Brutal Vows (Queens & Monsters #4)(63)

“There’s a compliment in there somewhere, I’m sure.”

“You only think that because you’re obsessed with yourself.”

Chuckling, he sets me on my feet next to the bathtub. Pulling me against his body, he gives me a firm, closed-mouth kiss. Then he points at the water. “Get in.”

When I send him a hard stare, he smiles.

“Please get in.”

“Woof.” I step into the water, wincing because it’s hot, but the sting fades quickly, and I sink down with a grateful sigh, closing my eyes.

Quinn murmurs, “Scoot up, sweetheart.”

I bend forward. He lowers himself into the tub behind me, causing the water to rise dangerously high. He settles himself in, stretching his legs out on either side of me, then wraps his arms around me and pulls me back against the solid wall of his chest.

He rests his chin on top of my head and gives me a squeeze.

We’re silent for a while, just sitting together in the hot water, until he says in a thoughtful tone, “What if we get you a house?”

I wait for him to explain. When he doesn’t, I say, “For what, my collection of crowns made of human femurs?”

“I don’t think we could find a place so big. No, I meant for you.”

“For me to do what?”

“To live in.”

Frowning, I twist my neck and stare up at him.

He swipes a thumb under my eye. It comes away black with smudged mascara. He dips his fingers in the water and repeats it on the other side, cleaning off what must be an unsightly mess on my face made from the tears mingling with makeup.

Very gently, he says, “You said you’d never lived alone. That you went straight from your father’s house to…his.”

His eyes flash with hatred when he says “his,” but he quickly goes on.

“What would you think about getting a place of your own?”

“I don’t think I’m understanding the question.”

“Just because we’re married doesn’t mean I’ll force you to live with me.”

I stare at him in open-mouthed surprise.

“Don’t pull such a puss. I’m not that much of a caveman. Now turn around and let me fondle you while you think of clever insults.”

He grasps my jaw in his hand and faces my head forward. Then he sweeps all my hair off to one side and kisses my neck as he reaches around and cups my breast in his huge hand.

“Not live with you?” I say faintly. “Were you planning on doing that with Lili, too?”

He snorts. “Christ, no. I doubt the wee lass even knows how to feed herself. Seems like she’d require round-the-clock care, like a puppy.”

I’m about to argue with him, but recall the times she nearly burned the house down attempting to cook, and think better of it.

“You, on the other hand.” He chuckles again, now cupping both my breasts in his hands and pulling gently on my nipples. “Can take care of yourself.”

“But…you don’t want to live with me?”

He pauses his caressing to say in a husky voice, “Aye. I do. But more than that, I don’t want you to be miserable.”

I’m overwhelmed by the generosity of that offer. Stunned and overwhelmed, and not altogether believing, because how on earth would something like that even work?

“Quinn…I…I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to know. Just think about it.”

Massaging my breasts, he hums with pleasure. Powered by an internal nuclear reactor that never goes offline, his erection digs into my lower back.

He says, “Oh, but don’t think you’d be off on the other side of the city or anything. I’d buy you a house right next door to mine.”

That makes me smile. “Naturally.”

“I’d probably have connecting doors put in to join the bedrooms, too.”

“I can’t imagine.”

Sliding his hands down my rib cage, he squeezes my hips, then slips his hands between my legs. Kneading the tender flesh on my inner thighs, he murmurs, “You can’t blame me, lass. You’re a goddamn wet dream. You’re perfection. Every time I look at you, I think I could go blind.”

My heart expanding painfully, I say, “I’m quite average-looking, actually. You just have a thing for mouthy swamp witches.”

He breathes, “God, how I do,” and sinks a finger inside me.

I turn my head. He takes my mouth, kissing me deeply as he works his finger in and out and plays with my breasts, going back and forth between them.

“You’re trembling again.”

“And you’re talking again. What a surprise.”

Our faces are only an inch apart. He stares down at me, his hazel eyes soft and warm. A lock of hair falls across his forehead. I reach up and brush it away, my lids drifting lower as he lazily strokes his fingers over my clit.

He says, “Tell me about these romance novels of yours.”

“Why?”

“I’m interested to know what you like about them.”

I think for a moment as he gently pinches a nipple and my clit at the same time. The feeling is incredible. Which he knows, because he’s intently watching my face from one inch away.

In a breathy voice, I say, “I guess I like that they’re written for women. The whole world is made to please the male gaze, but romance novels only care about what we want. What we need. They’re specifically for our pleasure. Some of the stories are great escapist fantasies.”