Big Sky Wedding - Brotherhood Protectors World Page 7

  When she bent nearer and reached for his belt, he kept his expression neutral although he fought a smile, spread his legs, and raised his hips so he could lean back a bit to help her out. Her fingers fumbled with the clip-on, but eventually she freed it—after tugging enough to get something a little farther south excited over her small jerking motions.

  She didn’t say a word as her gaze lowered to the bulge in his pants, but her breath caught.

  Quincy wished he had a glib tongue, but he never said the right things to women. He didn’t have a clue what he ought to say to ease this awkward moment, but he tried anyway. “It’s your mouth,” he muttered. “And…your hair. And…you know, you have really pretty eyes.” He nearly groaned at how ridiculous he sounded, but he had a great excuse. All the blood had rushed south to fill his cock, leaving his brain defenseless.

  “You think I’m pretty?” she asked, and her face crumpled again.

  “Look, don’t cry. It’s going to be okay. You can even keep me tied up. I’m no threat. And yeah, you’re…pretty.” Although pretty didn’t begin to cover it. Everything about her blew him away. She looked like an extra-curvy Barbie doll with lush tits, a nice inward curve at her waist, and an ass that would more than fill his big palms. He winced because now his cock pushed harder against stiff denim.

  “Did I tie the rope too tight?”

  “No,” he said, grimacing. “But I can’t, um, adjust myself.”

  “Adjust…?” She glanced down at the front of his pants. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be. It’s just been a while. And being like this, with you…well…”

  “I see.” She chewed her lower lip. “I can’t untie you. I don’t really know you…”

  He closed his eyes. “Maybe if I don’t look at you…things…will ease.”

  She made a little noise, and he peeked up at her. After setting down the hairspray can and lighter, she moved in front of him, and her hands reached out…

  His breath hitched as she reached for his belt and unbuckled it. He sucked in a deeper breath when she unbuttoned his jeans. The easing of the constriction made him groan. He slowly opened his eyes. “Thanks.”

  “That help?”

  “A little.” Would she be moved to do more if she thought he was still in pain? At that moment, he hoped like hell Reaper and Hook took their sweet time getting there.

  Again, her teeth worried her bottom lip.

  “What’s your name?” he asked, his voice going deeper.

  “Tamara. Tamara Adams.”

  “I’m Quincy James. You can check that out. Wallet’s in my right front pocket.” For once, his non-glib tongue worked.

  Pink rose in her cheeks, but she nodded and moved to his side before sliding her slim hand inside his pocket. Her fingers spread wide, wider than necessary. Fingers pushed against the side of his dick.

  His chest rose. “Easy now,” he whispered.

  “Got it,” she said, and slid his wallet free.

  “No, you didn’t,” he muttered.

  In the mirror, he saw the way her lips curved at the corners as she flipped open the wallet. “Quincy James. And you live in Bear Lodge. You’re a couple of months younger than I am.” Her gaze went to his profile. “Picture doesn’t do you justice.”

  His mouth twitched, but he held back a smile.

  She freed his driver’s license and moved in front of him again. Then she held it up. “Hmmm. Hazel eyes.” She leaned toward him. “They look pretty green to me. Brown hair…” Her gaze went from his hair, which was in need of a trim, to his beard. She thrust her fingers into his beard and cupped his jaw. “Not hiding a weak chin…”

  He narrowed his eyes, which elicited a grin from her. When her mouth stretched, he drew a shaky breath. “Damn, I thought you were pretty before.”

  The blonde in front of him tilted her head. “Are you flirting with me?”

  “Don’t know how.” Which had been the truth until she’d tied him to the chair.

  Her gaze flickered downward.

  His followed. “I’m feeling a little desperate now.” The truth. “I’m a little twisted in there.” A lie. “If I get any harder, blood flow might be restricted.” A definite possibility if she kept chewing on her lip the way she was now.

  “Well, I don’t want to maim you for life,” she muttered, sounding a little breathless.

