The Other Brother (Snow and Ash Book 3) (3 page)

“I just want you to see that it can be different.”

“Oh, it’s different, all right.” The girl starts humping the guy’s leg like a dog.

I clap a hand over my mouth and stifle a giggle.

Kent turns to me with raised brows. “You think this is funny?”

“Well, I mean, look at them.”

The guy is sitting on the edge of the bed, fully clothed, and the naked girl is riding his boot as though it’s an enormous dick.

“Hot,” he says with a hint of a smile. He never smiles more than a very little. I think it bothers him that his scars limit the way half of his face moves.

I shake my head. It’s not rape, that’s for damn sure. But what the heck? “Whatever happened to love and tenderness?”

He wags his head. “I just wanted you to see that it’s different for everyone.”

The girl clutches the guy’s boot between her thighs and grinds her privates against it. She throws back her head, and even through the almost soundproof wall, I hear her roar of ecstasy. It’s so dirty. It’s so…

I clear my throat.

“Does she look unhappy?” Kent asks, sliding his arm around my shoulder.

“No but…”

“Is he forcing her?”

“Definitely not.” If anything, the guy’s the one in trouble.

The girl unzips the guy’s pants and roots around for his dick. He raises his backside off the bed, and she rips his pants down to his hips. His member springs free, and she claps her lips over the tip and begins sucking him like a Popsicle.

I’m no longer upset by the sight of naked people. Watching them have sex is intensely embarrassing, but it doesn’t frighten me the way it did in the beginning. I know if Kent tried to do any of those things to me, though, I’d freeze like a stone.

“Bianca.” The way he says it, his voice thick and full of passion, sends shivers through me. He doesn’t touch me. Well, his hand’s on my shoulder, but that’s nothing. His voice, though…it calls to something ancient within me.

I swallow and raise my gaze to his. One half of his face is handsome, the other half disfigured. I want to trace kisses over the ugliness, to take away the pain and embarrassment I see every time he turns his head when someone flinches.

He brushes more stray tendrils away from my face, sending tingles through my chest. He flicks a glance at the window. “It’s about trust. These two. They aren’t kissing and caressing each other, but they’re giving each other what the other one needs. That’s respect, Bianca. If he needed her to suck his cock like a Hoover, but she just licked it like an ice cream cone, he’d be disappointed. She pays attention to him, though, listens to his body and gives him what he needs.”

My breasts feel full and tender. He’s actually wrapping me in a hypnotic spell.

I glance back at the scene. The girl is riding the guy’s cock. Actually she’s straddling him, and he’s arching his hips up into her as though he can’t possibly wait for the next stroke.

My body longs to be touched. It needs to be loved in every way possible. I wish with every cell I have that my mind would let me.

I lick my lips. “What do you like…I mean, when you’ve, ah, what do you…” My voice chokes off. I’ve stabbed myself in the chest with a knife built of awkwardness. What the hell am I doing? “Never mind.”

His chest expands, and his pupils go wide. My mouth dries in response, and something in my belly contracts. I look away.

He runs a hand from the top of my head down my back. He swirls his hand around as though just touching me in that simple, innocent way fills him with pleasure.

“I like it rough,” he says, his voice hoarse. “I prefer to be in control, and I want my woman to put her trust in me completely. But it would depend on the girl. It would depend on the situation.”

A few days later I’m having my bath when I hear the bedroom door open and quietly shut. I don’t worry. This time of the morning the only person who would come in is the cleaning woman, and she’d know by the closed door that I’m having my bath.

A few minutes later, as I’m running the washcloth over my neck, I hear a groan. I freeze. Then I hear another one.

What is that?

Another groan comes, this time louder, and it’s not the cleaning woman. It’s a man’s voice. As quietly as I can, I get to my feet, grab the towel off the toilet seat, and wrap it around myself. I step out onto the bath mat, cringing as rivulets of water drop off my feet and back into the tub. I go still, expecting the groaning to stop.

“Oh yeah.”

It’s Kent. It’s definitely Kent. I’m horrified and fascinated at the same time as I creep to the bathroom door. I hesitate. What if he’s hurt? What if he’s…

As softly as I can, I crack the door open.

