Page 106 of Brutal Vows

He’s right about one thing at least. I do feel safe in his arms. Safe, warm, and like an absolute, undignified moron.

What kind of woman cries during sex?

I’ll tell you what kind: a weak one.

In all the years Enzo abused me, I never allowed myself to cry until afterward, when he’d left me alone and bleeding.

“Lass.”

“Yes, Quinn?”

“We’re gonna need to do more talking.”

Exasperated, I say, “Rightnow?”

He pauses. “No. After I feed you and give you a bath.”

“I don’t need food or a bath.”

He lifts my chin and forces me to look up at him. In a gentle but firm voice, he says, “No, you need a lot more than that, butfor the moment, you’re going to let your husband take care of your basic needs, and you’ll do me a big bloody favor if you’ll keep that forked tongue in your mouth until I’m finished. Understood?”

“Why are you being so damn bossy?”

He growls, “You’re wearing my ring. Your well-being is my responsibility. It’s my job to take care of you now. I’m going to do it whether you like it or not. Got it?”

My lower lip quivers until I bite down on it. I don’t trust myself to speak, so I simply nod.

He takes my face in his hands, kisses both of my wet cheeks one after the other, then says gruffly, “Good. Now get your sweet arse under the covers and lie here quietly like a good girl until I come back.”

Without waiting for me to reply, he peels the covers back, rolls us over so I’m lying down, stands, then pulls the blankets up under my chin. He fluffs the pillow under my head, kisses me on the forehead, and strolls away, whistling.

I close my eyes and pray for a sudden brain embolism.

Death is preferable to having to live with this new, weepy version of me.

Quinn picks up the phone and orders room service. I don’t listen to the words, only to the low, soothing cadence of his voice. After he’s done with the call, he switches on music, using a remote he found on the console under the television. That’s soothing, too. Some kind of Spanish guitar. Then he disappears into the bathroom. I hear water running.

It could also be the sound of my sanity pouring out my ears.

In a few moments, he’s back, naked, bending over me. “Food’ll be here in thirty,” he murmurs, pulling the blankets down. “Which is plenty of time for a bath.”

He picks me up and heads to the bathroom, carrying me in his arms.

I rest my head on his shoulder and say to his chin, “I’m trying not to be impressed by how easily you can carry a grown woman, but I have to admit, this is something else.”

He scoffs. “You barely weigh an ounce.”

“I weigh a few thousand ounces, as a matter of fact. Wait, were we talking about your brain?”

Grinning, he shoots me a sideways glance. “Ah, the swamp witch awakens. Well, it was nice while it lasted. Hullo, She-Devil.”

“Hello, Spider-Man. You’re much taller in real life than you look in the comics.”

“There’s a compliment in there somewhere, I’m sure.”

“You only think that because you’re obsessed with yourself.”

Chuckling, he sets me on my feet next to the bathtub. Pulling me against his body, he gives me a firm, closed-mouth kiss. Then he points at the water. “Get in.”