  His heartbeat kicked up a notch. Was she considering doing something about his predicament? Sweet Jesus, he hoped so.

  “You married?” she said, aiming a sharp glance at his face.

  “Nope. Never.”

  “Because you don’t like commitment?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.

  “No. Because I’m not good at chatting up women. You all make me nervous.”

  “Seriously?” She huffed a breath. “You’re not a bad-looking man.”

  He arched an eyebrow.

  She rolled her eyes. “Okay, so you’re…attractive—if a girl was into a rugged kind of guy.”

  “You know anyone like that? Maybe you can give me her number,” he growled.

  “No girlfriend?”

  He met her gaze and held still. “I don’t have anyone—not a wife, not a girlfriend, not a friendly hookup. And I haven’t fucked anyone in months.”

  Her blush deepened. “Really? Me, too!” And then she seemed to catch herself and whirled away.

  “Now, I have a hard time believing that,” he said softly. “Girl as pretty as you are, with a body any man would be grateful to pin to a bed…” So, maybe he’d taken that a little too far.

  Only, she was peeking at him over her shoulder, and she didn’t look mad or disgusted. No, her gaze was steady as it swept his face then moved down to his crotch again.

  Quincy began to think that, just maybe, he’d managed to say the right thing for once. “It’s okay if you want to slap my face.”

  When she turned and walked back to him, her hips swayed like a pendulum, entrancing him. “Something needs slapped,” she said, her voice huskier than before.

  “I’m at your mercy, ma’am.”

  She raised a finger and touched his nose then traced a path downward to his lips. “Mercy…mercy…me,” she whispered, leaning closer so that her sweet breath gusted against his face. “I should free him, so he isn’t damaged. That would be a cryin’ shame.”

  Quincy didn’t mind that she was more worried about his cock than him. He’d never seen or heard anything sexier in all his days as her pouty mouth talking about his dick that way. “I’m not cryin’, but I might howl,” he whispered back.

  A grin spread across her mouth.

  “That a little cheesy?” he asked, wrinkling his nose but not worried because she was moving her hands over his shirt, slowly shaping his shoulders, then moving them lower.

  “Have to make sure you’re not packing anything under your clothes…”

  He held back a quip, not wanting to halt her pat down. The way she smoothed her palms over his ribs and belly made his muscles jump.

  When she reached his hips, he blurted, “Do you need me to rise up?”

  “Would kind of defeat the purpose if you didn’t,” she drawled.

  His gaze locked with hers. She didn’t break eye contact to glance down as he lifted and she gripped his waistband. With a couple of hard shoves, she pushed his pants, along with his briefs, to the tops of his thighs.

  His cock thrust up from his groin, jerking with his heartbeats.

  “That better?” she asked then licked her lips.

  He gave a muffled moan. “Better? Jesus, girl.”

  She laughed, and the sound did things to his skin—causing goosebumps to rise because he liked it so much.

  “Oh my,” she said, her gaze locked on his dick. “Don’t think I’ve seen one so…”

  “Big?”

  She blinked and raised her face. Her blush intensified. “Yeah. And the shape…”

  He frowned.

  Again, she blinked. “What I mean… It’s not bad…”
She drew a deep breath and reached out a fingertip to trace the cap. “The top…it’s shaped like a doorknob. Kind of.”

  He pressed his lips together to hold back a bark of laughter. Or maybe a groan, because she had just touched his dick. “Does it worry you?”

  “Why should I be worried?” she asked, lifting her chin. “All I did was free it…from constriction.”

  “Uh huh.”

  She cleared her throat, and her glance slid away. “A girl might be a little…concerned.”

  “It’ll fit, Tamara,” he said softly, holding his breath, because he didn’t want her to skitter away and leave him like this.

  The fit wasn’t her worry. Being stretched so deliciously that any other man would fall short—or rather, thin—in comparison, was a very real concern. She could already imagine how he’d feel inside her. The stretch, the burn. The bliss.

