Chapter 25
Piper
“So much for the questions,” I say, as his lips pull away from mine.
Crap. Why do I always put my foot in my mouth? I don’t want him to ask me questions. I want him to fuck me.
Luckily, my words don’t seem to prevent him from sliding a hand up my shirt and cupping it over each of my breasts in turn.
I moan as he plays with my nipples, running his thumb over them, flicking them and causing tingles of pleasure to shoot straight to my core.
It’s so different from the way he used to pinch them hard, though I have to admit I like that too.
He doesn’t seem to have any intention of hurting me today, though, and I guess that’s a good thing, because no matter how much I tried to downplay it, my body is still very sore.
Then I gaze up at his face, and startle at the sadness pooling in his eyes.
“Quill,” I whisper nervously, as he strokes my breasts with one hand, and reaches down to tuck a tendril of my hair behind my ear with the other.
“I do have a lot of questions,” he says, forcing himself out of whatever painful thoughts he’d sunken into.
My stomach twists with nerves, wondering what those questions are. For the first time, when he saved me in that cave, I didn’t feel pathetic in his arms. I felt safe. Now, I want to keep feeling that way, and I tense, hoping his questions won’t send me spiraling back to painful times.
I breathe a little easier when his features relax, and he kisses my forehead. “I have questions,” he repeats.
“Yes?”
“Two days.” He echoes my earlier statement. “I was out for two days, and now we’re in Oregon. How is that possible?”
“We traveled here,” I can’t help but tease him, despite the weird storm of emotion I’m struggling with.
I squeal when his fingers dig into my ribs, tickling me. But immediately, he stops. “Sorry,” he says contritely. “Did I hurt you?”
I shake my head, even though he definitely did. But I don’t want my stupid injuries to get in the way.
“We traveled by plane,” I explain. “Logan found us. He wanted to drive out here initially, the way he’d planned it for us, switching cars regularly, but your state was very worrying.
You’d lost so much blood, and even though he had his doctor join us, it was important to set things up in a sterile environment.
Make sure you had real care. So we got here last night, and you spent all night and most of today unconscious. I’m so glad you’re awake.”
I pause, taking a deep breath after all that talking, suddenly wondering if Quill is finding me annoying again. I really wish I wasn’t so annoying. I even annoy myself.
But when I look up at him again, nothing in his expression tells me he’s annoyed. He just looks thoughtful. “Logan was here.”
“Yeah, and he was so worried about you.”
“Right.” He makes a disbelieving sound. “I highly doubt that.”
“He was. He knows you mean a lot to me, and he didn’t want anything to happen to you.”
“Right,” he says again. He’s back to stroking my breasts absentmindedly with one hand. I know it’s not sexual now, just comforting for him, so I try to distract myself from the throb between my legs.
“Don’t be jealous of him,” I say suddenly, realizing how all this might sound. “It’s not at all that kind of thing.”
“I know.” I raise a surprised eyebrow, and he clarifies, “That is, Tragen told me some stuff. I assumed it was true, though I did later discover what a manipulative piece of shit he is.”
“What kind of stuff did he tell you?” I hesitate.
“For one, that your birth name is Aurora Moretti. Is that true? Are you a little mafia princess in disguise in addition to being my cricket?”
I blush as he increases his toying of my nipples, his other hand pressing against my lower stomach. Squeezing my thighs together at the effect it’s having on my body, I admit, “I guess so. It’s hard to believe, but it’s starting to sink in.”
Luckily, it seems like his desire to ask questions is pretty short-lived. Clearly he’s no longer touching me solely for comfort. Maybe it started out that way, but now, his stiff cock under my bottom tells me he’s thinking the exact same dirty thoughts as me.
“Does my being a mafia princess turn you on?” I breathe.
“I always knew you were dangerous,” he teases, his fingers on my nipples turning more insistent. “My naughty little cricket.”
Gone are any thoughts of real danger, and the bleak story that led to my being born in the mafia erases itself from my mind as my thoughts focus entirely on Quill and his hands. Just as his fingers edge once more toward my underwear, I tear myself away from him and kneel on the grass.
“What are you doing?” he asks in surprise.
“Let me pleasure you,” I beg, my hands timidly going to his crotch. “I want to take care of you, like you’ve been taking care of me. Let me show you how much you own me. How sorry I am.”
He had whipped out his cock, and my mouth was watering for it, for the tip glistening with precum. But when the last words tumble out of my mouth, his face shuts down, and he hastily shoves it back into his briefs.
