Chapter 9
NINE
This killing them with kindness
is taking way longer than expected.
—Meme
He didn’t stop. While she kept the death grip tight, trying to remain conscious, Quentin carried her all the way to his truck, where he opened the back door and set her on the seat. But she was still clinging on for dear life.
He let her. For a few minutes. He buried his face in her hair and hugged her back just as hard. Then, as though coming to his senses, he shoved her away from him and pointed to the duffle bag. His eyes were solid black, but the color was shrinking into inky tendrils, the depths of his cobalt irises now showing through. “There are clothes in there. You’ll have to dig through it to find the sweats. They have a drawstring so they should be okay.”
She looked down. The cleaner had soaked through her pants, the smell pungent and acrid. And Quentin’s shirt had a wet spot where she’d tried to fuse their molecules together. But the jacket and shirt hung open, exposing part of her bra. She scrambled back and tried to cover her embarrassment with the ripped coat.
A jacket he had yet to notice. The moment his gaze dropped to the gaping hole in what hopefully was not his favorite fashion statement, his eyes began to blacken again, just barely, the reaction clearly controlled by emotion. He pulled her closer again and tore it open. Looking for any injuries. Sliding his hand over her stomach and her rib cage and her?—
“I’m okay,” she said, pushing at his hands and trying to close the jacket. Her cheeks were wet and now burned with embarrassment. And industrial cleaner. And black salt. She could only imagine what they looked like.
He took her by the arms and asked, “Why the fuck would you do that?”
She hiccupped before answering. “I was trying to find out what it wanted.”
He jerked her closer until their faces were centimeters apart. His was the picture of rage when he asked, “Why the fuck would you have Rune hold me like that?”
She tried to squirm out of his grasp. She failed. “You… You heard me?”
“I heard you.” He jerked again, but he did it in such a way as to not hurt her. It was more for show. His muscles and tendons corded with the effort, an effort she imagined was born more out of his desire not to hurt her than vice versa. “I heard everything. I just couldn’t do anything about it.” His jaw clenched in anger, he let her go as though disgusted with her. “You had no right to do that.”
“I know.” She had violated him. Entered his mind without permission. She’d vowed never to do that years ago and now… He had every reason to be livid. Then again, so did she. “I get it. I had no right. But you had no right not to tell me what happened to you. Not after everything we’d been through. You just left.” Her voice cracked, and she turned to go through the duffle bag. She found a T-shirt and a pair of gray sweats with a drawstring and started stripping. “ You left me .” She lifted the torn T-shirt over her head, suddenly uncaring of what he saw and what he didn’t. Clearly, she disgusted him. She fought the trembling of her traitorous lower lip as she slipped on his T-shirt. It was tan with the words Blue Sun on it and Chinese characters underneath. “They took you, yes, and I can’t even imagine what you went through, but you decided to write me off without even talking to me.” She kicked off her boots. “Without an explanation. Without even saying goodbye.” She peeled her panties and leggings down over her hips and kicked them off. Her skin had pinkened where the cleaner had soaked through.
She wasn’t worried about flashing anyone. His windows were so dark, an onlooker would literally have to press their face to the glass to see inside. It was dark and cool and safe.
He got into the truck and closed the door, forcing her to scoot over. But he had crap everywhere. A medical kit. A crossbow. Books, file folders, and a laptop. She shifted some of the items onto the floorboard as he grabbed the duffle bag, looking for another shirt since the cleaner had soaked through his shirt, too.
“You decided not to tell me anything. You were just…gone.”
“It was best for everyone.”
She turned on him, furious. “No, Quentin. It was best for you.” She found a pre-moistened wipe in the first-aid kit and ripped it open with her teeth. “We’d been best friends for years, and then bam . You just left. The country, as it turned out. So, you can absolutely kiss my ass.”
Apparently not finding the shirt he was looking for, he shoved the duffle bag into the front seat and sat back. He put an elbow on the armrest and a fist at his mouth as he looked out the window, the blue of his irises glistening in the New Mexico sun. “I didn’t want you to see any of that.”
