The Other Brother (Snow and Ash Book 3) (7 page)

I hate arguing. I’ll do just about anything to avoid pissing people off. Heck, I’ve spent years lying and saying I’m fine. I don’t know if I can stop. Angry voices and violence scare me to the bones.

After my shower I use some of that homemade lotion they make here in Asheville. My skin’s been winter dry for years, and I’m starting to think the reptilian look is here to stay. I don the sleepwear, brush my teeth, and comb out my hair.

What am I doing? Kent won’t be here to appreciate it. I pile it back in a high ponytail.

After dumping the laundry into a basket, I meander back to the bedroom.

I catch my breath.

Kent sits in the middle of the bed with a pile of papers spread out around him. He glances up at me, and I smooth imaginary hairs from my face.

“I thought you weren’t coming back tonight.”

Kent tosses a document back onto the pile. “They’ll let me know if anything changes.”

My stomach flutters. My heart thuds against my ribs as I reassess. No matter what happened today, he’s probably still mad at me. I do feel bad about what he’s going through, and I’m a little lost knowing he doesn’t trust me now. I swallow and finger comb my ponytail.

“Is it okay if I sleep in the bed?” I go for a light, joking tone and fail miserably.

Kent straightens and studies me. When he doesn’t answer immediately, I squirm. I’m about to say never mind.

“Thank you for asking, Bianca. You may sleep in my bed tonight.” There isn’t a trace of humor on his face.

I half laugh. I don’t know why, but my heart leaps and a fire ignites in my belly. He just gave me permission. God, I’m so turned on, and I’m just standing there like some kind of idiot.

“Um…” I squeeze my hands and bite my lips. “Okay.”

I look everywhere but at him as I approach the bed. Heat races through my veins as I peel back the covers. When Kent seizes my hand, I give a yelp.

“No.” He says this softly, and I’m frozen. My shoulders lock up, and I fling him a wide-eyed what? I hate it that I’m trembling.

He traces his fingers up my forearm, and I shiver. “What are you wearing?” he asks.

I lick my lips. “They were on the bed, so—”

“Take them off.”

My body vibrates to life. I’m in a cloud—a trembling, wild, wonder-filled cloud. I step back, lift the tank over my head, and drop it to the floor.

His nostrils flare as he eyes my chest. He scoots over until he’s sitting in front of me, legs wide. “Your hair,” he says, flicking a nod at my ponytail.

My hands tremble as I pull out the elastic and shake my hair free. Kent parts his lips. He brushes a stray lock away from my chest and flicks it over my shoulder. It’s only the lightest of touches, but my breasts ache and swell.

He traces a finger from my neck down to the peak, over my nipple, and down to my navel. My eyes flutter.

“Bianca,” he murmurs just before his lips close over that same peak. I gasp at the thrill of it. My God, I didn’t know anything could feel this good. I place my hands on his shoulders and will him not to stop. He gives a particularly hard tug, and my crotch floods. I arch into him. When he pulls back, it’s all I can do not to grab him by the hair and yank him back.

“Turn around,” he says. “Trace your fingers inside your waist and peel those down for me.”

I do as he says. I place my thumbs at the sides of my pants and move them around behind, then slowly to the front. I lower the front of my bottoms, arching my spine as I do so. I am not wearing any underwear.

“Yeah,” he breathes.

I push them down my rear, enjoying the tingling scrape of cotton against skin. Sliding my hands to my front, I ease my fingertips under the band and run my palms down my thighs. The pants follow. I stop mid-thigh and peer over my shoulder, just for a tease. Kent meets my burning gaze. “The rest. Do it.”

I slide the pants down, down, down, bending as I go. I touch the floor. Warm air caresses my exposed pussy.

The bed squeaks, and then his hands smooth my rear. His lips trace the path of his hands around the curve of my ass, my hip, down my thighs. Everywhere but where I crave it the most.

“Turn around.”

I straighten and shift position. He gets to his feet, his hands sliding up my body as he does until he’s towering over me. He cups my breasts. “Are you all right?” he asks.

I nod, so in the moment that I can’t even speak.

He squeezes my behind until I’m full up against him, and he nuzzles my neck. “You vowed to obey me.”

My heart tingles, and so does that place between my legs. Somewhere in that mess of emotions I feel tears. “I’ll try.”

