Brutal Vows (Queens & Monsters #4)(62)

I sob again, jerking, my body completely out of my control. I feel boneless, like the only thing holding me up is the huge throbbing member I’m convulsing around.

He moves the hand that’s gripping my hip farther up my body, sliding it under my breast so he can fondle it and pinch my nipple. I buck back against him, begging for more.

A dark laugh in his voice, he says, “You like it when I play with your nipples as I’m fucking you, don’t you? You like my cock, and you like to come for me when I tell you to, because you’re perfect and you’re gorgeous and you’re all fucking mine.”

I don’t understand how we got here.

I can’t comprehend that this man growling all these filthy things is my husband. I can’t grasp the enormity of any of it, because only this morning, I was bracing myself to send Lili off into her married life, but now I’m here, facedown on a hotel bed, getting railed by a sexy, crazy Irishman who I don’t even like.

Or at least I’m telling myself I don’t.

The alternative is unimaginable.

All of a sudden, out of nowhere, I burst into tears.

I bury my face in the blankets and wail like a newborn baby, pounding my fist against the mattress because I hate myself for it so much.

Then I’m not facedown anymore, because I’m somehow sitting up in Quinn’s arms and he’s rocking me, murmuring into my hair.

“It’s okay, lass. You’re safe here with me. You’re safe.”

He squeezes those big arms around me, holding me tight. I cry all over his chest, hiding my face and burning with shame as I cling to him helplessly. I’m curled up in his lap with his legs crooked around me, so his whole body is curved around mine.

“I’m s-sorry.”

Cupping my head in one hand, he exhales and kisses my shoulder. “Don’t be a bloody idiot. You don’t have to apologize.”

“I don’t know what happened.”

He chuckles. “I’ll tell you what happened. I dazzled the swamp witch with my dick, she fell under a sleeping spell, and the real you woke up for the first time in centuries.”

Sniffling, I wipe my nose with the back of my hand and heave a ragged sigh. “God, you’re an arrogant ass.”

He nuzzles my neck, whispering, “But I’m right.”

He’s right about one thing at least. I do feel safe in his arms. Safe, warm, and like an absolute, undignified moron.

What kind of woman cries during sex?

I’ll tell you what kind: a weak one.

In all the years Enzo abused me, I never allowed myself to cry until afterward, when he’d left me alone and bleeding.

“Lass.”

“Yes, Quinn?”

“We’re gonna need to do more talking.”

Exasperated, I say, “Right now?”

He pauses. “No. After I feed you and give you a bath.”

“I don’t need food or a bath.”

He lifts my chin and forces me to look up at him. In a gentle but firm voice, he says, “No, you need a lot more than that, but for the moment, you’re going to let your husband take care of your basic needs, and you’ll do me a big bloody favor if you’ll keep that forked tongue in your mouth until I’m finished. Understood?”

“Why are you being so damn bossy?”

He growls, “You’re wearing my ring. Your well-being is my responsibility. It’s my job to take care of you now. I’m going to do it whether you like it or not. Got it?”

My lower lip quivers until I bite down on it. I don’t trust myself to speak, so I simply nod.

He takes my face in his hands, kisses both of my wet cheeks one after the other, then says gruffly, “Good. Now get your sweet arse under the covers and lie here quietly like a good girl until I come back.”

Without waiting for me to reply, he peels the covers back, rolls us over so I’m lying down, stands, then pulls the blankets up under my chin. He fluffs the pillow under my head, kisses me on the forehead, and strolls away, whistling.

I close my eyes and pray for a sudden brain embolism.

Death is preferable to having to live with this new, weepy version of me.

Quinn picks up the phone and orders room service. I don’t listen to the words, only to the low, soothing cadence of his voice. After he’s done with the call, he switches on music, using a remote he found on the console under the television. That’s soothing, too. Some kind of Spanish guitar. Then he disappears into the bathroom. I hear water running.

It could also be the sound of my sanity pouring out my ears.

In a few moments, he’s back, naked, bending over me. “Food’ll be here in thirty,” he murmurs, pulling the blankets down. “Which is plenty of time for a bath.”

He picks me up and heads to the bathroom, carrying me in his arms.

I rest my head on his shoulder and say to his chin, “I’m trying not to be impressed by how easily you can carry a grown woman, but I have to admit, this is something else.”

He scoffs. “You barely weigh an ounce.”

“I weigh a few thousand ounces, as a matter of fact. Wait, were we talking about your brain?”

Grinning, he shoots me a sideways glance. “Ah, the swamp witch awakens. Well, it was nice while it lasted. Hullo, She Devil.”

“Hello, Spider-man. You’re much taller in real life than you look in the comics.”