Broken (19 page)

Maybe he could write that off to being drained from the best sex he’d ever had. Once he’d caught his breath after the first time, he’d carried her to the bed and done it all over again, but slower. Taking his time where earlier he had feasted on her like a starving man.

By the time they were done the second time, every muscle in his body felt like putty and his mind was one sweet, blissful blur. When a man spends close to two hours riding a woman until they both collapse, it would be enough to give even an insomniac like him a little bit of peace.

It went deeper than exhaustion, though. Quinn could deal with exhaustion. It didn’t matter how tired he was and it didn’t matter that he’d just had the best sex of his life—he’d fallen asleep wrapped around her body, because it was Sara.

Inside, he felt a sense of peace and satisfaction that he hadn’t ever felt. Not even with Elena.

The second he thought about her, the ugly swell of guilt tried to rise within him, but he shoved it aside. Elena was gone . . . other than the job, a few quick minutes together, a few stolen hours, and a whole shitload of
what-might-have-beens
, they hadn’t had much together. He hadn’t once been able to sleep in her arms. Not once, and it wasn’t because he hadn’t tried.

He had tried, and failed. It hadn’t felt right, he hadn’t been able to settle his mind or his soul, and in the end, the one whole night he’d had with Elena had been spent with him sitting on the dirt floor of the small shack where they stayed while she slept on a thin, lumpy mattress.

Falling asleep with Sara felt as natural as breathing. More. He’d slept the whole night through and awoken with a smile on his face.

Peace. Contentment. Quinn wasn’t entirely sure, but he thought that maybe, just maybe, he might be happy. It wasn’t a feeling he’d felt very often in his life, and not at all in recent memory.

Brooding, he stroked a hand up Sara’s naked back, enjoying the soft, satiny feel of her skin even as he tried to get a better grasp on what was taking place inside him.

He found himself thinking about his brother, Luke, and his new wife. Back when his twin had first started dating Devon, he’d been nervous as hell with her. Uncertain and hesitant, two things that were very not Luke.

Closing his eyes, he remembered a conversation he’d had with Luke about Devon.

“What’s it like?”
Luke had repeated.

Sap—that was exactly what Luke had sounded like, and now Quinn understood it completely. Over the past few days, he’d found himself thinking about Sara at times that he really needed to be thinking of other things—distracted when the last thing he needed to be was distracted. Hell, half the reason he had one massive black eye was because he’d been thinking a little more about Sara when he should have been focused on the three-hundred-plus-pound moron who’d gotten caught embezzling from some of his clients and then tried to skip town.

Absently, he reached up and touched his fingers to the bruise spreading down over his cheek, checked the swelling. It was puffy, but it didn’t hurt too much as he probed the area.

The paramedic had told him he needed to get an X-ray, but that required going to a hospital, or a doctor’s office at the very least. Quinn didn’t do hospitals unless he had to and he never went to a doctor’s office. He’d rather get his eyeteeth ripped out with a pair of pliers than go see a damned doctor.

The last time he’d willingly walked into a hospital had been right after Devon had nearly died—his former commanding officer had drugged her and had been just a whisper away from killing her and Luke. For months, the poor lady had been hassled and stalked, pushed to the very edge of insanity, because of a madman. The madman had been this close to killing her, too. This close . . .

God.
Quinn couldn’t imagine what it would have done to his twin if Luke had lost Devon. It would have destroyed him. Devon and Luke had become a unit—a matched set—and destroying one would irreparably damage the other.

“You should probably get an X-ray,” Sara murmured, her voice drowsy.

Startled, he glanced down at her and realized she was watching him from under her lashes. A grin spread across his face. “Didn’t know you were awake. “

“Hmmm. I’m awake. Barely. You need to get that eye X-rayed.”

“Don’t like doctors.” He pushed a hand through her hair, stroking it back from her face.

“A lot of people don’t like doctors, but they still go see them when they need to,” she said.

“And if I needed to, I might go.”
Need as in bleeding from every orifice or dying from a massive infection.
Other than that, he’d rather just suffer. “But it’s just a black eye. If anything was broken, it would hurt more.”

“You say that as though you have a lot of practice.”

He shrugged. “Enough. Don’t worry about it.” He reached down and caught her hand, guiding it to his cock. “If you feel like worrying about me, maybe you could worry about this.”

“This, huh? Does it hurt?” she asked, tilting her face up and giving him a look of wide-eyed innocence.

“Bad. Real bad.”

She wrapped her fingers around him and stroked down, then up. As she neared the head, she tightened her grip and twisted her wrist. Quinn’s eyes all but crossed at the pleasure of it and he arched his hips up to meet her on the upstroke as she did it a second and third time.

“Real bad, you say. Can you think of anything that might make it feel better?”

“Yeah.” Slipping a hand into her hair, he tangled his fingers in the silken strands and said, “I can think of a couple of things. I’ll let you make the call, though. You do what you think is best.”

Early-morning light filtered in through the small windows set high along the walls of his apartment, splashing across the bed as she sat up and threw a leg over his hips.

“Maybe we could start with this,” she teased, settling against him so that his cock was nestled between the slick, wet lips of her sex. Slick. Wet. Hot. It was a teasing, taunting enticement and one that threatened to destroy his already faltering control. Nothing between them . . . fuck. Quinn groaned and closed his hands around her hips, holding her steady as he dragged her back and forth. The sensation was enough to fry every last nerve ending in his body. Hot and slippery. Clinging to his fraying control with desperation, he gritted out, “Grab a fucking rubber.”

She reached over, straining to grab one from the bedside table. It brought her breasts right in line with his mouth and he lifted his head, caught one plump nipple between his teeth. Sara’s breath hissed out and she braced her hands on the pillow by his head, holding still as he licked the peaked tip and then nipped her gently.