My husband lies naked on the mattress. He’s placed several pillows under his head, and his legs are spread apart. He’s using his hand to… Oh my God, he’s masturbating. His cock stands stiff and tall, a good seven or eight inches if I estimate correctly, and it’s thick, thicker than any of the men I’ve seen before. His strokes are slow and measured, and it looks to me like it’s a soft grip. He changes the tempo to quick and fluttery. What does it feel like for him?
 

I should stop looking. Oh man. I need to get the hell out of here. What if he sees me? How embarrassing. What if he thinks I’m spying?

I am spying.

His eyes are closed, though, and he slides both hands down his legs, then brings them back up again. He cups his balls in one hand and spits into the other. Then he rubs that hand around the rim of his cock.

“Oh baby, suck it. Suck it!”

I raise a hand to my mouth as an answering jolt licks deep in my belly.

My pussy throbs as I imagine wrapping my lips around his member, the way that other girl did it, as I imagine rimming his cock with my tongue and then sliding him down my throat. Almost as if in response, Kent groans again and arches his hips off the bed. He begins working himself faster, and there’s a new timbre to his moans. Moisture seeps from between my legs. I can almost imagine him using those hands against my breasts, using that huge cock of his to fill me. A river of moisture drips out of my cunt.

I picture pressing myself against that hard, chiseled body and wrapping my legs around his hips. I want to pull his head to my breasts as he licks and sucks them, and I know he’d do it until I sighed with pleasure, just as those other girls did. Those other girls all get to have it. Unlike me, their minds let them have what their bodies want.

It’s not fair. I want to make love with a man and have it fill me with joy, not revulsion and fear.

Kent’s breaths come quicker now, and his moans grow louder. His legs go rigid, and his feet dig into the mattress. His face screws up, and he lets out an explosive grunt. Jets of white cream shoot from the tip of his cock and onto those chiseled abs of his. Even after, when nothing more comes out, he continues stroking himself until finally he drops his head back onto the pillows with a sigh.

As quietly as I can, I pull the door shut.

I’m shaking. The towel drops to the floor as I raise my hands to my breasts and give them an experimental caress. I’ve filled out some since I got here. What with all the carbs and the reduction in my exercise, all the work I’ve put into being athletic is disappearing fast. Right now, though, I don’t care. I wet a finger and rim one of my nipples. It feels good, really good. I give it a tweak, and my head drops back as it sends a loud message to my womb. My pussy begs for attention, and I slide a hand between my legs and begin to stroke myself. The feeling is exquisite, and I squeeze my thighs together. There’s no way I can stop now. My breaths come fast and heavy as I feel tension build inside me. My legs tremble, and my clit begs and begs for more. When I finally come, I have to grit my teeth not to scream.

It’s the first time I’ve felt passion. It’s my first orgasm, but I’m all alone when it happens.

~ ~ ~

Dinner tonight is braised rabbit risotto with butternut squash. Lots of squash, less rabbit. I still feel bad eating fuzzy little bunnies, but it’s a necessity. Squash is a starch though. The Barrys like their starches, and if I want to eat, I have to put up with it.

And it’s delicious.

“I’m sorry this is so late,” he tells me as he takes his seat. He’s changed from his uniform into a pair of chinos and a button-down shirt. I thought I liked him in uniform, but Casual Kent is hot. “Lawrence and I were meeting with the mayor of Jackson City. He’s here renegotiating the personnel arrangements.”

By personnel arrangements I know he means how many troops we’ll offer for the city’s defense.

“That’s fine,” I tell him. “Don’t worry about it.”

It’s late enough that I figure we won’t be watching any live porn. I settle back into my chair as the guilt of spying on those lovers eases. Really it’s sick. And yet a little piece of me twinges. What those couples have is so intimate. Like Kent says, it’s hot.

“What did you do today?” he asks, then takes a forkful of risotto.

I think about what I did this morning, and my face heats. “I was able to schedule an hour with the fight instructor today. That was nice. I visited the senior center too. There’s a lady there. She’s blind, and she used to love audio books. I go there every day and read her a chapter.”

He cocks his head. “What are you reading her?”

“Right now it’s a romance novel.”

“A romance?” He smirks.

