The Other Brother (Snow and Ash Book 3) (10 page)

Everything explodes. Pleasure feeds from my twisted nipples down to my cunt, back up into my womb, and I contract over and over as I sigh and writhe beneath him.

When at last the final convulsion fades, I throw my hands over my face and then slide them back into my hair. I’ve never felt anything like this. Anything. Kent gets to his knees and grasps his dick in one hand. With the other he cups his balls. He begins to stroke himself, and I’m riveted. His stomach contracts, rippling those hard muscles of his, and I want to touch him. I almost want to wrap my lips around him, to taste and suck him until he’s empty, completely empty. It’s magical, the way he kneels between my legs and gives himself pleasure. It’s the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen, and all I want to do is lie there, just as I am, legs open and wide to him, cunt offered and ready.

He begins to groan as he pumps his fist, and I tense in some ancient, animalistic instinct I don’t even understand. Then he stiffens, works himself furiously, and squeezes his balls. His face screws up, and he lets out a shout. Milky-white seed shoots from his cock, and I arch as though my body knows what to do. He sprays stream after stream onto my pussy. A droplet hits my inner thigh, and a thin rope shoots into my pubic hair. It’s his and I want it.

His shoulders collapse, and he bends his neck, still breathing hard. Still panting, he turns his attention to me. There’s something violent and primitive in his gaze. “Rub it in,” he growls. “Use your fingers. Do it.”

I suck in a breath.

“Am I repugnant to you?” he demands.

I shake my head.

“Is my cum something dirty?” he says, enunciating each word.

Not in the way he means. I shake my head. “No!”

“Show me.”

I can’t resist him when he uses that military voice of his. I reach down and slide my fingers into my crease. I rub his cum all over my outside, arching my hips as I do. I scoop a thick drop and push it into my cunt. Kent runs his hands over my thighs, directing me, telling me what to do. It’s so much easier when he tells me what he wants. I don’t have to guess. I don’t have to decide, then find out it was a stupid choice.

When I’m done, he removes the pillow from under my hips and rolls me onto my side. After wrapping his body around me, he presses his lips against my ear. “Mine.”

I shiver, both with pleasure and fear, as he relaxes against me. I’m conscious of his cum slowly drying between my thighs. I should feel dirty, but I don’t. I feel owned. I snuggle into his body and settle into sleep.

“Col. Barry, I understand congratulations are in order.” The man seated to Kent’s right raises his glass. I’ve never seen him before. He’s a visitor from Bluefield, General Balenchuk’s seat.

After a moment’s hesitation, Kent raises his glass in return. “Thank you, Col. Ernshaw.”

“From Knoxville, right? Mason’s daughter.”

Kent nods. “This is my wife. Bianca.”

I take a breath to speak, but Kent kicks me under the table and I close my mouth. Not allowed to talk? The hell? I smile politely at the colonel, then raise my brows at Kent. He doesn’t return my look.

“Any news on your brother?” asks Ernshaw.

Kent’s face is expressionless as he takes a drink. “Nothing new.”

The colonel shakes his head. “Bad business. Any idea who’s responsible?”

Kent swishes his drink around his mouth before swallowing. “Nothing but theories at this point. Be assured that whoever is responsible will pay.”

He smiles. There’s a threat behind that smile. I’m not even the target, but I shiver.

There’s a reason tensions are tight with Balenchuk. The tensions intensified last year when the Barrys kidnapped the general’s daughter. I overheard my dad talking about it to my mom. The Barrys intended to use the daughter as bait to lure Balenchuk into a strategic place to battle. Rumor has it that when the general didn’t show, Lawrence made plans to send him her severed head. His plan backfired when Balenchuk firebombed the trailer where his daughter was being held. That’s cold. My father is not above a little brutality, but even he wouldn’t kill his own child.

They continue their conversation as I stir the salad around on my plate. I glance about the table; I’m by far the youngest person here. I’m horribly ignorant about politics and military strategy, and I feel like a nine-year-old who accidentally got seated at the grown-up table.

A servant passes by with the second course, and Kent scoops a generous portion of fettuccine noodles onto my plate.

What’s he want me to do, have a heart attack?

Kent’s lips twitch. “Eat it. I like you this way. Soft and beautiful.”

I shake my head at the heaping stack of buttered carbs. “I’ll have to run ten miles to work this off.”