He retreats a step, cups my face, and leans his forehead against mine. “Why?”

It’s a simple question, and it could mean a million different things, but I know he’s asking about why I held back on him yesterday. The way he’s standing, the fire illuminates the good half of his face, leaving his scars in the shadows.

My soul whispers through the cracks in my armor. “I’m scared.”

He pulls me closer and smooths his hands over my spine. “What are you afraid of?”

I close my eyes, and the tears nudge at my throat. I swallow. “Anger. Loud noises. People who might hurt me.”

I can’t say any more, and my throat closes shut. Kent presses a soft kiss to each of my eyelids.

“Look at me,” he commands.

But I’m shaking and I can’t.

“Bianca,” he says, and he uses that authoritative tone again. He lifts my jaw so I’m staring up at him. He traces my lips and then presses his finger between them. When he gives a terse nod, I relax my jaw and let him push past my lips. Instinctively, I latch on to him and try a gentle suck. He draws a breath. “Do you know what you do to me?”

Slowly, he withdraws his finger. Judging by the hard bulge pressing through his sleep pants, I have a pretty good idea. It’s the same thing he does to me. I reach up and touch his cheek, the scarred one. His brow furrows, and he shuts his eyes.

 
“Kiss me,” I beg. He never has, not even once.

His eyes fly open and he shrinks back, but I lean into him, press my breasts to his chest, and wrap my arms around his neck. “Please,” I whisper. I lean up as far as I can and press my lips to the corner of his mouth. The side with the scars.

With a groan Kent turns his head and covers my lips with his. He is not gentle. He buries his hands in my hair and sinks his tongue between my lips. Another flood of moisture coats my pussy as he grabs my ass, forcing me so urgently against him that the hard outline of his cock scorches my belly. His tongue masters mine in tandem with the rhythm of his hips as he grinds himself against me. I cling to him. When he pulls away and shucks his clothes, I ache with need. He scoops me up, and instinctively I wrap my legs around him. His member burns against my cunt, and in that moment I think I could do anything for him. Anything. I can feel his cock, his balls, and the stiff, wiry pubic hair as he rubs against me. For a moment I tense, but this is Kent. He needs me, now more than ever. He sets me down in the center of the bed and crouches over me. He grips my hands and pins them over my head. “It’s time, Bianca.”

Fear spreads its roots, but it’s mixed with lust and something I can’t quite identify.

“Are you ready?” he asks.

I’m wet all the way down to my thighs, and that channel inside me begs to be filled. I don’t know if I’m ready, but I want to do this for him. So very badly. I nod.

His face darkens, and he takes my mouth again in a savage kiss. I want it. Oh, I want it.

He releases his vise-like grip on my hands, and I wrap my fingers around his girth. He’s so big, so strong. How could I not be safe with him?

“Do it,” he tells me. “Show me you want me.”

I think I might incinerate myself. I’m so wrapped up in this magic haze, and I don’t want it to end. Ever. I slide my hand over his member, feeling the smoothness, the bulges of his veins. His balls are full and firm, and the tip of his cock is moist and slick. I guide him where I need him most.

I burn with a mixture of fear and desire, and it’s perhaps the most thrilling moment of my life. When the tip of his cock presses against my entrance, I fling my eyes open wide. Panting, my eyes plead with him. Help me.

He cups my face and traces sweet kisses over my brow, my cheeks, and finally my lips. “No one will hurt you,” he tells me. “You’re mine now.”

And with that, he presses his dick past the lips and pushes through. I tremble and arch against him as I feel him spread me, fill me, and master my body. I moan as he hesitates, and my pussy clenches around him, urging him deeper.

“Baby,” he whispers against my neck. “Please say you’re all right. I don’t know if I can stop.”

He’s so big he’s practically splitting me in half, and I revel in it. “I need you,” I whisper as I curve one of my legs around him.

A shudder rocks his whole body, and he begins to work his hips in a slow, rolling movement. I’m tight and I’m not accustomed to him, so his movements sting ever so slightly. I can’t believe I’m finally doing this. I’m letting him fuck me, and it feels good.

So unbearably good.

And then some asshole knocks on the door.

~ ~ ~

I swallow down about three mouthfuls of pancakes with butter and start a letter to my sister—a real one this time. It’s well past light-time, but Kent’s not back from the hospital yet with Nico. Apparently when Nico got in last night, he tossed his things into his room and wasted no time in finding Kent.

