Brutal Vows (Queens & Monsters #4)(66)

My orgasm steals my breath. I bow from the bed, shaking and sweating, loving every hot swipe of his tongue over my clit, though it’s exquisitely, almost painfully sensitive. I come and come, pulling his hair and moaning, until he sinks two thick fingers inside me, and I sob.

“You’re the most perfect thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” he snarls, finger fucking me as I jerk and gasp. “And you’re all mine, aren’t you, baby?”

I babble something. I don’t know what. Whatever it is, it makes Quinn chuckle darkly.

“Aye, you are. Tell me you want my cock.”

“Please yes please give it to me!”

When he sinks it inside me, I’m still coming. I cry out in ecstasy, my pussy clamping around his thick shaft. Convulsing rhythmically around it, like I’m trying to milk the cum right out of him.

He says something in Gaelic. A curse or a praise, I can’t tell. But his voice is strained and his hips are snapping. Sitting up on his knees with my legs spread open around his hips and his hands clenched into my ass as he holds me up, he plunges his cock into me over and over again.

He’s rough, but because I know it’s passion, not anger that fuels his roughness, I welcome it.

His thrusting falters, and he shudders, moaning.

“Yes! Come! Let me feel you let go!”

He surges forward, falling onto his elbows on top of me. He grabs my face. With his eyes wide open, he kisses me, then climaxes with a primal grunt and violent, full-body spasm that shakes the bed.

Buried deep inside me, his cock pulses as he empties himself.

The entire time, we stare into each other’s eyes.

He gasps my name.

I wrap my legs around his waist.

And that tall cliff I was worried about earlier?

I just jumped right the fuck over, headfirst.





27





Spider





We lie entangled on the bed in the dark.

I don’t know how long we’ve been like this. Hours, maybe. Days? Years? Who fucking knows. I’ve lost all sense of time. All I know is that I’m here, in a place I never dreamed I’d be, with a woman who makes me feel like life might be worth living after all.

Her head rests on my chest. Her legs are twined between mine. Her warm hand is pressed flat over my beating heart.

My stunned, achy, battered heart that doesn’t have a bloody clue what just hit it.

It’s been bitten by a viper with sharp fangs and the sweetest venom.

After a heavy exhalation, Reyna whispers, “What happens now?”

“Now we figure it out, I suppose.”

There’s a brief but tense pause. “Is it…”

“What?”

“Is it always like this for you? I mean, this intense?”

I close my eyes and exhale. My lungs ache, too. “No, lass,” I murmur. “Not for me.”

“Good. If you’d said yes, I was going to rip out your nipple rings with my teeth.”

Chuckling, I comb my fingers through her long silky hair.

Stirring, she presses a soft kiss to my jaw. I turn my head and look at her, stunning even in shadows.

“Did your mother really name you after the artist Winslow Homer?”

“Aye.”

“That’s nice.”

“She was a nice person.”

I can tell she wants to say something else, but she doesn’t. She just toys with my beard and watches me with those mermaid eyes, glittering in the dark like sea glass under shifting waters.

Feeling a thousand years old, I turn my head and stare at the ceiling. After a while, I say, “I’m thirty-eight.”

“Hmm. You don’t look a day over fifty.”

“I deserve that.”

“You do. What else? Tell me more.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know… What’s your favorite song?”

“‘God Bless America.’”

She laughs. “That’s not your favorite song.”

“It is.”

“Really?” She digests that in silence for a moment. “How strange.”

I shrug. “I like you, too. You can’t account for taste.”

She laughs again, softly, tugging at my beard. “Good one.”

Then, a moment later and sweetly hesitant: “You like me?”

And she calls me an idiot.

My sigh is a huge gust of air. “Aye. I like you. But then again, I’m a glutton for punishment, so there’s that.”

“That’s such a weird phrase. ‘Glutton for punishment.’ What does that even mean?”

“It means you love what hurts you.”

A delicate shiver runs through her body. Burrowing closer to me, she whispers, “Don’t love what hurts you, Quinn. Whatever hurts you doesn’t deserve you. You’re made for so much better than that.”

A thousand knives carve her name into my heart. Bleeding, barely able to breathe, I say gruffly, “Goddammit. Stop being sweet. I can’t handle it when you’re sweet.”

“Yes, you can, you wuss. C’mon, we’ll practice.” She lifts up to an elbow and smiles down at me. “Hi, Homer. I’m Reyna. It’s nice to meet you. You look like an orphan’s idea of Christmas morning.”