  All the while she’d teased him, watching him get harder and harder, smiling inwardly over his clumsy responses, she’d grown aroused, too.

  She, Tamara Adams, had a man tied to her chair with his dick standing between his legs. She couldn’t remember the name of the man she’d thought she’d try to seduce that night. His face was forgotten. Quincy James threw shade all over him.

  And Quincy appeared willing to let her do anything she wanted. He thought she was pretty. He’d stuttered over his description of what he found attractive about her, and every time he’d named a feature, his gaze had lingered. He wasn’t lying. His dick confirmed the truth. He wanted her.

  So…why not?

  Would she ever have another chance to do something this decadent? And it wasn’t like he lived in Amity. She didn’t have to worry about running into him when she was at the grocery store and dying of embarrassment. No, she could do this, and after they were rescued, she could kiss him goodbye. Because she knew she couldn’t hold the interest of someone like him. She was hairdresser who worked out of her dad’s old bunker. He was a man with a dangerous profession, who likely traveled a lot and did exciting things all the time. What would he want with her?

  Though a disappointing thought, it also emboldened her. She glanced at the chair. It might be a problem. The arms would only give her a very narrow space to straddle him. Her gaze went to the old sofa with its duct-taped seams. Her father had placed it in the bunker twenty years ago. And then he’d used the bunker as his mancave to escape and dream about foreign invaders.

  Not for the first time, she knew he was probably rolling in his grave because of what she’d done with his special place.

  Well, she was about to commit an even bigger sin.

  She turned her head to look at Quincy. His expression was hard to read, but his eyes were wide open windows. There was lust in their moss-colored depths.

  “The couch, I think,” she said.

  He didn’t have any trouble interpreting her meaning. “Might be easier for me to get there if you untied me.”

  She frowned.

  He arched a devilish eyebrow. “You’ll want my hands free. I’m not just looking for a way to get free, girl.”

  She didn’t know why she liked him calling her that, but she did. Maybe it was the gruffness in his voice. It made her think of other things that might be a little rough about him. She swallowed the saliva pooling in her mouth then moved behind him and quickly untied the knots. The clothesline slithered to the floor, and he shot up from his seat.

  But not to run away. Not to grab her. He held his pants while he toed off his hiking boots then shoved down his jeans.

  Her head got a little dizzy looking at his hairy, muscled thighs and the full-sleeve tattoo that covered his right arm. Then he drew the tee over his head and tossed it away. When he faced her, he was completely nude, and he held still while her gaze roamed over his body.

  “My wallet,” he said. “Unless you have a rubber.”

  She moved to her table and picked up his wallet, feeling inside one of the slots for a condom wrapper. Once she handed it to him, she stood still.

  “Your turn,” he said, his gaze on her body and jerking his chin to tell her to hurry up.

  She pulled off her smock then lifted her tank over her head. She wore a sports bra, not very sexy, but you wouldn’t know it from the way his nostrils flared as she scraped it upward, exposing her breasts. Before it cleared her head, his hands were on them, plumping them up and squeezing them. How had he moved so quickly?

  “The rest,” he said, his glance dropping to her jeans.

  She slipped out of her shoes then worked the button free at her waist and unzipped, jerking it open. Maybe he was impatient, because he bent and shoved her jeans down her legs then waited as she stood on the ends, one at a time to free her feet.

  Then he leaned toward her, kissed her belly, and dove between her legs. His thumbs parted her folds, and he stroked his tongue between them, pressing into her, and sliding upward to flick against her clit, sending a jolt of electricity throughout her body.

  And he hadn’t even kissed her yet. She cleared her throat and waited for him to look up at her.

  “Right,” he said, and stood. The tension in his face honed his cheekbones to sharp blades.

  Tamara couldn’t quite catch her breath. Staring at all that well-developed muscle and feral intent made her dizzy with need.

  He reached out and caught her hand. Then he turned and tugged her after him as he strode toward the couch. Once there, his expression changed, his eyebrows drawing together as though he was unsure what to do next.

