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The look on his face was content, happy even, and there was little doubt in my mind that he'd definitely worked the rage out of his system and I'd more than helped him get to this happy place.
It was an incredibly good look on him, and I hated to do it, but figured now might actually be the best time because of the mood I'd helped put him in.
"Quinton," I called out hesitantly in an unsure voice. His head snapped up and he pinned me in place with his eyes alone. I swallowed thickly before stating plainly, "We need to talk, and I don't think I can put it off any longer. We're already on borrowed time, and I don't think we can afford to waste any more of it."
"Shit," he swore harshly under his breath. "We'll get rid of your boys, I'll make you something to eat because I know my nephew did not feed you breakfast before bringing you home, and then we can talk after you're good and full. Does that work for you?"
No. Absolutely not, because of the content we would be discussing and the reaction I knew I would get out of him. Then again, he was right and I was starving because his nephew had not fed me this morning, and even though Quinton had done all the work, those orgasms he'd given me had definitely felt like it had been me who'd earned him making me breakfast or lunch or whatever the fuck meal we were on now.
Still, I nodded my head in agreement because, outside of it being me doing the talking, it sounded like he was down to do all the work again—in a different sense, obviously—and that worked for me in a really big way.
"Alright, baby." He came forward and took hold of my hand, lacing our fingers together sweetly. "I see you've already got your clothes in here, but I'm going to ask that you wait to put them on until after we get rid of your boys. That way I can be here with you while you tell them to get lost, and then you can get dressed and do whatever girlie shit you need to do while I run down to my room and get dressed real quick before coming back here. I'm not putting on the same clothes I wore yesterday, I need fresh clothes. When I get back, it'll just be me and you. I'll cook, we'll eat, and you'll spill."
Bossy, bossy, bossy.
No matter if he sometimes tried to mask it with questions or suggestions, I knew I really had no say in the matter because he was freakingbossy.
I noticed he had no problem with leaving his clothes on the floor in a pile for someone else to pick up as he grabbed hold of my hand and dragged me toward the door. I didn't fight this. Mostly because it would be pointless and I suspected I didn't actually have any fight left in me at the moment. He'd wrung it all out of me.
He unlocked the door and dragged me into my bedroom. Both Trenton and Simon looked up from the same places they'd been in when I'd left them not that long ago. They both also stared at Quinton in obvious surprise.
"How the hell did you get in there?" Simon blurted.
Quinton gave him a look that his question deserved.Hello,there were two ways into the bathroom. Geez, I rolled my eyes.
I caught sight of the TV and my mouth dropped open. "Are... Are you watching one of the Housewives shows?" I choked out.
Simon grinned up at me. "Yeah. Though, this one isn't my favorite. I prefer the Jersey one. I didn't know you watched the Real Housewives. Trenton can't stand any of them. Says he doesn't understand rich old ladies with too much time and money on their hands. I think they're fucking hilarious."
Something painful pierced my chest, right over my heart.
I did not watch the Real Housewives of where the fuck ever and I likely never would. But Vivian had after we'd moved in with Marcus and had cable television, which we hadn't had on our own. I imagined she'd watched with a notepad in her hand, all the while taking notes on how real rich old bitches were supposed to act as opposed to her fake ass.
God damn.
Vivian.
She was creeping up everywhere all around me and threatening to drive me insane. I needed to talk to someone about her soon, or maybe get a journal to write it all down in so I could get it out of my head once and for all. Yeah, I liked the sound of that a lot better than talking to someone. I mean, who would I even talk to, Rain? Maybe I should buy him a journal to write his thoughts on Vivian down in as well.
"Ariel," Quinton barked sharply, making me jump. I looked around, remembering I needed to get rid of “my boys,” and Quinton probably wanted me to get on with it so he could put some clothes on. Probably so I could put some clothes on too.
"Right," I muttered under my breath. Then, louder, I said, "You boys need to go now... Please."
"Oh, for fuck's sake," Quinton groaned, sounding exasperated. "You could have at least tried."
I shrugged sheepishly. Why did everything require an explanation? If I wanted someone to leave they should just leave, it was that simple.
Simon aimed the remote at the TV and hit a button, muting the show. Trenton sat up on the bed, looking alert, and scooted over to the edge. His bare feet come down on the rug but his eyes never left mine the whole time.
"What's going on?" Trenton asked in a quiet, serious voice.
Quinton glared at me.
Huh. Looked like his orgasm induced happiness had worn off. For some reason I had expected it to last longer. Like, a whole lot longer. He couldn't even give me ten minutes.
"We're going to have breakfast up here," I shared helpfully. At the excitement on the brothers’ faces, I hurried to inform them, "Just the two of us. Sorry, guys."
And I really was sorry to see them go. It made me feel bad, they just wanted to be around me so they could see for themselves that I was safe and in one place. Later I would have to make it up to them. After, of course, I ran off and did my own thing again.
