Sloe Ride (26 page)

“You okay there, magpie?” Rafe squeezed Quinn’s hand. “’Cause I’ve gotta admit, you’ve fucked
my
brains out.”

“Better than okay, babe.” Quinn tested out the word, rolling it over his tongue. “So much better than okay, and I can’t wait to do it again.”

Living Room Session

Damie: Sinjun, ordering some Chinese. You want moo shu pork?

Miki: What the fuck is that?

D: Pork, like bits of pork with some egg. You eat it with little pancakes… sort of pancakes. They’re… flat.

M: So it’s kind of like a Chinese breakfast taco?

D: No… yes. Shit. Dude, do you want some or not?

M: Sure, why not. I like tacos.

D: Do you
want
tacos?

M: Yeah, but you wanted Chinese. This way, we both get what we want. Compromise, D. It’s what brotherhood’s all about.

T
HE
MORNING
came with a scatter of cloudy nightmares, soft whispers of images and sounds Quinn easily fought back into their own darkness. They were familiar anxieties, time-worn, aged playthings his mind threw back up at him when he wasn’t looking. He woke to the sound of his own breathing, forced out of his tangled thoughts by a single push of consciousness. It’d been a long time since he’d had to shed sleep to shake off the demons he had inside of him.

Or at least he’d once thought they were demons. Now he wasn’t so sure.

Rafe. He’d woken up with Rafe wrapped around him, cuddled up behind his shoulders and breathing into his hair. Quinn still had the taste of Rafe in his mouth, around his cock if he was going to be honest with himself. That honesty was hard to accept… hard to imagine, especially since he’d been imagining it for years. Long, cold, and lonely years.

“You’re thinking too hard there, magpie,” Rafe rasped. “Go back to sleep. It’s got to be, like, four in the morning.”

“It’s….” Quinn leaned forward to check the digital clock ticking time off on a credenza next to the bed. “Ten. It’s ten in the morning.”

“Gotta be four someplace. Go back to bed, baby.” Rafe’s voice grew muddled, drawn back down into sleep. “Or at least let me go back to bed.”

“That I can do.” Quinn waited until he heard Rafe’s breathing even off, then allowed himself another minute of the man’s embrace. He
liked
the power in Rafe’s arms, enjoyed the strength in his hands when they’d roamed over, pressed into him, and delved deep into Quinn’s heat.

The sex had been… extraordinary, a windswept blur of emotions and sensations Quinn couldn’t absorb all at once. He’d been left boneless and weary after he’d come, sheathed in Rafe’s ass, but his lover’d been playful afterward, teasing Quinn into a semihardened state with a few licks of his tongue and an oiled finger toying at Quinn’s rim. They’d tangled again, hands and mouths learning each other’s bodies until they’d peaked, pouring into one another’s throats and nearly choking with laughter.

It’d been
never
since he’d laughed like that. Effortless… sweet… and most of all, unguarded.

He could just… be around Rafe. No modifying behavior, no stopping and asking himself if he said the right thing or missed the meaning of something. He had a freedom with Rafe he’d never had with anyone before.

The idea of it made Quinn nearly giddy.

The press of his bladder, however, told him he had to pee.

It was hard to slide out of the bed. Rafe’s arms were loose around his waist, and Harley was easily moved out of the way, but Quinn just didn’t want to go. Another deep breath, and his body threatened him with release, so he reluctantly pulled himself loose from the covers, dressed quickly, then headed to the bathroom.

The cold marble shocked him awake, and as he stared at the line of bite marks down his throat, Quinn resigned himself to being awake. Exploring the chain of tiny purpling bruises on his skin with his fingertips, he hissed when one throbbed beneath his touch, a thickened swell warming the area.

“Okay, next time Rafe gets dinner before we go to bed.” He stopped putting toothpaste on his brush, and the enormity of where he was… what he’d done and whom he’d done it with, struck him anew, leaving Quinn breathless. “Hell, Rafe Andrade—and he bites.”