Typical. “Yeah. Stories about people who like each other but who have to overcome their differences and uncover their true needs so they can find happiness together. Sorry it’s not a tale about a serial murderer storing children’s heads in his freezer, but I guess guys find love kind of scary.”

He sets his fork down. “Are you giving me attitude?”

“A little.” I take a forkful of risotto.

“You think I’m the one who finds love scary?”

I pause midchew, but he doesn’t press the issue.

“So,” he says after a few beats. “How was your bath this morning?”

I choke on my sip of water. “My bath?”

“Yes,” he says, not looking at me. “You like baths better than showers, I think you said once.”

I nod like an idiot. “Uh-huh.”

He moves on to another topic, something safe, and we finish the meal in peace. I’m so relieved that I don’t bat an eye when the cheesecake lands in front of me.

“I don’t feel like going anywhere,” he says after the dishes are removed. “Do you mind if we just stay in and relax?”

That ache between my shoulders eases. “I’m all for it.”

He smiles to himself. At what? The light from the candles plays over his face, alternately hiding and emphasizing his scars.

After dinner we climb the stairs to our suite and I ponder whether I should read a book or write a letter to my sister. The first thing I notice when I get to our room is that it’s warm. Quite warm. And there are no pj’s on the bed.

Kent closes the door behind him and leans back against it.

“Bianca.” His tone is soft but full of authority.

I look at him warily.

“Come here,” he says. He’s using his officer’s face, that commanding tone, and I move toward him as though he’s pulling me with a rope of silk.

He smooths my hair with the back of his hand. “Turn around.”

I lick my lips. “Why?”

He cocks his head and frowns, so I turn. He removes the elastic that anchors my hair and begins to unravel my braid.

My heart flutters. “Don’t.”

When I step away, his hands encircle my waist. He draws me back to him and presses his lips to my ear. “Let me.”

My breath halts. My world shrinks until it’s just his hands on my body and the warm breath that caresses my ear. I wear the braid as a shield. It’s an iron bar that hangs down my back like a medieval sword. It tells people I’m dangerous and that I won’t be messed with. It’s a bluff, of course, but so far no one’s seen through it. Kent slides his hands up my arms and rests them on my shoulders and waits.

For permission.

It’s just hair, I tell myself. Just hair. I jerk my chin in consent. His fingers resume their work, and my scalp tingles with each pull. My sister and I used to brush each other’s hair for hours. That stopped four years ago, and I’ve forgotten how good it feels. I close my eyes and enjoy the tingles and tugs. When he’s done, I’m kind of sorry.

“It’s so soft,” he says, running his fingers through my tresses, scalp to ends. He leans in and inhales my scent as he continues stroking me. I mean, my hair. He wraps a length in his fists and gives a firm tug, pulling me back against his chest.

I gasp at the thrill of it. I am wholly unprepared for the rush of heat to my belly, but before my mind can reject the feelings, he lets me go and moves away.

“So this morning,” he says, shuffling through some books on his nightstand. “Did you like it?”

My mouth goes dry. “Like what?”

He looks up and locks his eyes on mine. “I know you were there, Bianca.”

I suck in a breath and freeze. Hell can claim me now if it wants. Anything not to have to have this conversation.

He drops the books back onto the table and moves closer. “You watched me. I saw you. I felt you.”

I shake as I clap a hand over my mouth. “I’m so sorry. I was taking my bath and I heard something and I…I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to.” I close my eyes. I thought hell was telling him I didn’t want sex. He just caught me watching him masturbate. “There’s no excuse. I’m so sorry.”

When I open my eyes, he’s not three steps from me. The way he looks at me, touches me with his gaze, screams predator. He inhales through his nose. “Did you enjoy it?”

Shit! “What?”

“Did I disgust you, seeing me like that?” He turns his face away. The side with the scars.

How could he think that? “No! Of course not!”

He moistens his lips and pierces me with his gaze. “I was hoping you’d watch.”

My heart is a hummingbird, and my mouth is so dry a gallon of water wouldn’t help me. He did it for me. I wonder what he’d say if I told him I did, too. Without meaning to, I take a step closer.

“Do you think you could do that again?” he asks. “Watch me?”

A thrill shoots through my gut. I part my lips. “I…”