“No.”
“N-no?” My whole body suddenly feels like it’s grown cold, and the wind is knocked out of me even more than when I was punched. “What did I do wrong, Quill? Please tell me. I’m so sorry. Please.”
By now, embarrassing tears are spilling out of my eyes, and I’m aware that if I hadn’t before, I’m definitely killing his boner now.
I feel so incredibly confused. I’d been hating myself for allowing him around me after the way he’d hurt me, but now, all of that has disappeared abruptly, and every single one of my insecurities is bubbling up at the surface, eating away at me.
He doesn’t want me. This is the proof that I repulse him.
He’s a beautiful, strong man, and I’m… me.
“Shhh,” he murmurs. I’m crying so hard I barely realize that he’s dragging me back up, folding me once more in his arms, soothing me by stroking my back and hair. “I don’t want you to apologize. If you think sucking my cock would be a way to apologize to me, then I don’t want you to do it.”
“Okay.” I sniff loudly as he wipes away my tears with his thumb. “It’s not. I just want to suck your cock.”
“Good try,” he whispers in my ear. “But my cock is special. You have to earn it.”
When I sense his lips twist up in a little smirk, the insecurities melt away just as abruptly as they appeared.
His teasing reassures me far more than anything else could.
It takes me a few deep breaths until I can trust my voice again.
And then, I try to match his playfulness. “I want to earn it. How do I earn it?”
His fingers stroking my cheek gently tell me he sees right through me. “One full day of not apologizing, and maybe, just maybe, I’ll let you have it,” he whispers, making me shiver with want.
The last of the painful insecurity fades, as I let myself relax in his arms. “Fine,” I murmur, my voice muffled in his chest. “But your cock isn’t that special, you know.”
Smirking, he digs his fingers into sides, and I giggle loudly, squirming in his arms. That seems to reawaken his urge, and he pushes me down on my back against the lounge chair, his hands never leaving me for a minute.
They rove hungrily over my body, going under to my sweater to cup my breasts through my shirt, sliding down my waist and over the swell of my hips.
Then his eyes, darkening with lust, meet mine. “Take it off,” he rumbles.
“It?”
“All of it. Every single article of clothing. Now.”
“But I’m cold!” I protest.
“I’ll keep you warm. Do it quickly, or else.”
“Or else what?” I squeak.
“Or else I’ll rip it off you, and I won’t be gentle. Hope Logan brought a few extra changes of clothes.”
I blush hard. I want this. I want him. But the old insecurities come hurtling back, hardened with a new edge. Because if he sees my body the way it is right now, I worry he’ll be turned off for good.
My face has nothing on the large, nasty bruises covering much of my body. I’ve had two hard beatings, one after the other. There isn’t a part of me that doesn’t hurt. There isn’t a part of me that isn’t bruised.
Quill senses my hesitation, and his lips flattening into a line tell me he guesses at the cause of it. “Let me help you,” he says, his voice softer, his hands reaching for the waistline of my skirt.
I swallow. I don’t want to go back to apologizing, because clearly he doesn’t like that. I don’t know why I’ve changed so much. Why I’m so desperate to hold onto him now, after having convinced myself that I shouldn’t be with him.
I guess I was never all that convinced. All it took was feeling his arms around me in that cave to turn my righteous anger to clingy desperation, all my crushing insecurities rushing back up to the surface and making me terrified of losing him.
I’m brought out of my thoughts when he reaches around to unzip my skirt.
“Quill…” I whisper, reaching out a hesitant hand to stop him.
He doesn’t let me stop him, and weirdly, that makes me feel safe. It reminds me that he owns me. And I want that.
“You’re about to get very turned off,” I say in a weak attempt to laugh off the vision that will be assaulting his eyes in a few seconds.
He doesn’t answer, clenching his jaw and pulling my skirt off, then doing the same with my panties and tights. Then he pulls off my thick woollen sweater, but I’m too nervous to shiver.
He doesn’t allow himself to look at my bare skin yet, focusing instead on the buttons all down my blouse. He most definitely is not ripping off my clothes, instead hissing with impatience as he gently pulls each button out of its loop.
“Did Logan buy these clothes for you?” he grunts.
“Uhm,” I hesitate, wondering where he’s getting at with this, remembering how he once appeared jealous that I was sleeping in my dad’s shirt. “Yes.”
“Typical dad shit,” he lashes out. “Getting you a shirt with a hundred buttons on it to keep the boys away.”