It was both surreal and comforting to make coffee in Rafe’s kitchen. The fridge was nearly empty, boasting mostly a variety of nondairy creamers, bags of ground coffee, and condiments. A limp carrot danced a solo on the top shelf next to a half-used stick of butter. He grabbed both the crème brûlée creamer and the carrot, disposing of the sad, wilted root in the trash before fixing his coffee. Harley padded into the long kitchen, mewling her displeasure at her empty belly, and Quinn grimaced.

“Aye, I didn’t feed you last night. God, I’m….” A quick peek at the cat dishes in the kitchen corner bore evidence of wet food scraps and a brimming pile of dry kibble with a dent on one side where it’d been nibbled on. “Huh. You’re lying to me, baggage. Rafe took care of you just fine.”

He gave her a small pouch of wet food anyway, leaving the crinkled cat behind to munch away at her fishy breakfast.

At some point, a spring storm bullied its way into the city, and it tore apart the sky in a fierce display of thunder and rain. Spikes of light forked across the belly of a cloud bank not far from the penthouse, their sporadic flashes bright enough to leave dots on Quinn’s vision. Taking his coffee over to the living room, Quinn set his sights on the soft, comfortable couch running lengthwise across the room. Facing the sliding glass doors to the patio, it looked to be the best place to sit, drink coffee, and read while the storm snarled over them.

He got as far as putting his mug down on a side table when a pounding on the door froze Quinn in his tracks.

His first thought was of Rafe and how the muted noise would wake him. His second was of LeAnne and Simon, wondering if trouble had somehow found him at Rafe’s door. A quick look at the monitor next to the door had Quinn sighing in disgust.

“Kane,” he muttered, scanning the intercom buttons below the monitor’s screen. “Come on, Rafe. You paid for a penthouse, and this thing’s got more buttons than the Mach V. Shouldn’t there be a sleeping gas function for the foyer?”

Resigned, Quinn opened the door.

“I brought over the cat’s food.” Hefting a flat of cat food in his arms, Kane took a step over the threshold, then stopped short when Quinn didn’t move out of the way. “
Breac
, this shit’s not heavy, but you know, I’d like to dump it someplace. Move.”

“Where’s Tanngrisnir, Tanngnjóstr? Did someone catch him and suck the marrow from his bones?” Quinn grumbled as his brother pushed past him. He followed Kane into the kitchen, then leaned against the counter as Kane opened the box to put the cat food cans away. “If you’re going to use the cat as an excuse to come over, at least buy the brand she eats.”

Quinn saw the moment his brother spotted the bites on his skin. Kane stiffened, one hand clenched hard on a can of tuna-and-egg flaked cat food Quinn knew Harley would like. She was a finicky cat, but anything with tuna, egg, or cheese would set her to purring. More to save the can than himself, Quinn closed the distance between them and took the can out of his brother’s grasp.

“You were about to pop that open.” There was a bit of delight in seeing his brother’s nostrils flare slightly when Quinn opened a cabinet door, then placed the can among the others he’d brought with him. “And as Rafe and I found out last night, he doesn’t own a mop.”

“Rafe.” His lover’s name came out strangled, a guttural slither from Kane’s gritted teeth. “Really, Q-ber—”

“I’m going to say this once, Kane. Once.” Quinn stepped into his brother’s space, standing nearly nose to nose with a face he knew nearly as well as his own. “That is the
last
time you call me Q-bert and sure as fucking hell the last time you have anything to say about what goes on between me and Rafe.”

He turned to leave the kitchen, but Harley spoiled his smooth exit, sliding between his legs to wind about his ankles. Quinn did a fast quickstep around the cat, his hand slapping at the counter as he flailed to keep his balance, but he recovered enough to stride into the living room where he’d left his coffee.

As usual, Kane followed. Not as usual, his older brother remained silent until Quinn had his first sip of his now lukewarm coffee. Kane paced—a common enough thing for Kane to do. They all had their quirks, things they did when they needed to think. Connor brooded, his eyebrows beetled together until they looked like some odd avian mating dance across his forehead. Their mother, Brigid, picked at her nails, and Donal moved his mouth to one side, as if caught in midswish while using mouthwash. Quinn knew he bit his lower lip, but he wasn’t going to give Kane the satisfaction of seeing him worry.