He frowns. “From now on I want you to limit your daily workout to a half hour of cardio. You can keep your yoga too.”

No! He can’t do that!

“When you got here, you were pure muscle. I know what you were trying to do, but you don’t need to protect yourself anymore. That’s my job.”

I swallow. “I don’t…I don’t want to—”

“Lose control?” he finishes for me. “You already have. You’re mine now. My responsibility and mine to protect. Haven’t I already proven that?”

I duck my head. He has, but for years my only comfort has been in working hard to make myself fit and strong. I figured no one could hurt me if I trained enough. No one would want the girl with muscle in place of breasts.

He presses his lips to my ear. “Don’t push me, Bianca. You will obey me on this.”

My breath quickens. Obey. It’s just a word, but it has a powerful effect on me. Uncomfortably aware of the growing dampness between my legs, I shift in my seat.

Ernshaw is speaking with a pretty woman seated to his right. I don’t know her name, and I don’t know if I’ve ever seen her before, but the Bluefield colonel seems to like her. Maybe he brought her with him.

“I don’t understand,” I whisper to Kent. “Why is he here if you guys hate each other?”

Kent cocks his head, his eyes focused on the colonel. “He’s trying.”

“Why would he even try? You guys kidnapped—”

“We sent Balenchuk a truckload of corn diesel and a dozen subs as a peace offering this spring.”

Subs? “What is a sub?”

Kent clears his throat. “Women broken in so they’ll accept a master. Their sole focus is on pleasing a man. They’ll do whatever their master demands of them, even if it means pain.”

My heart skips a beat, and I put down my fork. “You mean BDSM?”

“What do you know of that?” For a moment his eyes flair, and I swear I read lust.

I slide my gaze away and frown. “Not much.”

He rubs his hand over my back. “It scares you.”

“Men beating women? It’s sick.”

His hand falters. “Everyone’s different, Bianca. Some people need it.”

“I can’t imagine needing to hurt someone.”

“Or someone needing pain?” he counters.

When he withdraws his hand, I feel the distance between us grow.

“So, Bianca,” begins Col. Ernshaw.

“Mrs. Barry.” Kent’s tone is polite, but his eyes glitter.

The colonel flushes only slightly. “Your father’s been in touch with our general on numerous occasions. I understand your sister, Letitia, may be paying us a visit.”

Uh-oh. “Is that so?”

“Politics, always politics. Don’t you men ever talk about anything interesting?” The woman next to Ernshaw gives Kent a teasing pout.

Nico leans in. “Your father is trying to sell his other daughter, just like he sold you.”

“He didn’t sell me,” I hiss.

He flicks Kent a glance. “I don’t know what else you call it. He brought an end to the harassment by selling his daughter’s cunt to a monster.”

I gasp. I dart a look at Kent, but he’s busy with Ernshaw and his companion. From this angle only his scars are visible.

“I’m not talking about the burns. My brother’s reputation for sadism is quite well-known.”

“You’re out of line, Nico. It’s not true.”

“Who do you think trained the subs?” Oh-so-casually, he runs his fingers along the purple stains on my wrist. Five dots, one for each finger.

My face burns, and I can’t look at him. I flick my gaze about the table and discover Kent’s eyes are focused on Nico’s hand. I pull away from Nico and pick up my napkin, as casually as I’m able.

It’s only when the last dish is mercifully collected that my stomach unfurls it’s stone-like clench.

Kent places a hand in the small of my back. He ducks his head, and his lips brush my ear. “I’ll be up in a couple of hours. You’ll be waiting?”

I picture his cum shooting from his cock onto my pussy, and a different sort of tension awakens. “Yes,” I whisper.

He runs his palm down my spine, pressing the silken material in a sinful caress against my flesh. The corner of his mouth lifts, and he rejoins his guests.

Nico lingers, but only for a moment. With Kent’s back turned, he grabs my wrist, the one with the bruises.

I stifle a cry.

“I’m warning you, Bianca. He may be nice now, but watch out. He’ll expect more and more until one day you’ll find yourself tied up, bent over, and caned.”

~ ~ ~

Kent catches me on the way out of the dining room. He gives me a curious smile and traces his fingers along my jaw. My whole body tingles in response.

“What did you and Nico talk about?”

The tingling turns to a prickling stab of sweat. No way in hell am I telling him that. I shrug. “Nothing. Just chitchat.”

He drops his hand and eyes me sideways. “Chitchat?”

