Chapter 2
THE LIFEBOAT
EMERY
A part of me thinks I should feel gratitude toward him. Thank you for saving my life. Thank you for letting me live a little while longer. Thank you for killing my would-be donor.
That last one makes me nauseous. He’s a murderer. That’s a fact. Not a cold-blooded murderer, but does that even matter? It’s his fault someone died. But…it’s also his fault that I lived. Someone would’ve died that night anyway. Or a few nights later. It was only a matter of time.
Perhaps a part of me is grateful. The part that clings on to the fantasy of hope.
The part that’s a survivor. A warrior. It’s not like I didn’t know that my new heart would come from someone who died.
I was prepared for that reality. I was ready to live with the knowledge that death would always reside inside me.
I couldn’t have prepared for this, though. I can’t bring myself to process its meaning. I can’t allow myself to wander into the realm of wondrous fate. Those emotions are too difficult, too messy, too fucking painful to even comprehend.
But anger? A sense of betrayal? Those I can handle. Those feelings bubble in my veins. Slither from my tongue. Control my actions. My words. My need to hurt him where he’ll feel the same degree of pain. He lied to me. He looked me in the fucking eyes and lied. He has his secrets.
It’s time for me to weave my own.
“On your knees.”
Quinton rises from his seat, towering over me like a phantom of my subconscious mind. The truth of my effect on him stares me in the eyes. It’s undeniable. I can see his honest nature. I can almost hear it throbbing for me.
There’s no deception in the way he looks at me, foreboding and raw. It’s no secret that he wants me. It’s not hidden under layers of carefully curated veils of fiction. There’s something sexy about his sincerity. Something that ignites my core. Makes me wet. Almost desperate for a taste.
My chest expands with murky anticipation as I sink down on my knees in front of him, the light vibrations of the cabin reverberating through my bones, rattling my moral compass. Quinton cups my cheek, tilting my head up to the heavens, his thumb firmly stroking the underside of my jaw.
“Do you know how many times I’ve fantasized about this mouth?
” he rasps, dipping his thumb between my lips as I fumble with his belt buckle.
“About these lips?” My insides clench as I draw down his zipper and slowly tug on his briefs.
Quinton sucks in a sharp breath as I coil my hand around his base. “Fuck…”
“Tell me what you want, Doctor,” I breathe out, slipping one hand in between my legs, the slickness from my arousal coating every finger.
Quinton's breath hitches as he looks at me, his desire evident in his hungry eyes. I feel a surge of power at this moment, knowing that I hold control over him, just as Damon once held control over me.
“You…” The word escapes like a vulgar prayer, like a scream into the darkness that no one worthy could ever hear. His fingers rake through my hair, his nails digging into my scalp as he holds me sturdy, unyielding in his plea. “I want you, Emery.”
My pussy pulses as I manage to say, “So take me.”
His hooded eyes darken as he rasps. “As you wish, darling.”
Before I have a chance to react, Quinton snakes his hand around the back of my neck and lifts me to my feet. He slams my back roughly against the curvature of the jet, my legs wrapping around his waist. His head dips toward my ear, his nose feathering against my cheek.
“Use me,” he grunts, leaving a trail of sloppy open-mouthed kisses across my buzzing skin. His forehead rests against mine, his gaze flitting down to my parted lips. “Fucking use me.”
At that moment, my mind blanks with delirious nothingness, and I slam myself down on his cock.
My nails dig into his shoulders, my lips colliding with his in a frenzy of unspoken punishment.
His hips rock in rhythm with mine, and I can taste his sweet desperation as our tongues twist and flick and devour all the pain inhabiting my soul.
With every breath, he sucks a little more anguish out of my heart. With every thrust, he fills me more and more with a temporary sedative, subduing the lingering longing for a clean, white slate.
His fingers dig into the swells of my ass, my pussy clenching around his thick, tormenting cock. His teeth graze my neck, sweat dripping from his forehead, mixing with the tears flowing from my eyes.
“Come for me,” he rasps. “Let go, little Emery.”
“No,” I cry out, clinging to his body like a goddamn lifeboat. Like a passenger unworthy of being saved. “More. I need more.”
“Christ,” he growls, the altitude intensifying every hedonistic sensation, making it damn near impossible to properly breathe. “I’m going to—”
“No, please,” I whimper, tightening my grip around his torso, my tone wavering, shaky. “Not yet.”
Quinton slows his movement but doesn’t stop as he meets my glossy gaze. I shake my head, begging him to save me for a little while longer.
“Not yet. Please…”
A hint of pain and disappointment flashes across his perfect features, and I can see myself physically drowning in his deep blue eyes.
“As you wish,” he whispers, keeping his solemn gaze locked on mine as he rocks his hips, stretching me open to the point of breaking.
I try to close my eyes, but he protests.
“No. Look at me.” His thumb finds my swollen clit, the pressure building as he stimulates my sex.
“Eyes on me, darling. Look at me. Only me.”
“Quin…”
I'm lost in a sea of conflicting emotions, my mind and body torn between pleasure and pain, desire and regret.
Quinton's relentless touch and overwhelming submission consumes me, pushing me to the brink of ecstasy and despair.