“Put the rubber on me,” he muttered, letting her sit back up. “Now.”

Her hands shook as she did it. Once she finished, she held him steady with her hand and started to lower herself. Her hair fell down, shielding her face.

Quinn reached up and pushed it back, watching her face as she took him, one slow inch at a time. Her eyes widened, then fluttered closed. Her pretty mouth fell open as she moaned. She caught her lower lip between her teeth and bit down, whimpering when his cock jerked and throbbed inside her.

Watching her face did strange things to him—it twisted his heart even as the erotic beauty grabbed him by the balls and wouldn’t let go. He tore his gaze from her face and looked down, watching as she lifted up and then began the slow process over again, slowly, so fucking slowly, inch by inch, sinking down on him.

“Oooohhhh . . .” Sara moaned as she impaled herself completely, the thick, hot length stretching her. He throbbed inside her, the head of his cock nudging against her in just the right way. As pleasure jolted through her, she shivered and clenched down around him. Her hands flexed, kneading his chest.

Quinn caught her hips and started to move her, guiding her into a slow, easy rhythm. Slow and easy . . . tauntingly slow.

“More,” she whimpered, fighting against his hands to move quicker, take him deeper.

“You’re bossy,” he teased, hooking a hand over her neck and hauling her down to kiss her. He kept up that same, teasingly slow rhythm with his hips, but his kiss was voracious, starving. Rough and demanding, it made her shiver and whimper as he tangled a hand in her hair and tugged lightly.

“No . . . I’m desperate. Please.” She raked her nails down his chest and rolled her hips. Desperate . . . dying . . . she was so hot, she felt like she was going to explode. Clenching down around him, she used her inner muscles to milk him. “Please . . . Quinn, please.”

He feathered his lips across her cheek. “Shhh.”

Gripping her hip, he held her steady and started to move, quick, shallow thrusts that only made her burn hotter. Sobbing his name, she fought against his hold, fought to take more, take all.

Quinn swore and then shifted. In seconds, she was sprawled on her back with him between her thighs. He caught her knees and pushed them high, tucking her rump against him.

His eyes had gone opaque, burning hot and locked on her face. Twin flags of color rode high on his cheeks, and his mouth was twisted in a sexy little snarl. With her knees hooked over his arms, he leaned over her and started to move, driving deep, deeper.

Sara cried out in shock, staring up at him. Hardly able to move, hardly able to breathe, she lay there and stared at him as he rode her. Flesh slapped against flesh. His voice, a low, hoarse growl, echoed in her ears, but she didn’t know what he was saying. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t think—

He twisted his hips and that slight shift was enough that the head of his cock rubbed against the bundle of nerves buried inside her pussy. Closer . . . almost . . . oh, hell, she could feel it—

Then he slowed his pace.

“Don’t stop,” she demanded.

“Look at me,” Quinn growled, dipping his head and nipping her lower lip.

Mindless, she rocked upward, tried to ride the thick stalk of his cock. He pressed down with his hips, pinning her in place. He let go of one leg and cupped her face in his palm, angling her chin higher. “Look at me.”

Sucking in a desperate gulp of air, she focused on his face and whimpered. “Quinn, please . . .”

Heat flared in his eyes. A faint smile curled his lips. “Just keep watching me . . . I want to see you . . .”

With their gazes locked, he started to move. Once more, he was riding her deep, riding her hard . . . taking her higher. The climax moved closer and closer and this time, he didn’t stop. He moved and rocked and thrust while she whimpered and wiggled and moaned.

It exploded through her, and deep inside, she felt the convulsive jerking of his cock. He came with her and it lasted forever . . . each time she thought it might end, his cock throbbed inside her again and set off another series of aftershocks.

When it finally ended, she was so limp she could barely move.

He collapsed atop her with his head pillowed between her breasts.

“I’ll move in a minute,” he muttered.

She could feel the ragged rise and fall of his chest as he struggled for air. Looping an arm over his shoulders, she squeezed and whispered, “Don’t want you moving.”

“Bossy.”

She wasn’t sure, but she thought he smiled.

T
HE ringtone was the last one Don Hessig wanted to hear.

Even with his boss several thousand miles away, he wasn’t getting any peace. Not this time.

“It took you long enough,” James bit off. “I don’t pay you to sit around.”

“Of course not. I’m sorry, Mr. Morgan, I was dealing with the matter we discussed a few days ago.”

“The matter.” James snorted. “About that matter—have you made any progress?”

Propping the phone against his shoulder, Don automatically adjusted his tie. Even though James was on the other side of the country and they were talking via the phone, he checked his tie, his cuff links and smoothed down his hair as he answered, “I’m afraid not. I do have a few other options . . .”

He didn’t have
any
options. He’d been ad-libbing for the past two years, hoping an answer would appear out of thin air. It had yet to happen and Don had worn himself out trying to think up other options, other avenues, other explanations or suggestions with the hope he could buy a little more time.

Now, all he really needed was a little more time. A few weeks, no more than a few months. But he wasn’t going to get it.

“What sort of options?” James asked, his tone bored.

“I’ve been researching the divorce laws of the state. I know we’ve discussed this before. But perhaps you’ve reconsidered the matter. By Illinois law, if one spouse has abandoned the other for a period of a year or more, the remaining spouse can file for divorce. Would you be interested in discussing this further with your legal counsel?”

“No. I do not wish to discuss this with my legal counsel.” His voice as cold, sharp as a blade. “Were there any other
options
that you had considered?”

Don stared at the surface of his desk, seeing blood. Seeing tears. And hearing a voice—James’s voice.

His mouth dry, he swallowed. “No, I’m afraid that had been my most realistic option.”