Page 29 of Confession (Constantine Brothers #2)

TWENTY-FOUR

Quinn

“Okay,” Lucas says, “I know you don’t really eat sweets, but try this.”

I look up from pouring my coffee. He’s holding a little plate with a chocolate-drizzled biscotti on it. He’s such a sweet kid. I return the coffeepot to its burner and take the plate.

“Everyone keeps giving me food.”

“Well, you know what that means.”

“Not really.” I splash half-and-half into my coffee then use the biscotti to stir it.

“You cook for people all the time, Quinn. You know what that means.”

I glance at him. Fucking kid.

I take a bite of the coffee-soaked biscotti. “That’s delicious,” I mumble around a mouthful.

Lucas grins. “Really?”

“Why are you surprised? Your cooking is great.” I dunk the biscotti again.

“Baking maybe. Some of the cooking is hard.”

“I’ll keep teaching you. I mean, if you want. You don’t have to, you know.”

Vitali says that to me all the time. I often get annoyed, but saying it now to Lucas, I get it. I don’t want Lucas to feel like he has to serve to be here. I suddenly appreciate that Vitali has always said it to me.

“I know,” Lucas tells me. “And yes. Please. I like when you teach me.”

It’s strange how everything feels so different in this house now. Not wrong, just different. Or like maybe I see it differently?

Or maybe I see myself in it differently.

I shift over a few inches so Lucas can get to the coffeepot, which is where I think he was headed before he spotted me and detoured to the cookie jar.

He’s standing close to me, and it’s weirdly nice.

He’s like a younger brother, like the family I wish I’d had.

The family, I realize, that I do have. Now.

He glances at me. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Sorry.” I scoot along the counter away from him, suddenly self-conscious.

If Lucas were to say anything to me right now, I would probably close up. I’m trying, I really am, but this shit is hard for me.

Lucas, however, doesn’t say anything. He’s so damn intuitive and so used to nonverbal communication that there’s no hiding from him. It would be terrifying if he weren’t so fucking gentle.

He lays his hand on my arm, well above the burn scar, and smiles softly without looking at me.

“What the hell?”

At Vitali’s voice in the doorway, I look up. Lucas jumps, jerking away from me.

Vitali, wearing only a pair of black warmups, comes stalking in, scowling. “Where have you been? Where did you go? Why did you leave?”

I stay where I am and don’t answer any of those absurd questions, but Lucas starts to back away.

“I’ll just—”

Vitali points a finger at him. “No.” The finger swings to me. “He’s in trouble.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

When Lucas starts sidestepping away, I say, “You don’t have to leave just because he woke up in a shitty mood.”

Lucas raises an eyebrow. “Except you and I both know exactly how these things end.”

I choke on a laugh at his reminder of what I once had to witness in this kitchen.

“What?” Vitali demands. “What is he talking about?”

“Nothing,” I reply. I’m not about to tell him.

“That’s clearly not nothing—Lucas! Stop! What did you mean—”

“Quinn can tell you. I have to go!”

He fucking bolts, and I can’t help it, I laugh.

Vitali crowds right into me. “What was he talking about? And why did you leave?”

Vitali angrily taking my space has a predictable effect on my body. I love his dominance, his aggression. I’m hard, instantly. His hand creeps toward my throat, but he doesn’t grab me, doesn’t choke me. He meant what he said yesterday about not being rough.

His hand slides up my throat, massaging rather than grabbing, but it still makes my head tilt back. It makes my eyes half close.

“Why did you leave?” he whispers.

“Because you were asleep. You’re being irrational, Vitali.”

“I don’t care.”

“ Why are you being irrational?”

“Because I woke up and you were gone and—fuck.”

When he cuts off like that, when his hand gets shaky, I realize how much I scared him the other night. He told me, more than once. I did hear him. But I feel it now. I understand it. I really scared him, and he’s not over it.

I wouldn’t be either, I guess, if our roles had been reversed.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him quietly. I can see in his eyes that he knows what I mean, what I’m referring to. That night.

“I need you,” he confesses softly.

“I need you too.” I wrap my arms around him and haul him tighter against me. His hand slides to the back of my neck as we meet in a deep, hungry kiss that lifts so much of the heaviness.

He pulls me away from the counter. His hands slide into my sweats, grabbing at my ass.

“We need …” I can’t finish my thought.

“I’ve got it,” he tells me as he moves metoward the island.

“You do?” My brain’s gone to shit. I’m still only half aware of what I’m talking about, then I hear the sound of a packet of lube being torn open. Oh, right. That. I lean down on the counter as Vitali slicks his cock.

“I know when we need to fuck,” he tells me as he pulls my sweats down my thighs.

“Jesus,” I mutter as he starts massaging my hole. My cock twitches up.

His fingers push into me. Stroking. Stretching. Then they vanish, and I feel the pressure of his cockhead against my hole. I close my eyes and moan as he pushes into me. Deeper and deeper until his body is joined with mine, until I can’t think about anything but the way he feels inside me.

He draws back and thrusts in, not hard but deep. Again and again until I’m completely lost in the sensation. Then he hooks an arm around me to brace my body so he can fuck me harder.

I’m loud, not thinking about where we are or who might hear or what it might tell them about me. It doesn’t matter. I need this: Vitali, fucking me like he can’t live without me. His cock tunneling into me, claiming space inside me. Me, giving him that space.

My instinct to fight back doesn’t get triggered, not this time. I moan and shout and yield to him, letting him fuck me until I come.

Vitali holds me under him and fucks me through it, coming inside me in hot pulses as he strains against me.

We quiet down, start to relax. I breathe, full and empty at the same time.

“I love you,” he murmurs against me. “Don’t say it back. Just listen to me. Believe me—please. I love you.”

I grab onto his arm that’s banded around me. I close my eyes. I know he can tell that I’m obeying him, that I’m trying, because he starts kissing me. He gets gentle. He gets sweet.

He pulls out of me, pulls me up. I turn toward him as he drags my sweats up. I lean into him.

“I love you too,” I whisper, feeling softer than I ever have in my life, feeling like maybe, just for a minute, it’s safe for me to be that way.