The Other Brother (Snow and Ash Book 3) Read online

  It’s the first time I’ve felt passion. It’s my first orgasm, but I’m all alone when it happens.

  ~ ~ ~

  Dinner tonight is braised rabbit risotto with butternut squash. Lots of squash, less rabbit. I still feel bad eating fuzzy little bunnies, but it’s a necessity. Squash is a starch though. The Barrys like their starches, and if I want to eat, I have to put up with it.

  And it’s delicious.

  “I’m sorry this is so late,” he tells me as he takes his seat. He’s changed from his uniform into a pair of chinos and a button-down shirt. I thought I liked him in uniform, but Casual Kent is hot. “Lawrence and I were meeting with the mayor of Jackson City. He’s here renegotiating the personnel arrangements.”

  By personnel arrangements I know he means how many troops we’ll offer for the city’s defense.

  “That’s fine,” I tell him. “Don’t worry about it.”

  It’s late enough that I figure we won’t be watching any live porn. I settle back into my chair as the guilt of spying on those lovers eases. Really it’s sick. And yet a little piece of me twinges. What those couples have is so intimate. Like Kent says, it’s hot.

  “What did you do today?” he asks, then takes a forkful of risotto.

  I think about what I did this morning, and my face heats. “I was able to schedule an hour with the fight instructor today. That was nice. I visited the senior center too. There’s a lady there. She’s blind, and she used to love audio books. I go there every day and read her a chapter.”

  He cocks his head. “What are you reading her?”

  “Right now it’s a romance novel.”

  “A romance?” He smirks.

  Typical. “Yeah. Stories about people who like each other but who have to overcome their differences and uncover their true needs so they can find happiness together. Sorry it’s not a tale about a serial murderer storing children’s heads in his freezer, but I guess guys find love kind of scary.”

  He sets his fork down. “Are you giving me attitude?”

  “A little.” I take a forkful of risotto.

  “You think I’m the one who finds love scary?”

  I pause midchew, but he doesn’t press the issue.

  “So,” he says after a few beats. “How was your bath this morning?”

  I choke on my sip of water. “My bath?”

  “Yes,” he says, not looking at me. “You like baths better than showers, I think you said once.”

  I nod like an idiot. “Uh-huh.”

  He moves on to another topic, something safe, and we finish the meal in peace. I’m so relieved that I don’t bat an eye when the cheesecake lands in front of me.

  “I don’t feel like going anywhere,” he says after the dishes are removed. “Do you mind if we just stay in and relax?”

  That ache between my shoulders eases. “I’m all for it.”

  He smiles to himself. At what? The light from the candles plays over his face, alternately hiding and emphasizing his scars.

  After dinner we climb the stairs to our suite and I ponder whether I should read a book or write a letter to my sister. The first thing I notice when I get to our room is that it’s warm. Quite warm. And there are no pj’s on the bed.

  Kent closes the door behind him and leans back against it.

  “Bianca.” His tone is soft but full of authority.

  I look at him warily.

  “Come here,” he says. He’s using his officer’s face, that commanding tone, and I move toward him as though he’s pulling me with a rope of silk.

  He smooths my hair with the back of his hand. “Turn around.”

  I lick my lips. “Why?”

  He cocks his head and frowns, so I turn. He removes the elastic that anchors my hair and begins to unravel my braid.

  My heart flutters. “Don’t.”

  When I step away, his hands encircle my waist. He draws me back to him and presses his lips to my ear. “Let me.”

  My breath halts. My world shrinks until it’s just his hands on my body and the warm breath that caresses my ear. I wear the braid as a shield. It’s an iron bar that hangs down my back like a medieval sword. It tells people I’m dangerous and that I won’t be messed with. It’s a bluff, of course, but so far no one’s seen through it. Kent slides his hands up my arms and rests them on my shoulders and waits.

  For permission.

  It’s just hair, I tell myself. Just hair. I jerk my chin in consent. His fingers resume their work, and my scalp tingles with each pull. My sister and I used to brush each other’s hair for hours. That stopped four years ago, and I’ve forgotten how good it feels. I close my eyes and enjoy the tingles and tugs. When he’s done, I’m kind of sorry.

  “It’s so soft,” he says, running his fingers through my tresses, scalp to ends. He leans in and inhales my scent as he continues stroking me. I mean, my hair. He wraps a length in his fists and gives a firm tug, pulling me back against his chest.

  I gasp at the thrill of it. I am wholly unprepared for the rush of heat to my belly, but before my mind can reject the feelings, he lets me go and moves away.

  “So this morning,” he says, shuffling through some books on his nightstand. “Did you like it?”

  My mouth goes dry. “Like what?”

  He looks up and locks his eyes on mine. “I know you were there, Bianca.”

  I suck in a breath and freeze. Hell can claim me now if it wants. Anything not to have to have this conversation.

  He drops the books back onto the table and moves closer. “You watched me. I saw you. I felt you.”

  I shake as I clap a hand over my mouth. “I’m so sorry. I was taking my bath and I heard something and I…I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to.” I close my eyes. I thought hell was telling him I didn’t want sex. He just caught me watching him masturbate. “There’s no excuse. I’m so sorry.”

  When I open my eyes, he’s not three steps from me. The way he looks at me, touches me with his gaze, screams predator. He inhales through his nose. “Did you enjoy it?”

  Shit! “What?”

  “Did I disgust you, seeing me like that?” He turns his face away. The side with the scars.

  How could he think that? “No! Of course not!”

  He moistens his lips and pierces me with his gaze. “I was hoping you’d watch.”

  My heart is a hummingbird, and my mouth is so dry a gallon of water wouldn’t help me. He did it for me. I wonder what he’d say if I told him I did, too. Without meaning to, I take a step closer.

  “Do you think you could do that again?” he asks. “Watch me?”

  A thrill shoots through my gut. I part my lips. “I…”

  “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.