing, not mine. I prefer work with immediate, practical applications.
Normally, I’d have made an excuse and done pretty much anything except attend a boring presentation, but I came up with an idea to torture Quinn that was just too good, and this is the perfect venue to try it out.
I didn’t tell her the new plug I stuffed her arse with before we left vibrates.
It’s silent but fierce. Before we left, I told Quinn, very sternly, that she’s to sit quietly through the lecture and pay attention. She whinged and moaned, but it’s not like she has a choice. It’s been almost a week since I let her orgasm, the longest period of denial I’ve put her through, and she’s as pissed off as a bag of cats.
I can’t wait to piss her off a whole lot more.
I steal a glance at her. Glazed eyes, slack jaw… She looks on the verge of passing out. Sliding my hand into my pocket, I activate the remote.
She leaps from her seat with a high-pitched shriek. The speaker falls silent, and everyone in the sparsely filled lecture theater stares. She’s wide-eyed, clutching her arse, the tiny miniskirt I made her wear riding up as her fingers rake over it.
“Sit down and be quiet,” I snap in an audible whisper, then address the speaker. “I’m so sorry. Please go on.”
Gabriel shoots me a disgusted look from the row in front and turns back to the stage as the speaker continues. Quinn lowers herself slowly to the hard wooden bench seat, eyes wide. I wrap my arm around her, pulling her tight against me. “No more of that. Concentrate. I’ll be asking you questions about this later.”
As if I’ll remember a fucking thing.
“Turn it off! Please.”
“No. One more word, and I’m turning it up.”
She’s already squirming on her seat. We’re in the back row, off to the side of the theater, in no-one’s eyeline. If anyone goes out of their way to watch us, that’s their fucking problem. I slide my hand under Quinn’s T-shirt and play with her nipple. I’ve pretty much banned bras for her, except for special occasions. I don’t want fabric getting between me and my toy.
“Jacob,” she whines, wriggling in the most delightful way. I pinch and roll her little nipple between my thumb and finger as she bites hard on her lip. The strong vibrations, the hard wooden bench, and the days of deprivation are doing their work. “I’m going to—”
“Go on then, love. Just be quiet about it.”
I watch her face. Her eyes screw shut as she concentrates, desperate not to make a sound. She doesn’t quite manage it, but I think only I hear the quiet whimper she gives as her body gets what I’ve denied it for days. She twitches, and I move my hand down, slipping it under her skirt and into her knickers, which are absolutely fucking soaked.
Fuck me, this girl is amazing.
As her high fades, she opens her eyes, watching me expectantly. Assuming I’ll turn the plug off. No such luck. I tip my head to the side as she squirms again, now looking more uncomfortable. “Problem?”
“The plug. It’s still going.”
“The lecture isn’t finished yet. He’s not even halfway through his slides.”
As her mouth drops open, I slide my fingers through her drenched pussy and over her clit. “Let’s see how many times I can make you come before he’s done.”
“But—”
“No more talking.”
By the time the lecture ends, we’re up to five orgasms, and Quinn is pleading with me to stop over and over again in a plaintive voice that almost wins me over but not quite. Her face is bright red, sweat coats her skin, and her eyes are vacant, staring into nothing as her body trembles. Her bottom lip is swollen from how hard she’s bitten it to keep quiet.
Fucking perfect.
When I shut the vibrations off, she blinks at me, closes her eyes, and breathes out a long, tired sigh. “Jesus Christ.”
The lights come up, and I nod at her disheveled clothing. “Might want to tidy yourself up. You look like you’ve been fucked six ways to Sunday.”
She jolts, tugging the T-shirt straight and smoothing down the skirt. I give the top of her head a kiss. “You’ll thank me as soon as we get home.”
Her whisper is an outraged squeak. “Thank you?”
“You’re welcome.”
She opens her mouth to snap back, but Gabriel appears. “Proud of yourself? Poor Brian worked hard on that presentation, and I think half the room was too busy ogling Quinn to hear a word.”
Quinn groans and latches on to me, face buried in my shirt. She mumbles into my chest, “Were people really watching?”
Gabriel catches my eye and winks. “I’m afraid so. Everyone will be talking about it for days. I even saw Kendrick staring, and he didn’t look pleased.”
“That’s it. I’m never leaving the house again.”
“Fine by me.” I pick her up and fling her over my shoulder.
“Put me the hell down!” She claws at my back. It drives her mental when I carry her about—it must remind her just how helpless she really is—but I ignore her. I give Gabriel a high-five, then head out of the lecture theater, making sure to stop and talk to as many people as possible on the way out.
Quinn’s skirt has ridden up, and she slaps at my back, but it’s like getting smacked by a kitten. I’ll make sure to tell her that later.
