The Other Brother (Snow and Ash Book 3) (4 page)

“You wouldn’t have to touch me,” he rushes to say, and I read yearning in his expression. “You can keep all your clothes on. Just watch me, if you want to.”

Watch. My pussy contracts. If I thought my mouth was dry before, it’s a desert bone now. My breaths come in quick, shallow flutters, and my heart beats so fast I think I might faint. When I don’t answer immediately, his face tightens and he looks away. He’s hiding the scarred side of his face again, and this touches me deeply. Kent understands shame.

I’m close now, so close I can feel the heat from his body. Mine comes to life, thrumming, humming with need. I draw a finger across my bottom lip. This means taking things to a whole new level. This is making things intimate. I don’t know if we can ever go back to the way things were if I consent to this. Kent has always promised he wouldn’t touch me unless I want him to, though, and I believe him. He’s my husband, too, and I feel terrible about not giving him the release and pleasure he deserves. When I watched him this morning, it was such a turn-on that I came. I actually came.

I place my hands on his chest, and he jerks his head back, a question in his eyes.

I nod.

He blinks and his eyes widen. “You’ll do that?”

“Yes,” I say, and my breath shakes. I sway toward him until our flesh meets.

His pupils eat his eyes until they’re almost black, and that predatory look crosses his face. He cups my backside for the barest moment and runs his hands up my arms until they rest on my shoulders. A tinge of unease punches me in the chest, but he steps back and I’m okay again.

“Sit there,” he says, nodding toward the plush chair in the corner.

I do as he says, and Kent begins to strip. Not in a campy, gross, male-stripper way, but in a matter of fact unbutton-his-shirt-and-fold-it-neatly kind of way. It’s so Kent that it comforts me. His shirt is gone, and once again I admire his broad shoulders and hard, chiseled abs. His shoes are next, then his socks. He flings his chinos onto the pile as though folding will take time, entirely too much time. He doesn’t look at me as he steps out of his boxers, but when he straightens, I gasp.

This man is so beautiful. He glances at me and finds my gaze eating him, and his shoulders straighten. “Are you okay?”

“Yes.” My voice catches, and I clear my throat. “Yes.”

His penis stands tall and proud, and that ache inside me returns. He’s ready. He sits on the edge of the bed, knees wide, and grasps himself at the base of his cock. He begins stroking himself. He trusts me, I realize. How could anyone do something so intimate without complete trust? The feeling this gives me clutches at my core.

I lean forward in my chair, riveted as he slides his hand up and down his cock slowly, leisurely at first. He pushes his other hand between his thighs, rubs down his legs and up again, even passes it over his balls. His eyes flutter shut, and he arches his neck. He fists his cock tightly then, and it almost looks like he’s going to cut off the blood supply. When he opens them, he focuses on me and begins pumping his fist again.

Oh God. I lick my lips as my panties go damp. My breasts throb and my cunt begs to be filled, and I can’t stop watching.

The look he gives me sizzles me to the core. “Do you want to touch it?”

My lips part. My crotch throbs, and I swallow. “Okay.”

He places both hands to his sides, scoots back onto the bed, and leans on his elbows.

“Climb up here,” he instructs. “It’ll be easier if you straddle my thighs.”

Straddle. Um… I do as he says, and when I settle myself over him, his cock jerks.

“Touch me,” he says, and his voice shakes.

I glide my hand down his abs until I reach his cock. My belly quivers at the first touch, but I run my hand up the length of him and find it unyieldingly hard yet silky too. I give him an experimental squeeze, and he groans.

My breath hitches. “Will you tell me what to do?”

“Spit on your hand.”

Spit? I frown.

“Go ahead. It’s okay.”

Tentatively I spit.

“Wrap your hand around my cock; yeah, that’s it. Now move your fist up and down.”

I am touching a man’s dick. On purpose. I find it warm and velvety smooth. I catch a hint of musk, and for the first time in my entire life I feel sexy. Nervous too, but sexy. I slide my fist down to the root and up again. That wasn’t so hard. I can do this.

“Keep it steady, slow.”

His breath quickens, and when the muscles in his belly flutter, I feel strangely proud.

“Spit again and do it faster.” His voice is softer, more urgent.

Spitting now feels oddly erotic, and pumping his cock gives me an ache. A delicious, yearning ache. I squeeze harder, and he hisses.

