Feeling validated, I smiled bigger than I meant to. My heart beat faster than it was supposed to. My insides performed acrobatic feats they hadn’t attempted in years.
A warning bell sounded in my head.
I ignored all of that and focused on the external things—the hardness of his cock between my legs, the friction making my clit tingle and ache, the solid weight of his body, his mouth sealed over mine, his tongue sliding inside—the safe things.
His kiss had me riled up fast, and I tugged at his jeans. “Wait,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”
A minute later, he came back with his pants undone, condom already on, and peeled my pants and underwear off in one smooth motion. Fuck yes. I love a man who doesn’t belabor the point. When there’s a matter to be settled, let’s settle it.
He sat back on the couch and I quickly straddled him, grabbing his shirt at the hem and lifting it over his head. Then I reached down and took his cock in my hand, rubbing the tip on my clit.
“You really are all business, aren’t you?” His hands moved up my thighs and over my ass.
“Is that a complaint?”
“Nope.” He groaned, his eyes closing, head tipping back, as I lowered myself onto his dick, inch by inch, until I was sitting on his legs. “Just an observation.”
“Sometimes I mix business with pleasure,” I said, taking a moment to appreciate how full with him I was, how deep he reached, how hard and thick he felt inside me. I loved being on top—loved the control and power it gave me, loved watching a guy fall apart beneath me. And Quinn was so beautiful, this view was like none I’d ever seen before. Fucking stellar. His bone structure was ridiculous.
Also his boner structure.
I circled my hips, smiling lazily at the way he dug his fingers into my skin. I took his head in my hands, curling my fingers into his hair, pinning those blue eyes with a look that said I’m. Fucking. You. Get it?
His lips looked so delicious I couldn’t resist rubbing mine against them, less a kiss and more a tease. Then I took his bottom lip between my teeth, grinding against him a little faster. Fuck, I could get drunk on this feeling. It was a bigger kick and a higher high than from any other drug—I could feel my body making the climb, feel his taking me there.
His hands flexed on my ass, and he held me tightly against him as he started to thrust up inside me. I gasped, dropping my head back, each powerful jab taking me closer and closer to release. My lower body hummed and tightened, and I tilted my hips back to get the perfect angle—the base of his cock rubbing my clit and the tip of it hitting the magic spot. He moaned and cursed under ragged breaths, matching my rhythm perfectly.
At the precipice, I looked down at him, and the sight of his gorgeous face seized by the agony of pleasure sent me over the edge. I clawed his shoulders, crying out as I came long and hard.
My orgasm subsided just in time to feel the powerful, surging pulse of his, and even though I generally try not to look at a guy’s O face since most are scary and beastlike, I’m happy to report that Quinn’s O face is just as fucking hot as the rest of him. So hot that it rekindled the fire inside me, and I felt a second orgasm building.
“Oh God—Quinn.” I chased it, riding it out on his throbbing cock as he held still, paralyzed by the intensity of his own climax.
When we were finally zapped of energy, I tried to get off him.
“Just a second.” His hands squeezed the tops of my thighs. “Don’t move yet.”
I squirmed a little. “But I—”
“I’m not going to hug you or kiss you or talk about my feelings. I just want to enjoy my dick in you for ten more seconds, OK?” He pinched my ass. “Jeez.”
“OK. I’ll give you ten more seconds. But only because I came twice, and it’s been a very long time since that’s happened.”
He looked happy. “Oh yeah? I like that. But you’re probably going to tell me you did all the work.”
“Not at all. I give credit where credit is due, and your dick deserves at least half the credit for those two orgasms.”
“Half?”
I narrowed my eyes. “Maybe three quarters. Now can I get off?”
Big sigh. “Yes.”
We cleaned up in separate bathrooms again, and I fought the sudden urge to come up with an excuse to leave. It was like an automatic trigger with me after an orgasm, some kind of fight-or-flight response—I always wanted to be alone.
Cut it out. Quinn gets you and gets what this is, or at least he appears to. If at any point tonight, you feel he’s losing sight of the big picture, you can make an excuse and leave.
But he didn’t, so I stayed.
I drank wine and watched Quinn make pizza, helped make a salad (even though he teased me by quizzing me on vegetables as if I didn’t recognize them), and enjoyed the feeling of being warm and cozy inside his flat while the blizzard outside buried us in snow, the temperature dropping below zero.
We ate at the table—I impressed Quinn by gobbling two bowls of salad and scarfing three big slices of pizza—and talked about lots of different things, including places we’d been in the world and places we still wanted to visit. Quinn preferred Florence and I liked Rome; he liked cabins in the woods and I preferred a resort on the beach; but we both agreed Paris was a magical place and Marrakech was on our list of dream vacations.
“I wish my mom had gotten to travel more,” Quinn said, leaning back in his chair. “There are so many places I’d have loved to take her just for the food.”