Page 15 of Confession (Constantine Brothers #2)

THIRTEEN

Vitali

“Ah, shit,” I mutter as I drive into the underground garage and see Quinn in his jeans and t-shirt, arms crossed and looking pissed as hell, waiting beside the Jeep’s parking spot.

In the passenger seat, Roman huffs. I glance at him, but he pretends I don’t exist. He’s been doing that ever since he stalked off outside the barn. He didn’t look at me once through the hours of cleanup or while dealing with shit at the transfer station. It’s been a long fucking day.

I pull into the parking spot. “Let Lucas clean up your hands.”

Roman’s bruised and abraded fingers twitch in his lap.

After stalking off, he came back from the woods like that.

I hope he didn’t break anything. I got my bullet graze stitched by Isaac, my off-the-books doctor, but Roman wouldn’t let Isaac look at his hands.

It’s hard for him to be touched by anyone but Lucas.

Roman takes a deep breath but still doesn’t look at me. He opens his door and gets out. As I get out too, inches from Quinn because he’s fucking hovering, Roman nods slightly to Quinn. Quinn’s eyes flick to Roman, taking in the nod, but he doesn’t react. He’s too pissed.

I close the Jeep’s door and pocket my keys.

I set my chest harness and guns on the hood, then Quinn and I stand there listening to Roman’s boots tromping toward the exit.

Quinn watches my brother go then turns his furious gaze on me.

I don’t know if I’ve ever seen him this angry.

He’s so angry that even when Roman’s gone, it takes him a second to speak.

Then: “What the fuck were you thinking?”

I’m not in the mood for this. “I take it Joe called you to bitch about my decisions.”

“Your decis—” Quinn cuts himself off, too furious to even finish. Veins bulge in his neck. “What you did was fucking stupid.”

“No, actually, it wasn’t. And not only did it work, it was my decision to make—whether you like that or not.”

“What the fuck is this?” he demands, pointing at an indentation on the Jeep where a bullet struck. “And fucking this ?” He grabs my elbow, roughly rotating my arm to display the bandage.

I yank my arm away. “Jesus, Quinn—”

“You could’ve been killed!”

“Well, now you know how I felt that night at the strip club when you weren’t behind me like you were supposed to be!”

“So this was, what? Some kind of stupid ass payback?”

“No, Quinn, this was me making a decision that I’m allowed to make because I’m in charge and you’re not.”

“It is my job to do shit like this. I was standing right fucking there while you talked to Joe, and you deliberately concealed the situation from me!”

“Again, my decision—”

“Fuck that! And fuck you! I’m your fucking bodyguard, Vitali, and you don’t go do shit like that without me—ever! You are never going anywhere without me again. I would never have let you drive that car like Joe did. I could fucking kill him for that.”

“He didn’t exactly let me—”

“I would’ve put a gun to your fucking head and taken the goddamn keys from you!”

His anger is so extreme that mine dies in the face of it, and I get clarity. I see it. It’s not really that he’s angry. He’s terrified.

I don’t know if he sees that recognition in my expression or if he’s just overwhelmed, but he turns away from me abruptly. His hands scrape through his hair.

I step close behind him. He stiffens and starts to step away, but I hook my arm around his waist and pull him back against me. I slide my other hand up to his throat.

“Don’t make this about sex,” he grits out.

“It’s not about sex,” I tell him as I drag the hand I have hooked around his waist down to the button of his jeans. I flick it open. I glide his zipper down and reach inside to massage the swiftly hardening length of his cock through his briefs. My own cock is stiff and aching against his ass.

This is about me scaring him, and that’s why he’s relaxing as I take control and force him to feel that I’m here and that everything is fine, that he can let go of his fear and anger, that he can trust me.

Sex is simply going to be the way that I show him that.

“It’s okay,” I whisper against his ear. He stiffens at that and tries to pull away, but I tighten my grip on his throat and his dick, which is now rock hard.

“It’s okay,” I tell him again, forcing him to hear it, and this time his throat relaxes under my hand. His head tilts back to rest on my shoulder as he yields to me.

Oh, Quinn. He wants to submit. He needs to. But it’s hard for him.

I sweep my thumb against his tip, finding the dampness of his precum soaking through the cotton. “Mmm,” I hum in appreciation and slide my hand down his shaft to the heavy fullness of his balls. He makes a delicious sound when I tug at them through the cloth.

I turn us both to face the Jeep and push him down onto the hood.

I pull his jeans and underwear down to his thighs.

He gasps as I expose his ass. I unbutton and unzip my tactical pants.

I tug my underwear beneath my cock and balls and reach into my pocket for the packet of lube that I knew I might need.

I work one handed, using my teeth to rip open the packet, because I have my other hand on Quinn’s back. He won’t stay without me telling him to. He’s trembling, maybe wanting to fight me. I don’t have long before his submission flips. So I slather my dick and line up my cockhead with his hole.

We both grunt when my tip forces him open.

I push in slowly but relentlessly. He’s breathing hard, struggling with the intrusion, but I think he needs the distraction, the slight pain.

I have to give him enough that he doesn’t push for more.

I don’t want to be rough with him like last night, not right now.

I just want to fuck him and make him settle and relax. When I’m all the way inside, I gasp and shudder at the intensity of the pleasure, at the relief of this connection.

I draw back, letting my cock drag through him, then push back inside. His hands clench on the edge of the Jeep, bracing. I don’t talk to him. I just fuck him.

I start slow, taking the time to really feel it, but as he starts to moan, I lose myself. I get greedy.

My pelvis smacks rhythmically against his round, firm ass. My balls slap against him. My cock tunnels deep. His cries punctuate each thrust.

I grab his right hand and guide it to his dick, but I keep my hand with his as he grips himself. I hook my other around his torso and up to his shoulder to get a good hold. Leaning down against him, I thrust into him relentlessly. Our moans and cries echo through the garage.

Quinn’s ass tightens on me. His cries get sharper. But he stays at that place. He’s stuck, even with his hand working his dick, so I clamp my teeth on the crook of his neck and pummel him until he screams and jerks against me, spilling his hot cum all over my hand.

It snaps my control. I bury myself deep and release hard inside him. I let myself ride every pulse and wave of my orgasm, pumping into him as he spasms under me. When he starts to relax, so do I. I draw it out as long as I can because I know he’s going to pull away the second it’s over.

And he does. As soon as I pull out of him, he stands up. He doesn’t look at me. That’s the worst part. His eyes are down as he fixes his pants. He’s scowling vaguely. There’s a bit of lingering anger, but mostly he looks confused and vulnerable.

I want to reach out to him, but I can tell he wouldn’t accept it, and I don’t want to see him shut down like he did last night. That fucking killed me. I’d rather he be angry.

So I have to stand back and watch him deal with shit on his own. Then I have to watch him walk away from me.