“Yeah, like that.”

Oh my God. This is so intimate I think I might melt. I’m not afraid. At all.

“Those girls we watched,” I say, sliding a hand over his balls.

He groans and spreads his legs wider.

“They used their mouths.” My heart pounds, and I want to grind my clit against him. “Is that something you’d want me to do?”

His eyes pop open, and he stares at me as though I just asked if he wanted a hundred naked girls all at once. I didn’t think it was possible, but his cock grows harder, so hard that veins actually bulge out. Oh, he’d like it, all right.

“Only if you want to,” he rasps.

“Will you tell me what to do?” I don’t want to feel like some idiot bobbing my mouth over a guy who isn’t even enjoying it.

He sits up, and I let go of his member.

“Get on your knees,” he orders. “There, on the floor.”

I dismount, scootch to the edge of the bed, and get down on my knees. A nanosecond later Kent’s right in front of me, legs spread wide.

“Trace your tongue around the rim.”

Does he mean once or multiple times? I go slowly, hoping he’ll tell me what to do next.

He smooths my hair. “Now, lick up my shaft with the tip of your tongue.”

I start at the bottom and trace my way to the tip.

“No teeth,” he says. You know, like there might be teeth on the edge of my tongue or something. I almost roll my eyes.

“That’s good. Oh, that’s good.” His head falls back at the second pass. On my third pass he squeezes his toes.

By now his breaths are shallow. “Suck the tip. Use your lips and tongue.”

I wrap my lips around the tip and tease it with my tongue. He tastes clean and only faintly of salt. I let his cock slide back on my tongue, and on the way up I suck as hard as I can.

He groans, and his hips rise to meet my mouth. “Try to take as much of me as you can.”

He’s huge. I don’t think my mouth is big enough. I try to do what he says, but his dick hits the back of my throat and I gag. He presses down on my head like he wants me to do it again and again. Every time I gag, his abs jump and he moans. Is he angry, or, ah, does he like it?

“Touch my balls,” he instructs me, his voice hoarse.

I cup his balls and massage them gently. There’s something about them that turns me on. They’re large and round and sparsely coated with pubic hair, and I suppose they should gross me out. But they’re sexy as hell. Holding them, touching them like this heats my already aching core.

His breath comes ragged now, and his thighs are shaking. “Lick my cock, yeah, now my balls.”

It’s so much easier, him telling me what to do. I surrender myself to his commands.

“Tongue me right behind, oh yeah there. Oh yeah.” He throws his head forward and bares his teeth.

“Rim it. Rim it. Suck it. Take all of me. Do it now!”

I take him inside me, let him slide himself as far as he can go until my gag reflex kicks in. Rivers of spit seep out of my mouth onto my chin, and he shoves himself in again. My gag reflex kicks in every time.

“Jesus!” He grips my head and begins pumping. “Tilt your head back for me. Try to relax your throat.”

He’s fucking my mouth, and it’s so degrading but so exciting. I’m wet, soaking wet, and I’m not talking about my chin. All I want to do is please him. I try, I really do, but I just can’t take any more of him. I gag over and over, and it’s kind of discouraging. I moan against his dick.

He places his hand under my chin and catches my gaze. “Just suck it. Suck me hard.”

I do. His eyes roll as he arches himself, then clutches my head and pumps my mouth. Over and over he shoves his dick toward the back of my throat. I tilt my head for him, and he goes farther than he ever has.

Sweat drips off him, and his eyes glaze over. I’d say he looks murderous if I wasn’t swallowing his penis.

His cock is soaked with my spit, and my jaw feels like it’s been split in two. I come up for air.

“Use your hand, baby. Use your hand and just suck the tip.”

We lock eyes as I fist his cock. I bob my head up and down him, using my tongue like he taught me.

That pleases him until I suck the head of his cock hard. With a grunt he pumps into me, trying desperately to break through into my throat.

“I’m close!”

I graze his balls, roll them gently in my hand.

He sucks air through his teeth and grabs my head in a viselike grip and works his hips. Fast. I whimper and gag with each thrust, and this seems to inflame him. There are no more words, just a series of cries from low in his chest. His balls go hard, and I swear his dick grows. He utters a long, stuttering moan, and his eyes fall shut as he shoots his load into me, squirt after squirt. Still moaning, he rocks his hips against me until finally he’s motionless. He’s still inside me when I swallow his spunk. His eyes pop open, and he pulls his cock out of my mouth. I wipe my chin.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he says, stroking my hair.