She wiped down her stomach and lower extremities then stopped to look at him. He had to change his shirt and possibly the bandages. Industrial cleaners on open wounds could not be good.
“We need to check your injuries.” She slipped a leg into the sweats. “Did carrying me rip anything open?”
He shook his head as she slid the other leg in and then leaned back to lift her hips off the seat and pull the sweats on. They were far too big. The drawstring would help, but it had a knot she couldn’t get untied, so she couldn’t pull it tighter.
“I didn’t want you to see me there. Like that.” The muscle in his jaw jumped as he worked it. “Rune had no right to show you.”
“If it’s any consolation, I’m not sure Rune had a choice.” And she wasn’t. Her powers of persuasion were pretty persuasive. Drawing the string tighter so the sweats would hopefully not fall, even though she couldn’t tie it, she got onto her knees and started lifting his shirt over his head. He reared back and looked at her as if she were crazy. “We need to check your bandages. Don’t worry. You can still be mad at me.” She tugged the T-shirt over his head, mussing his hair even more. Multiplying his adorable factor tenfold. Damn it.
He looked down and ran a hand over the gauze. “See? It didn’t even soak through.”
She sat back on her heels, now recognizing some of the scars. The heartbreaking images Rune had shown her flashed in her mind as she remembered where each scar originated. A line across his chest was from a scalpel. A small circle in his shoulder was from a bullet wound. A patch of marred skin was from an acid burn, though that one was kind of his fault.
But it was the scars on his wrists that stole her breath. She lifted his right wrist to her mouth and kissed the inside where the scars were. From when he had tried to take his life just to get it all to stop. Rune had healed him. Over and over again. She took the left one and did the same, shattering when she thought about what he had gone through. Then she ran her fingers along some of the other marks as the stinging in her eyes sent a fat drop spilling over her lashes.
He stilled and watched her with a wary gaze. “You don’t have to feel sorry for me,” he said, and she marveled again at how well he spoke. At how much she’d missed him. At how much she still wanted him desperately, despite everything. That demon could’ve killed her, and Quentin would’ve never known what he’d meant to her. What he still meant.
She leaned forward and brushed her mouth over a razor-thin scar on his shoulder. Then one on his neck. Then up to the cut on his cheek, feathering a soft kiss along his sculpted jaw.
He clutched the armrest with one hand and kept the other clenched at his side as though afraid to move.
Amber tried to remember that she disgusted him. She tried to remember that she hadn’t been worthy of even a salty goodbye. And that he probably didn’t enjoy her ministrations. But her memory seemed to be on the fritz.
She leaned back and looked at him. His handsome face, still so young and yet hardened. His full mouth framed by scruffy, dark-blond growth. His broad shoulders on which the weight of the world sat. He was so stunningly handsome. So painfully beautiful.
“You have to stop me,” she said, running her hand over a wide shoulder and along the hills and valleys of his biceps. Lean and muscular, he was part human, part predator.
Poor guy had almost died less than an hour ago, and she was trying to have her way with him. If he’d wanted her, wouldn’t he have made the first move? Perhaps, but he owed her the words. He owed her closure.
“Tell me you don’t want me.” Her hand slid over his bandages, caressing his rib cage and down to the waistband of his jeans. Despite the strong scent of industrial cleaner in the truck, she could smell him. His soap. She leaned forward to breathe in the woodsy scent, rich and warm like him. “Tell me you left me for a reason,” she said into his ear. She lowered her head to study the button and the zipper. The only two things standing between her and what she wanted most. “Tell me you don’t love me.” She pushed her fingertips into his jeans and released the button. “You never did.” She slid the zipper down. “You’ve been happier without me.” She pulled the two edges of his jeans apart, and the muscles in his abdomen contracted. “We will never work.” She plunged her hand inside and wrapped her fingers around his erection as he sucked in a sharp breath. “It was never meant to be.” She looked up at him and pleaded. “Just stop me already.”