By the time we reach our flat, she’s given up fighting and is muttering to herself about what an asshole I am. I’m not going to argue with her. I’ve let her decorate however she wants, and it’s all funky colors and weird shit but with some concessions to the things I like, too.
She made a feature out of the Western posters, ordering more and adding a few cowboy touches, too. Crossed horseshoes hang beneath a giant stuffed boar’s head decorated with bells hanging from the tusks. She’s threatening to source an elk head after our initiation, once we move to our permanent home.
She even asked Candice to find some Westham memorabilia to replace the stuff she destroyed, and it’s proudly displayed in a locked glass cabinet.
I dump her on the bed. She tucks her knees up and pushes herself to a seated position, wary eyes locked on me.
This moment is always my favorite, the part when she knows I’m deciding exactly what to do to her and has absolutely no choice in the matter. I decide to draw it out a little longer, though I’m rock-hard and desperate to be inside her. Watching her orgasm over and over almost fucking killed me.
“What do you think, love? Should I fuck your pussy or your arse today?”
“Pussy.” She says it without drawing a breath, and I smile. So predictable. I’ve got her arse well trained now, but she’ll still choose pussy every time. Add to that she must be sore from the vibrating plug, and I’m sure she’s desperate for me to listen to her just this once.
Bad luck, sweetheart.
“Nah. I’m not in the mood.”
I flip her face down on the bed, press my hand on her neck, and force her legs apart with my knee. No need to be gentle today; she’s already had her fun. I can make this quick, rough, and dirty.
There’s lube on the bedside table, and I grab it, covering my cock before I pull out the plug and toss it to the side. That’s going to get plenty of use. Maybe I’ll make her wear it to her next girls’ night. Her ass is ready, gaping from the wide plug, and I waste no time pressing the tip of my cock into her tiny hole.
Fuck, I love watching her stretch. I don’t go slow enough to make it easy, and she whines as I force myself into her. “Ow… Just a second… Slow down.”
“No.”
She yells as I pull out, then slam all the way back in. I don’t know how her skinny little arse takes it, but she does.
I bend down, wrap her hair in my fist, and force her head to the side so she can see me. I find a pounding rhythm, and little gasps escape her at every stroke. “Who owns you?”
Her eyes are white saucers, and her breath comes in sharp gasps as I piston into her. Fuck, she feels good. This isn’t going to take long. I don’t get a response, so I land a heavy smack on her arse before asking again, “Who fucking owns you, Quinn?”
“You…fucking…do.” She forces it out as her body jerks from my thrusts.
“You’re bloody right I do. Property of Jacob West.”
Thinking of the tattoo I’m going to brand her with is enough to tip me over the edge. I groan and yank her hair as I come, shooting deep inside her. I press my hips down, letting her feel the weight of me. Making her take it all.
She sighs as I release her hair, going limp on the bed, eyes closed. She’s exhausted and vulnerable and absolutely fucking beautiful. And best of all, she’s mine in every possible way.
I stay there for a while, enjoying the feel of her body around mine. As the high fades, a new feeling creeps in as I stare at her delicate face. Tenderness. How can I want to protect and destroy this girl at the same time? It makes no sense, but it’s true.
As I pull out, she opens her eyes and watches me, lazy as a cat in a patch of sun. If I let her, she’d fall asleep right here, but we need to clean up, and that’s my responsibility. This time, I get no complaints when I pick her up and carry her to the shower.
Afterward, we cuddle under a fluffy purple blanket—Quinn’s choice, of course—and watch American Horror Story . Quinn screamed when I told her I’d never seen it and vowed to educate me. Already half asleep, she mumbles, “What are we doing later? Isn’t there something?”
“Grandad is going to his bingo night. It’ll be all the old fogies, but I said we’d pop by to say hello. You can have three drinks.”
“Oh. So generous,” she grumbles and snuggles into my chest. It’s been a while since she tried to go on a bender, though I still have to keep an eye on her. At her last checkup, the doc told us the new medication is working like a charm, and her heart should last as long as she does. Which, if my research goes the way I want, will be a very, very long time.
Quinn's been calmer lately, ever since Marlowe walked out of the Brotherhood medical facility on her own two feet. She’s still got a lot of rehab ahead of her, but she’ll be able to live the life she would have had if the accident had never happened.
I needn’t have worried about Grandad being lonely here. There’s a whole geriatric social scene I never knew existed. I’d written most of the older Brothers off as stuck-up, country club types, but it turns out I was wrong. Some of them came from working-class origins, just like I did.
With the top-notch medical care we have, there are a lot of Brothers close to Grandad’s age who are still going strong. Grandad’s suggestion of a bingo night went down like a storm, and now it runs every Thursday night.