Instead he drank his coffee and waited.

He didn’t have to wait long.

Quinn gave Kane credit. He used every single comforting, approachable trick they’d taught him, from sitting down diagonally from Quinn to turning his body inward, minimizing his bulk and making him appear receptive. Quinn knew better. This was, after all, the man who’d once stapled a brad through a towel and into Quinn’s shoulder when they’d wanted to play superheroes.

“So… Rafe.” Kane stumbled over his friend’s name. Giving up any pretense of calm, Kane scrubbed at his face, then sighed. “What the fuck, Quinn?”

“Not your place, K,” Quinn reminded his brother. “And… he brings color, you know?”

“Not a fucking clue,” Kane admitted softly. “I came over here because I was worried about you.”

“I’m not a fragile, delicate flower.” He cut Kane off before his brother could object. “Not anymore. Not for a long time. It’s just that you all refuse to see it, and I don’t know what to do with that.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t worry. People you knew
died
, Q. Died. Murdered. And we don’t have a fucking clue who’s doing it. Hell, I can’t even convince Berkeley PD that it’s all connected. So I let you go—”

“You don’t
let
me do anything, Kane,” Quinn asserted, laying down as much steel in his voice as he could. His brother’s eyes met his, and they had a brief battle of wills, a silent, deadly skirmish Quinn knew in his guts he’d have to win. “And I swear to God in heaven, if you don’t get that by now, I’m going to punch your face in. You might have some weight on me, but right now, here while you’re in Rafe’s house, you’ve got nothing to say on this, understand?”

A moment passed and another. Then Kane shifted in his chair, giving way. Nodding, his brother said, “Fair enough. All right, then. You left with Rafe, and that was the last we heard from you.”

“I left a note. And there were texts,” he replied softly. “Then I turned off my phone. Because, brother mine, I don’t want family intruding on me. Or Rafe. I told you I was fine. He told you I was fine. What more did you need? What more did you want?”

“Rafe’s….” Kane stalled, sputtering to a stop before forcing his way through again. “God, Quinn….
Rafe
. Rafe. Rafe
Andrade
.”

“Yeah, I’ve met him,” Quinn drawled. “Little bit taller than me, blond, and one of your best friends. One of mine too. Hell, one of my few friends. Someone I can count on to make me laugh and forget I’m a bit fucked-up in the head.”

“Ain’t nothing wrong with that head of yours, Q. I like how it works just fine. Hey, K. Not that I mind you dropping by, but how the fuck did you get in? Security didn’t buzz through.” Rafe strolled out of the hall, his hips rolling in a cocky swagger. He stopped long enough give Quinn a fierce kiss, stole a gulp of coffee, then jerked his head toward the kitchen. “Any more of that?”

“Most of the pot’s left. Kane didn’t want any.” Quinn’s head swam from Rafe’s tongue sliding over his lips, and no amount of breathing seemed to calm the flutters in his crotch. “Wait a second. How
did
you get in, K?”

“Flashed my badge and told them I was doing an emergency cat-food run for my friend’s visitor,” Kane tossed back. “I was okay with it until I got up to the door. Then I was pissed off about it.”

“Yeah, I’m kinda pissed off about it.” Rafe’s frown competed with the twinkle in his eye. “Security and I are going to have a discussion—”

The door buzzer startled all of them, and Rafe’s scowl deepened to the point where his humor fled.

“Now who the fuck? Seriously, they’ve got one fucking job to do, and that’s keep people down there until I clear them.”

“Rafe.” Kane shook his head, hunkering over his hands. “God, Quinn… just….
Rafe
.”

“He’s never been just Rafe to me, Kane,” he replied softly. “You know that. And now he does too.”

“Shit.” The man in question paled as he stared at the screen. “I’ve really got to ream out security.”

“Who is it?” Kane craned his neck to see over the back of the couch. “Con?”

“Worse,” Rafe muttered darkly. “Your mother. Before I let her in, you wanna go get a beer?”

“It’s ten in the morning,” Kane objected, and Quinn panicked, shaking his head no at his brother.