Black tendrils of ink had slid across his eyes as he watched her. Glistening and dark and dangerous, the blackness took over, but it was still him. She could see him in his expression. In the youthful lines of his face.
She tightened her hold. He bit down on his lip and released a soft groan before grabbing her wrist. But it was too late. She sank onto the floorboard between his legs, pulled him free, and slid her mouth over his steely cock.
He grabbed handfuls of hair to rein her in. She inched farther down anyway.
“Amber, fuck.”
Reveling in her power over him, she eased back and then swallowed him again. He grabbed the armrest as she repeated her performance. She felt the blood rush through his rigid cock.
“Amber,” he whispered a microsecond before he dragged her onto his lap and kissed her. His mouth was warm and heady, his scruff soft against her cheeks as he drove his tongue inside her mouth. Seeking. Tasting. Sucking. The kiss grew more desperate, nearly brutal in its exquisiteness.
Now straddling him, she wrapped her arms around his neck, broke off the kiss, and held his head to her breast. He moved his hand into the sweats and over her ass. One hand slid between her ass cheeks and between her legs. She squirmed, but he held her tight. Parted her folds. Dipped his fingers to wet them, then found her clit and circled it, his touch feathery soft, such a contrast to the rest of him.
The orgasm she’d been craving at his hands sparked to life beneath his deft touch, the pressure delicious. “Quentin,” she said, burying her fingers in his hair.
He continued circling, his movements slow and meticulous.
She threw back her head and spread her knees farther apart to give him better access. To let the heat simmering in her abdomen come to a boil. With his free hand, he tugged at her shirt. She lifted it over her head, and he made quick work of her bra.
The cool air tightened her skin. He pulled her against him and took a nipple into his mouth. It sent heat flares to that place in her core where all the orgasms lived, waiting for their turn to blossom. She plucked one and coaxed it forward as his touch grew more urgent. As his tongue teased the delicate peak it had been nurturing.
His desire impatient, he lowered her onto the bench seat. He peeled the sweats off her and kissed the inside of her left ankle before perching that foot on the passenger’s seat headrest. He kissed the inside of her right ankle and perched that foot on the back headrest, then continued peppering the inside of her leg with kisses, leaving heat trails on her skin. When his mouth sought her core and covered her clit, she almost came off the seat.
He forced her back down and suckled her clit softly as she writhed beneath him. She buried her hands in his hair as the world spiraled around her. “Quentin,” she said, her voice more desperate than she’d planned. “Hurry.”
He rose, ripped open a condom, and slid it over his rock-hard erection. She watched, her mouth watering as he stroked his cock, priming it for what came next. Then he hovered over her, his eyes solid black like a predator readying to devour its prey.
When he pressed into her, she dug her nails into his shoulders. It had been a very long time, but the pain only pushed her to greater heights. She fought for air as he slid inside her, burying himself in one long thrust. A movement that elicited a gasp before she remembered that he could hear her. Still, she gasped again when he slid out and plunged back inside.
His muscles had solidified. He reached one arm over and grabbed the door above his head, his hand, hard and masculine, starting to shake. A beautiful, dark kind of agony overcame him as he grew closer to climax.
She could hardly take her eyes off him, but her orgasm was skyrocketing toward her. She clutched him to her and locked both her arms and her legs around him as he drove into her, each thrust feeding the pressure building in her core. He pounded faster and faster, and she cried out when heat bloomed inside her like a nuclear reactor. It exploded, soaring through every molecule in her body, spilling over in sweet and stinging waves of pleasure.
“Holy fuck,” he growled, pushing inside her and holding his position as his orgasm spasmed through his body. He ground his teeth and waited it out before easing his hold with a final, shuddering breath.
She grabbed handfuls of his hair and pulled him down to her, their quick breaths matching pace. Their heartbeats synchronizing.
When he rose and looked at her, his eyes were blue again. Unreal. Amazing, astonishing, magnificent, and unreal. And here she’d wanted to sleep in.