Page 4 of Until Death Parts Us

I watch his eyes narrow. “Depends on who you find that with, I guess.”

“Well, we should head inside. You need to warm up,” I tell him. I turn to Anna. “So nice meeting you, Anna. If you’re still around tomorrow, I’d love to hang out. My brother is gonna be on a trek with Robert, so I’ll be free.”

She smiles. “Yeah. That would be cool.”

I grab Kas by the elbow and pull him along.

“What are you doing?” he asks in a low tone.

“Nothing.”

CHAPTER TWO

KASPIAN

“I knowwhat you’re up to,” I say as soon as we get inside the RV.

Quin unzips his coat. “What’s that?”

“Trying to make me jealous.”

“Did it work?”

I throw my jacket to the floor and rip off several other layers, desperate to get out of my clothes. “I don’t like being referred to as your brother,” I say through gritted teeth. “And you went along with it.”

Quin turns his back on me as he casually and slowly removes his hoodie before bending down to take off his boots.

“It’s just a joke, Kas.”

“But it’s not a fucking joke, Quin,” I say, yanking him up and angrily pulling at the button and zipper on his jeans. “We aren’t related. You aren’t with me because of some familial obligation.”

He knocks my hands from his pants, face stoic. “I know that.”

“Why would you let her think we’re anything but what we are?”

His lips twitch slightly. “And what’s that?”

I clench my jaw and breathe through my nose. “You are everything to me.” I force my way back into his space, running my hands through his hair while I kiss along his cheek and jaw.

Quin pulls back. “You don’t think you’re everything to me?”

My chest heaves with deep breaths. “You said I was your brother.”

He undoes the button of my pants with a quick tug and then slides his hand into my underwear, groping me.

“Would I do this to my brother?”

I suck in a breath, trying to hold onto my anger. “I can’t really put anything past you, can I?”

He smirks at me, removing his hand from my pants and walking me backward until we’re in front of the window that sits above the couch. “You’re so sensitive.”

“Don’t,” I warn. “You know I hate that shit. I am not sensitive. I’m passionate.”

“Mm.” He flips me around and shoves my pants and underwear down before pushing me to my knees on the couch.

“And when you’re jealous,” he says in a quiet voice, reaching for the lube in the cabinet nearby, “you’re so eager to please. Vocal. Needy.”

His slick fingers find my hole, massaging and pushing inside.

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