phone on the table. “But I also get a lot
of messages from people who say that
my pictures inspire them to eat healthier
or exercise more or set a fitness goal for
themselves. Those are good things.”
“Ah, so you’re doing it for them,” I
teased, poking him in the side, “not for
your own ego. It’s purely altruistic, all
the shirtless muscle pics.”
He tackled me, throwing me onto my
back and covering my body with his.
“You’re awful, you know that? Quit
making fun of me, or I will excessively
cuddle you to death.”
“No, no, anything but that,” I said,
giggling. But I slipped my hands inside
his shirt, rubbed them up and down the
smooth, warm skin on his back.
He looked down at me with a glint in
his eye. “Or maybe I’ll tease you about
the red bikini night, Miss I Don’t Talk
About Feelings.”
I gasped. “You wouldn’t.”
“Oh no?”
Something clicked, and I saw it as an
opportunity to derail. “Hey…you
remember what I was wearing?”
“Of course I do.” He kissed me, but
it wasn’t like the first time, in his room.
This one was softer and sweeter, and
allowed me to better appreciate the firm
fullness of his lips, the taste of the wine
on his tongue. He picked up his head.
“Some things are unforgettable.”
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.”
“Did she ever go back to Poland?”
He shook his head. “Nope. I don’t
think she ever wanted to. Her parents
didn’t have great memories of it. But I’d
like to go someday.”
“Can you make any of the Polish
food she used to make? Like those
meatballs? Or the pierogies and
sausage?”
He smiled. “I haven’t yet, but you
just let me know when you’re in the
mood for sausage and I will
accommodate you.”
“Very funny.” After stacking our
bowls and plates, I got up from the table,
carried the dishes over to the sink, and
began rinsing them.
“Don’t worry about that. I’ll do
them.” Quinn came in behind me with the
leftover salad.
“I don’t mind helping you. But after
that, I should get going. I have to get up
early for work, and the drive is going to
be a bitch tomorrow with all this snow.”
“Do you have to go to work? The
roads will still be pretty bad.” He
covered the salad serving bowl with
plastic wrap and stuck it in the fridge,
while I loaded the plates and bowls into
the dishwasher.
“Yeah, I do. I took today off to catch
up on some things and got nothing done.”
He poked me in the butt. “The allure
of my closet was too strong.”
“Oh, shut up.” But I giggled as I
rinsed our forks. “I still can’t believe
you caught me in there.”
Shaking his head, he carried the
leftover pizza into the kitchen and set it
on the counter. “I can’t either. It’s a good
story, anyway.”
I gasped, whirling to face him with
the silverware in my hand. “You can’t
tell anyone that story!”
“Why not? It’s hilarious. And it has a
great ending.”
“What?” I shrieked. “No!”
“Well, then, I guess you’ll just be
that much more motivated to honor your
agreement about our dates.”
“That’s blackmail,” I sniffed. “You
wouldn’t.”
He shrugged and smiled. “Guess
we’ll see.”
I dumped the silverware into the
dishwasher. “God, you’re a smug
bastard.”
“And you’re a dirty little snoop.
Don’t forget your wine glass in my
bedroom.”
I tossed my braid and went back to
his room to get it, glancing over at the
closet and bathroom with a smile. What
a crazy day. The sight of his bed made
my insides tighten, and for a second I
was tempted to suggest another round.
What the fuck? You start breaking
your own rules, he’ll think you didn’t
mean what you said. He’ll get stupid
ideas.
Grabbing the glass off the nightstand,
I went back to the kitchen doorway and
poked my head in. I didn’t want to get
within touching range in case he was
planning to bug me about staying over. I
was strong, but not steely. Not when it
came to him, at least. “Sure you don’t
want more help cleaning up?”
“I’m sure.” He stuck the leftover
pizza in the fridge. “Now get the hell out
of here. Before your face makes me want
to cuddle.”
I grinned, ducking out of reach fast.
“Night. Thanks for dinner.”
“Night.”
Upstairs, I got ready for bed and set
my alarm extra early, since even getting
my car out of the garage was going to be
a pain in the ass. I’d probably have to
shovel the driveway first. Shit, I should
have called someone earlier about doing
it. Oh well. I could shovel before getting
in the shower and call it a workout,
right? At least my car wasn’t buried out
there like Quinn’s.
For a moment, I felt bad that I hadn’t
cleaned out the second garage space for
him, a silly passive-aggressive way to
let him know I wasn’t happy with him
here. I’d do it this weekend.
Switching off the lamp, I snuggled
under my covers, curling into a ball. It
really was cold tonight. I thought about
Quinn in bed below me…bet his body
was warm and toasty under the blankets.
I felt a little tickle between my legs.
You stay in this bed, Jaime Owens.
You had three orgasms today, and that
is enough.
Sighing, I got out of bed and turned
the heat up a little. My gas bill was
probably going to spike this month, but
my rules—and my pride—would be
intact. I also took an extra blanket from
the hall closet and threw it on top of my
quilt.
Still, I shivered all night.
ELEVEN
QUINN
When I heard her door close
upstairs, I texted Alex.
Hey. Who plows
the driveway for you?
Are you making a bad sexual
joke?
I had to laugh.
No, asshole. We
have a ton of snow and Jaime has to
go to work in the morning.
I know, I’m just fucking with you.
Jaime takes care of it. She either calls
or shovels it herself.
I’d been with Jaime all night—which
I didn’t think I should mention—and
hadn’t heard her call anyone.
Is there a
shovel in the garage?
Should be.
OK cool. Thanks.
I plugged my phone into the charger
and got ready for bed, figuring if I didn’t
hear a snowplow in the morning, I’d get
up and do it for her. I didn’t have a