Quinn’s breathing grows deep and even, settling into a sleepy rhythm. She’s so fucking cute with her eyes closed and her face relaxed that I can’t help landing a kiss on the top of her head. I regret it straight away when her eyes fly open. “Huh. What was that for?”
“Sorry. Go back to sleep.” I pause, then say the words that still feel awkward. “I love you.”
I don’t know if she’ll ever say it back, but that’s not why I’m telling her. She deserves to hear it. Her family all think she’s dead. Even if I go my whole life without hearing it back, I’ll never stop telling her how I really feel.
I stole her from her life, but she ripped mine to shreds in the best possible way. I never know which version of her I’ll get when I wake up in the morning, but I love them all. Even the crazy side of her. Maybe that one especially.
Her blue eyes lock with mine. She’s done this a few times. There’s been a moment when the words hang there, and then they’re gone. I hold my breath.
She looks away. Her body relaxes, curling into me, and she settles herself on my chest, eyes closed. Not today, then. Maybe one day.
“You too.” It's a grumpy mutter, hardly intelligible.
I tense. “What did you just say?”
She doesn’t open her eyes but lets out a long, exasperated sigh. “I said you too. Now will you shut the fuck up and let me go to sleep?”
My jaw drops, and her eyes shoot open. “I wasn’t swearing at you. I was swearing to you.”
“I know, love. I know.” A grin splits my face as she closes her eyes again. Right now, she could call me every fucking name under the sun, and I wouldn’t care. You too. The best thing I’ve ever heard. Shakespeare, eat your fucking heart out. You too.
My phone rings. For fuck’s sake, what now? I frown when I see Seb’s number. He’s been acting weird lately, dropping out of contact for days at a time. Whenever I ask what’s wrong, he brushes me off.
He’s entitled to his privacy, just like we all are, but it still makes me nervous. It’s not normal behavior for him, and with our ceremony only a month away I’m starting to get concerned. He still hasn’t chosen a Ward.
I answer the call. “Hi, mate.”
“Where are you?”
The harsh tension in his voice has me sitting up sharp. Quinn yelps as I dislodge her. “At home. What’s wrong?”
“Can you do me a favor and not ask any questions?”
Shit. I knew it. Something is very wrong here. “What do you need?”
“I need you to get Kendrick and meet me at the gate. Call me when you’re there. Can you do that?”
A sinking feeling settles over me. Quinn mouths, “What?”
I shrug as I say, “Sure, mate. No problem.”
It takes an hour, but I get it organized. Kendrick is pissed, and I don’t blame him. I don’t like this one bit. Once we’re in place, I call Seb. “We’re here.”
“Thanks. Be there soon.”
Five minutes later, Quinn and I watch Sebastian’s Tesla slide up to the front gate. I called Gabriel to see if he knew anything and drew a blank, but he and Eve came down as well. We all wait, a tense welcoming party, as Seb pulls to a stop and exits the car.
Kendrick steps forward. He’s been stressed since Brackis’s betrayal, and the dark circles under his eyes hint at lost sleep. Kelly succeeded in making Brackis into a ghost. He’s still on the loose, and it needles Kendrick as much as it does me. Worst-case scenario, he could be working with the Calder family. If that’s the case, all our tech is at risk of theft.
I’m glad I’m not on the receiving end of Kendrick’s glare. “Really, Sebastian, are these theatrics necessary?”
“I’m sorry, sir, I really am.”
He closes his door and opens the back. My heart hammers as he leans into the back seat and emerges.
He’s holding a woman.
She’s wide awake but bound and gagged so tightly she’s hardly making a sound. She mumbles, eyes roving the group as she struggles in Seb’s grip. I don’t recognize her, but she’s expensive-looking—long blond hair and a fancy suit.
Seb sets her down, and speaks so fast the words blur together. “This is the woman I’m taking as my Ward. I’m claiming her now, and she’s seen the Compound, so she can’t leave. By the ancient law of the Brotherhood, she’s mine.”
The only sound is the woman’s frantic mumbling. Nothing about this makes sense, and I glance at Gabriel to find him equally puzzled. We can choose whoever we want as our Wards. What’s the point of this?
Then I turn to Kendrick. His skin is pale, and his usually stern, confident face is slack with horror. He steps forward. “Sebastian, what have you done?”
“I’m sorry. It was the only way. She’s the one I want.”
I’ve never seen Kendrick lost for words before. He takes another step forward, eyes locked on the woman’s face. She’s fallen silent now, glaring at each of us one by one. Even bound and gagged, there’s haughtiness to that expression. Who the fuck is she?
Kendrick’s next words make all the pieces thud into place with terrible finality. “Are you insane? Do you understand what this means? That’s Ophelia Calder. This is going to start a war.”