I know what he’s talking about. Some of the girls, they just get out of the way when the guy shoots. Others spit it out like it’s something bad. I saw one girl swallow her man’s seed, and it seemed to make him happy. I want to make my Kent happy.

“I don’t mind,” I tell him. “I thought it might make you feel good.”

“You did.” He’s still panting as he runs his hand through his hair. “God, that was so damn… Thank you.”

I bite my lip, glad that I’ve pleased him. I almost feel like a real wife.

Almost.

He takes a deep breath and blows it out. “Let’s go to bed.”

I nod and get to my feet. When I scan the room, however, I don’t see any pj’s.

I frown. “There’s nothing for me to wear.”

“No,” he says firmly. “No more clothes.”

I retreat a step, my hand to my throat. “But…”

He arches a brow. “Don’t worry. You’re safe. I’ve got nothing left.”

Still I hesitate. I just gave him a freakin’ blow job. Isn’t that enough?

“Take your clothes off.” He lifts his chin, and he uses that crisp officer’s voice. The one that makes me obey.

I did what he told me to a minute ago, and things worked out all right. Slowly I remove my clothes, conscious that he’s watching me. I feel shy, and I turn my back to him. When I pull my panties down, he groans.

I whirl around, and he’s eyeing my pussy like it’s a steak and he hasn’t eaten in a week. I freeze.

He sighs. “I told you. I’ve got nothing left.”

I’m conscious of his gaze devouring my body as I approach the bed, and I climb under the covers as fast as I can.

He chuckles.

“What?”

“You have a beautiful body. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I’m not ashamed.” But I am ashamed. Very deeply ashamed.

My stomach clenches. I squeeze my eyes shut and count to five. Five men. Five dicks shoved in my pussy. I’m dirty. So completely filthy. Can’t he see that?

I grip the sheet at my chest and turn to my side.

I wake up halfway through the night and find his warm, naked body against mine. His hard-on presses into my back, but his gentle snores tell me he’s completely unaware. I wait for the familiar panic to hit me, and it doesn’t.

It should be there. I’m naked in bed with a man who has a hard-on, and his hand clasps my breast. Why do I sigh and burrow into him?

Bliss washes over me as I discover the answer.

I trust him.
 

“Here you go, Mrs. Barry.” The woman who tends to our suite hands me a package.

I still can’t get used to being called “Mrs.” anything. It’s so old-fashioned. It’s old, period.

“Thanks for doing that, Patricia.” She has shoulder-length strawberry-blonde hair, and there’s no gray in it, but her eyes crinkle when she smiles so she must be at least thirty. Her grammar is beautiful, and I detect a slight Boston accent. I asked her once what she did before Yellowstone, and she said she was a political advocate for the National Council on Aging. I guess that’s an outdated skill since she serves the Barry family now.

I woke up this morning spooned with Kent. I kept still, content to enjoy the feel of his body against mine. He awoke a short time later and ran a hand over my belly as he brushed my hair back, then kissed my neck. That was it. Nothing invasive, nothing scary. He got up after that and dressed. He picked out something he said he thought I’d look pretty in and laid it out for me. Then he kissed me on the forehead and left.

I’m still glowing. I want to show him how happy I am, how grateful that he’s working so patiently with me. A blow job would make any man happy, but he knows he can get that anytime he wants now. I want to do more than give sex. I want him to realize I notice things about him, that I pay attention to what he likes. It’s not much, but I know he loves sweet potatoes, so I order a lunch of turkey and sweet potatoes from the kitchen. His office is in the rear section of this ridiculously large house, and I set off with a spring in my steps.

“He’s not here, ma’am.” The nameplate on his uniform identifies Kent’s clerk as Sgt. Aguilar. He runs his hand through hair so short it could be Velcro and flicks a glance at the huge stack of papers on his desk. Just in front of him sits one of those old-fashioned manual typewriters. Oh man. If you make a typo on one of those, you’d have to redo the whole page.

“Do you know where he is?”

“I think he’s back by the deer park. I heard him say he had to take care of some business down there.”