Ensnared (Brutes of Bristlebrook #1)

by Rebecca Quinn

Dom has my elbow. I look up at him, wide eyed and damp lipped, and he gives me a stern, searching look.

Calling it now that he’s my favorite

“Whatever I agreed, you do not have the right to manhandle me like that unless I give you permission!”

He looks at Dom. “Got a type, don’t you? Just so it’s on the record, hypocritical bitch ain’t mine.”

Survival tip #238 You won’t actually pass out from embarrassment. It’s not a good defense mechanism.

When Dominic looks up again, I try not to squirm. He reminds me of a medieval king. There is something so forbidding, so rough with power about him, that I feel the urge to kneel and ask for mercy whenever he directs the full weight of his attention to me. His presence is a physical thing.

I know Beau is looking at me too, but I can’t bring myself to meet his eyes. I’ve been in the wild long enough to know to keep my eyes on the biggest predator in the room, especially when he seems about to pounce.

“You liked the way Beau touched you?”

“Answer me, little librarian. This is just the beginning of the inquisition.”

Oh, yes. I could just imagine him now, giving direction from his throne. Demanding cuffs and chains and exquisitely painful torture devices. Watching with those heavy-lidded eyes as his inquisitor spreads me open, bare and naked for the king. The two of them working me over until I scream and expose my every secret. Expose every part of myself and . . . and . . .

“Do you want me to fuck you?”

“Say yes, pet.”

Dominic watches me with heavy-lidded eyes, unfazed and confident on his throne. His expression is detached, almost careless, as I’m manhandled and stripped in front of him. Why does that turn me on even more?

Stop, stop, stop, one voice chants. They’re all watching! Another voice—a better voice, I decide—gasps a husky, I know. Hot, right?

Feverish, I look back over at Dom, needing to see if he’s still unfazed. If I’m being good enough. If he likes me like this, wet and squirming on his friend’s lap. But when I look at him, he’s not looking at me at all. He’s looking down at his book, jaw tight.

“Dom,” Beau says in a strained, rough voice. His knees inside mine nudge me open further until my thighs strain and I’m all but dripping onto the floor. He tilts me toward Dom like a virgin sacrifice. An offering to our king.

Beau licks the shell of my ear, all hot, heavy breath, and whispers, “I told you I love it when you say my name, darlin’. Such a good girl.”

“Do you have any idea how good your pussy feels, darlin’?” he whispers roughly. “So tight. You’re dripping over my fingers, dirty girl. You’re going to come all over my lap, aren’t you? Jasper and I will take care of you.”

Survival tip #124 Everyone has a past. Make sure theirs won’t come back to bite you.

The shed is for dressing, drying, and stocking our meat, and we keep a locker for our heavy-duty weapons in there. Not that I have a key.” He pouts. “Dom has a ‘thing’ about keeping explosives in the house.”

I’ve kept my mind on the mission and eyes on the trees—and not on the Judas to my right. Though I am counting every one of my lucky stars he isn’t at my back. Since I’m running out of places he can stab me in it.

His mouth snags up in a half-smile, and I scowl . . . because it makes me want to smile too. Damn it. I hate that he can do that—get me laughing when he hasn’t even apologized yet. But no, that would require Captain Slade to actually admit fault, and I’ve never met anyone so sure they’re right. Or harder on themselves when it turns out they’re not.

Dom shakes his head once, a sharp, angry gesture, and I can just about see the silent self-flagellation he’s delivering.

I’m half sure Dom wasn’t born so much as carved out of the Ranger Handbook and made flesh by sheer force of the Colonel’s will. And there are no mistakes in the handbook.

“You got no interest whatsoever in pinning that girl between us and seeing how many times we can make her come? You don’t want to watch those pretty eyes beg for more? You really saying that you don’t miss waking up with a warm, pretty girl snuggled between us?”

“You just want her because she’s here,” he says softly. “It’s not a good enough reason. Not for this, not for us.”

For a way longer damn time than that, though, Dom was my brother. In greens and out. We met in military school and got tight fast. We fumbled through learning how to top with some seriously patient subs together. We got our first girlfriend together. Got dumped by that same girlfriend, also together.

Even when I did my surgical training and he started working his way up the ranks, we stayed partners. And as soon as I graduated, we pulled every string we had to make sure we were in the same squad.

I always thought it’d be him and me, preferably with some pretty subbie between us, right up until we got dusted...

Then Heather happened, and suddenly Dom was telling me good and clear that I didn’t feature in his new idea of Happy Ever After. That it wasn’t going to be me and him and our girl—it was just him and his girl, and maybe Beau as ...

I want to know her better. And you don’t get to make the decision that I don’t, just because you’re scared I’ll choose her over you, the way you chose Heather over me.”

But the real joke’s on him, because this only proves my point. Even if he’s using it to manipulate me, he’s still thinking about her. He pretends to be the aloof, in-control CO, but he’s more considerate than he gives himself credit for. He’s still thinking about what she needs. He’s acting like her dominant.

The man was hooked the second she turned those big eyes on him for help, and he was lost the minute she submitted to me and Jasper right in front of him.

“You’re wrong about her. And if you wait too long, she’ll move on before you realize exactly how wrong you are.”

“They always move on, Beau. That’s why I need you.”

“You always have me, Dom. Always.”

I follow him . . . and start my plotting. I need to figure out how to make the asshole fall for Eden. Whatever he thinks, we need a third. Someone smart, someone kind—someone who can soothe over the scar tissue that’s forming between us.

But I have to get Dom on board, because no matter what he’s afraid of, I could never choose anyone over our friendship.

“If you want it rough, princess,” he drawls, “all you gotta do is ask.”

“Second option. You can walk out that door and I’ll even be a gentleman and tell the others we fucked. No questions asked.”

“If you can prove you don’t actually want me to bury my cock deep inside that princess fucking pussy of yours.”

“Or, if you’re as soaking wet as I reckon you are, you shut up with your good-girl protests and let me fuck you. Not with the lights off, not with a please and thank you and seven hours of foreplay. My way.” His lips brush mine as his fingers catch on the edge of my panties. “Fast, rough, and messy.”

Survival tip #150 When men start swinging their dicks around—duck!

But Eden was never pure. I was made to be corrupted.

Given how angry Beau looks, I would have put money on him going after Jaykob, but to my surprise, it’s Dom who drops my shirt and storms over to the other man. I spin just as he slams Jaykob against the wall.

The “sir” seems to catch him. Dom looks over his shoulder at me, studying my face. I meet his eyes, holding them steady despite my hot cheeks.

“Mad, huh?” His lips curve mockingly. “That why you came so hard you ruined my sheets?”

“But sure, if you wanna test it, I’ll go again. Only next time, I ain’t going easy on you.”

And worst of all, it’s making Dom cranky.

Memories of Jasper’s cruel care, the torturously perfect pain he can inflict, are too vivid, even after all this time, for me to ever relax properly around him. Now, normally I would say that letting your psychologist whip you until you come somewhat stretches the bounds of friendship—but lying to myself isn’t my kink.

And if he’d wanted to work me over every night since our very own D-day to satisfy his frustrated sadistic needs, I’d have buckled the handcuffs myself.