Every time I picture Kent wrenching the door open and the shocked look on Nico’s face, I want to plow under the covers all over again. Kent wasn’t naked or anything. He did yank his pants on first, but the raw smell of sex filled the room, and Kent had a raging hard-on. There had to be no doubt he’d interrupted something.

Anyway, Kent took Nico back down to the hospital, and that’s the last I’ve seen of either.

Hey, Tish! How’re things at home? You still seeing Marcus, or has Dad figured you out?

“Well if it isn’t my little sister.”

I drop my pen with a start and find Nico standing in the doorway like he owns the place. Which he does, of course, being a Barry. I don’t know whether to crawl under the table or punch him in the kidney. The dick fled Asheville just so he wouldn’t get stuck with me.

And he knows. Other than Kent and my sister, he’s the only other person who knows about my past. About what it did to me. Maybe I should have just stayed in bed this morning.

“Oh good. You’re back.”

Nico laughs, revealing dimples in both cheeks. “Not so shy these days, are you?”

I narrow my eyes. Is he referring to the sarcasm or last night? Both, probably. I give him a thin-lipped smile.

He looks me up and down, and even though I’m seated at the table in the breakfast room, it feels like he’s taking in all of me. Like he’s picturing me naked. I almost married this guy. Ick.

He cocks his head. “You look better with your hair down.”

I let out a breath and make the duck face. “How’s your brother?”

“Kent?”

“Lawrence!”

He sucks in his lips. “I don’t know. He’s still unconscious, and I think they’re monitoring an infection.”

“An infection?” There’s no such thing as antibiotics anymore.

He sits opposite me and picks at the empty place mat. “You must think I’m an asshole.”

I eye him sideways. “Congratulations on the epiphany.”

A laugh bursts from him, but then he sighs. “Look, I know. I fucked up bad. I pissed off a lot of people, not just you.”

I trace my finger over the now abandoned letter to Letitia. “You left the entire treaty hanging. I know I’m young, Nico, but even I knew what a big deal it was.”

He runs a hand through his thick dark hair. “I know.”

“People die out there every day, and you—”

“I said I know!” His clipped voice reminds me of Kent. So does that V-shaped crease between his eyes.

I look away. “Good.”

I pick up my pen, hoping he’ll get the hint and leave.

“It’s… Look, I know I let everyone down, but it’s barbaric, having your future decided for you. Medieval. I felt like the family sacrifice. Then when you told me—”

I dart him a glare.

“—about your problem, I panicked. I didn’t think; I just ran.”

My face flames. My problem. He makes me feel like I have herpes. The tension in this room wavers like an almost visible force field. I just want him to go.

Away.

But he’s not going anywhere. I’m not stupid. I’m the outsider, not him. He’s a Barry. He can make mistakes. I’m a Mason, and if I piss enough people off, that nice little treaty could go away. I straighten the pen so it sits perfectly parallel to the side of the paper and shrug. “It’s no big deal. The treaty’s safe. We even have mail delivery now.”

I nudge the stationery, pushing the pen out of alignment.

He reaches over and clutches my hand. I stiffen, and only the strictest willpower keeps me from snatching it away.

“I know you hate me. I’m really sorry. I’m a shit bag. Everyone’s always saying it, and it’s true.” He gives my hand a squeeze and lets go. “I just thought you deserved an apology is all.”

I finger comb my hair and tuck it behind my ears. I can’t look at him. I know that every time I do, I’ll picture that look of revulsion he wore when I told him about the attack. What he did humiliated me. I know to the rest of the world it looked like he took one glance at the plain girl and said no way. That’s bad enough. The fact that he rejected me after I told him my most private secret flat-out left me feeling unnatural, perverted, and about as feminine as a pair of used sweat socks. I’m not mad about the treaty. I’m angry about what he did to me.

And that’s about as selfish as him running off after taking one look at me. I can’t afford to be nasty. We’re going to see each other all the time, and it’s not like things didn’t turn out okay. Again, I’m the outsider. If I were to drag on a grudge, it wouldn’t be him that looked bad. It would be me, and I’d be a huge embarrassment to Kent. I make myself meet his eyes. I even force a halfway-convincing smile. “Don’t worry about it, Nico. It’s done, right?”