I nod. I meet his eyes, but I feel like mine are going to dry up and fall out of their sockets.

Kent’s chest heaves and his hands form fists, but it’s the thundercloud that descends on his brow that bleaches the color from my face. “Are you lying to me, Bianca?”

I’m caught up in his hypnotic stare. His anger makes me feel helpless. Making him happy fills me with pleasure, but I can’t talk to him about sadomasochism. It’s embarrassing, to start with, but it’s lies too. Nico is a real pain in the neck, but I don’t want Kent to know his brother is talking smack about him. I don’t want Kent to think I believe Nico, yet there’s a little piece of me that wonders if it’s true. “He was talking about stupid stuff. Nothing real.”

“Like what?” he demands, taking a step closer.

“Kent…” It’s a whine. I admit it.

The air rushes from my lungs as he seizes me by the arm. “What are you doing?”

“Punishing you,” he mutters under his breath.

Okay, so my tits get hard and my underwear scrapes against my swollen cunt. What does that say about me? “For what?” I demand.

He marches me through the lower level and up the stairs.

He stops on the landing and yanks me around to face him. “You will not hold back secrets,” he says through gritted teeth. “You will not play head games, and you will not disobey me.”

He blinks, and if I didn’t know him better, I’d swear I see pain in his eyes, in the crinkles of his forehead. It’s gone so quickly I wonder if I imagined it.

“You’re out of your mind, Kent. You really are.”

He grips my upper arm and pulls me onward. When we get to our room, he closes the door behind him with a soft click.

I’m breathing hard.

“What about your guests?” The way he’s looking at me, my mouth goes dry.

“Strip.”

“What?”

“Take your clothes off,” he says in a tight, clipped voice. He’s every inch the commanding officer, and my pubic lips seal shut.

“Why?” Probably a foolish question.

He narrows his eyes and steps forward. “Do you need help?”

My breath stutters. My instincts tell me that I’ll regret it if he helps. I shake my head, hating him.

I kick off my shoes and shoot them across the floor. I’m wearing a dress, so I reach under and tug off my panties next. No way am I giving him a show. I struggle with the zipper, but when he moves as though to help, I glare at him. “Don’t you touch me!”

His face falls ever so slightly and I regret my harsh tone, but not enough to say I’m sorry. It’s a struggle, but I get the dress over my head and fling it to the floor, and without preamble, I reach behind and unhitch my bra. I hurl it at his feet.

“There. Happy now?”

He indicates the bed with a toss of his chin. “Over there at the foot. Leave that,” he barks when I stoop to pick up my clothes.

Slowly, I straighten. I was angry before, but now I’m aware of my nakedness, of the bush between my legs and the blossoming breasts that sway with my movements.

“Bianca!”

I tense, and with a blink I approach the foot of the bed. I eye him warily. No way is he going to leave his guests for long. They’re too important. He can’t risk insulting them. Can he?

Kent looks me up and down, and my fingers curl into fists. There’s something so vulnerable about standing naked before someone in formal attire. He looks away, then back. “Kneel.”

I sink to my knees and stare at him like the crazy fuck he is.

“Knees apart. Yes, like that.”

I give him another dirty look.

He approaches and crouches down an arm’s swing away. His gaze takes mine, and I find myself riveted. I get the idea that he’s not about to stick his dick in me. This is something different, and a chill creeps up my spine.

His gaze caresses my breasts, and the traitorous tips pucker in response. I hang my head.

“I want you to relax back so you’re perched on your legs. That’s right. Now point your toes.”

Knees spread as they are, he has a direct view of my beaver.

He reaches out and cups a breast as though feeling its weight. I flinch. It’s not sexual, not really, and I feel like a cow being judged for its udders. Since I got here, my hard little B’s have softened and filled out to pillowy C’s. He pulls back. “Hands on your thighs, Bianca, palms up. Good,” he says when I comply. “Now, bow your head.”

“What the hell, Kent?” I demand.

“Head down. You will not keep secrets from me. Do you understand? I want you to hold that position until I get back.”

“I’m not going to sit here like this,” I hiss.

He grits his teeth and sucks in a deep breath. He glares at me, the scarred side almost terrifying in its ferocity. He palms my chin, tipping my face up so we’re looking directly at each other. “I warned you before. No lies. No secrets. You don’t trust me? Fine. You will accept your punishment.”