  But she knew. She reached for his face then stood on her tiptoes and leaned her breasts against his chest as she kissed him.

  His mouth opened, and his tongue thrust between her lips, not a tentative move at all. He dove in, cupping her head to hold her still as he took her mouth.

  When he pulled away, his eyelids were half-closed, his nostrils flared. His green eyes were nearly all black with desire. He gripped her waist and turned her, gentle pressure guiding her down to the brown leather couch where she sat while he knelt on the blue handmade rag rug in front of the couch. Sensory details to savor for later.

  Then he leaned over her and kissed her mouth again, hard and quick. His hands cupped her shoulders then smoothed over her breasts.

  She drew a deep breath and arched, pushing her tits into his palms. He took the hint and lowered his mouth to one beaded crest and sucked on it, drawing gently, and then with more fervor, until she dug her fingernails into his hair to hold him there. He let go of the tip with a loud pop then moved across to the other breast, this time circling his head as he teased her nipple, flicking the tip, then chewing on it, until she parted her legs and raised them to his hips.

  But he moved downward, kissing her belly, rimming her bellybutton, before finally arriving at her mound. He anchored her thighs on his shoulders and bent over her sex.

  Tamara closed her eyes at the first sweep of his tongue. She felt the release of moisture, heard his groan, and couldn’t help but move her hips, grinding against his mouth as he thrust inside her. His thumbs held apart her folds as he lavished her with long slides and pointed thrusts. When he flicked the tip of his tongue against her clit, she cried out and pulled his hair, wanting him to come over her. She needed something more substantial filling up her empty space.

  When he drew back, she watched as he cloaked himself and gave his cock a single up and down glide. His gaze locked with hers, and he pulled her down over his lap, so that she straddled his thighs. When she settled with her knees on either side of him, he urged her up and placed his big “knob” at her entrance. Then holding apart her folds, he said, “Now, work your way down, babe.”

  With a strained laugh, she clutched his shoulders and circled her hips as she drove downward. The pressure had her groaning as she sank, at last taking his head inside her, and taking him deeper as she rose and fell, again and again, her excitement already spiraling. She felt hot all over—her skin flushing with heat, sweat beading on her upper lip, her tender inner tissues ti
ngling with a delightful friction.

  When at last their groins met, she rested, leaning her cheek on his shoulder as he petted her hair and smoothed a hand down her back.

  “You okay?” he asked, his voice graveled.

  “Amazing…” she breathed.

  “Think you’re ready to move?”

  There was a hint of amusement in his voice; she leaned back to give him a smile. “I’m savoring the feel of you.”

  “I’m okay with that,” he said with a wicked smile of his own.

  “I’m afraid you’re going to have to do all the work,” she said, her chest rising and falling faster, because she felt the tightening in her core, the beginning of the end.

  “I’m up for it,” he murmured.

  “Yes, you are,” she said, tracing a finger along his cheek and gathering sweat.

  “Baby, hold on.”

  That was all the warning he gave her as he rose and turned, pushing her onto the couch, his cock still deeply embedded. When she tightened her legs around his waist, he braced himself on his arms above her. “It’s going to get rough.”

  Then he began to move, pulling out, pushing forward, his movements slow and steady at first, and then gradually quickening.

  She thought she was ready, but he took her breath away. Each hard stroke caused her to gasp. Her head turned side to side, and she began to chant, “Yes, yes, yes—oh fuck me, yes!”

  She exploded, her arms falling to her sides, her back arching from the couch as wave after wave of pleasure swept outward from her pussy.

  Vaguely, she heard his shout, felt him move more quickly, then hold still inside her as he filled the condom that protected them both.

  When she opened her eyes, she realized her legs were splayed wide and dangling—off the side of the couch and over the back. And he was grinning down at her.

  She frowned, embarrassed by the way she’d lost control. Her jaw had probably been sagging the entire time. Had he counted her fillings?

  Quincy swooped down and gave her another kiss. This one sweet. No tongue. “Too rough?”