I teeter on the edge, on the precipice of something so raw and intense that it terrifies me.
Quinton's fingers find a rhythm, skillfully working my clit as his hips continue their wrath. My breath comes out in ragged gasps, and I struggle to maintain eye contact, to stare into the face of a dangerous slope.
As if sensing my inner turmoil, Quinton leans in, his lips brushing against my ear. "Let go, darling," he whispers. "You can let go. I’m here. I’ll catch you.”
And something inside me breaks. Something shatters. Perhaps it’s the compass that was on the brink of failure for months now. I surrender to the moment. I allow myself to feel, to experience every sensation, every ounce of hatred and affection.
My nails dig deeper into Quinton's skin as I cling to him for dear life.
Catch me. You need to catch me.
Quinton doesn't stop, but instead, he picks up the pace, his movements becoming more intense, more urgent. The pressure inside of me builds.
Toxic. Evil. But rooted in truth.
"Quin..." I moan. "I can't... I can't hold on..."
He doesn't offer words of comfort, but his touch becomes more insistent, pushing me closer to the edge.
And then, like a fool, I let go. My orgasm rips through me, my nails leaving marks on his skin as Quinton continues to move with me, until finally, he, too, finds release, his body trembling against mine.
“I’m sorry,” I breathe out, our bodies spent and sated. Quinton pulls me against his chest as he lowers me to the ground. Tears cascade down my cheeks as he rocks me. “I’m sorry, I—”
“Shh…” He hums against my temple. “It’s okay, darling. You’re okay.”
I look up at him through damp lashes, regret bursting through my heart. “I shouldn’t have—”
“I’m good for you, Emery,” he whispers, absolute certainty in his hoarse tone. He tucks a piece of hair behind my ear. “I think I can be really good for you.”
I shake my head. “But I’m not good for you, Quin. I’m—”
“Your scars don’t scare me, darling,” he says, wiping under my eyes. “You’ll see. I’ll show you.” He leans down and gives me a soft kiss, so tender and sincere. “Use me as long as you want, Emery. Let me help you.”
“I’m not your patient, Quin,” I say with a deflated sigh, covering my tingling lips. “But I’ll keep that in mind.”
Quinton opens his mouth to say something but the intercom sounds. “Dr. Marquis, we’ll be in Geneva in thirty. Please prepare for landing.”
My eyes widen as my gaze snaps to the cockpit. “Do you think they heard us?”
Quinton smirks, passing me a nearby fresh hand towel. “They heard you,” he says. “And what a beautiful sound it was.”
I roll my eyes, smacking him with the cotton towel. “Shut up.”
He grins at me. “Don’t act like you forgot they were there, darling.
We both know how much you love being on display, don’t we?
” I shiver as fragments of the night at The Playground flash through my mind.
Quinton chuckles at my reaction. “No need to be embarrassed, darling. You deserve all the attention.”
I swallow, imagining two sets of large, rough hands all over my body. Jesus. “Water,” I choke out, barely able to look at Quinton as I sink back down into the seats. “Can you bring me water?”
“Still or sparkling?” Quinton asks, grinning to himself as he strides to the bar.
“Still,” I mutter, reaching for the throw blanket, the chill of the cabin overpowering the heat from Quinton’s lingering touch. Three faint vibrations sound from the side table. “I think your phone is ringing.”
Quinton turns around with a glass of water in his hand, brows furrowed as his gaze floats to the large cell phone on the table. “That’s the satellite phone.” He passes me the water before reaching over and grabbing the device. His jaw tightens.
“What is it?” I ask, bringing my knees to my chest as I study his reaction intently. “Is something wrong?”
Quinton shakes his head, glaring at the screen. “It’s nothing.”
I frown at him. “I thought you’re not a fan of falsities?”
His gaze briefly darts in my direction, and I can see him contemplating his next move. To lie or not to lie. I tilt my head to the side, patiently waiting for him to show me his true colors. After several loaded seconds, Quin sighs and hands me the phone.
“It appears Cavanaugh is more resourceful than I gave him credit for.”
I blink, reading the message on the analog screen.
You took her from me. I will take everything from you.
Sent from an unknown number. A tinge of fear grips my heart.
“Maybe I should call him…” I hum, glancing sheepishly at Quin. “You don’t think he’d do something stupid, do you?”
“I doubt it.” Quinton scoffs, taking the phone back.
He dials a number, bringing it to his ear.
“But just in case…” A muffled voice on the other end picks up.
“George, I need you to double up on security. No one without a formal invitation is allowed access to the resort, is that clear? Double-check staffers too.” A pause.
“No need. We’ll take the chopper up.” He nods.
“We shall see you in a couple of hours.”
The jet begins its descent as I ask, “Who’s George?”
“Head of security for my family,” Quin replies, arching over me. He grabs the seatbelt, and pulls it over my lap, securing me in place. “It’ll all be fine, darling.” He offers me a small smile. “You’re safe with me. I promise.”
I chew on the inside of my cheek, a sudden burst of nervousness gripping my stomach. It’s not me that I’m worried about right now. I’m not the one on the pointy side of Damon’s sword.
Quin is.
Because of me.