Authors: Camden Leigh
With thirty minutes before I need to be at the next meeting, I cram bite after bite of a veggie wrap in my mouth. I’d skipped breakfast, which was a terrible idea. I need my battery running at full charge around this family. “I can’t wait to go to bed.”
“Bed? It’s Friday, girl. Go out.”
“Too tired. And I still have one meeting to go.”
“You need to get laid; the side effect of almost-sex is insomnia. Clear your system of Cowboy and—”
“He’s not a cowboy.” The door squeaks as I slam it shut and roll down the old-fashioned window. How did the rental company sell it . . . great vintage appeal? Whatever. It’s a piece of crap rental that barely fit in my budget.
“You’re in the South; of course he is.”
“The only thing farmy about him is where he lives. And maybe his tan, but seriously, it’s like I’ve entered the twilight zone of cotillions, plantations, and lace. And get this: my boss made me write a paper on bolls because I brought her a stack of the bride’s china by mistake. A fucking paper!”
“Did she ask for them?” she asks.
“Yes, but she didn’t mean cereal bowls.”
“So what are they?”
“Look it up.” Spelling it right was half the battle. How was I to know she meant cotton bolls for flower arrangements?
“I’ll pass. Back to Not-a-Cowboy. Is he country at all?”
“
He’s southern sex wrapped in muscle, iced on top with dark fistable hair and gorgeous eyes, but definitely not country. His sisters are tiny blond princesses. They know what to say, when to say it and they know every freaking dance out there, which I found out when I was told I have to attend a ball. I know nothing about the Victorian era or hosting themed balls!” I scrunch foil around my uneaten wrap and toss it in the passenger seat. I shove my keys in the ignition. “He’s probably just as gifted, Lord of the Dance with poise and—”
Mr. Not-a-Cowboy, Lord of the Dance in all his muscular splendor, leans down and pokes his head through the window. His smile tilts sideways. A dimple appears above the crease, halfway between his left eye and lips. Halfway to perfection.
“Cass? You there?” Lilian asks.
“Um . . .” Did he hear my conversation?
“Oh shit. Is he there?” she whispers.
“Hey, er . . . Quinn,” I say, answering her and not wanting to be a total bitch to his face.
He holds out his hand and motions for the phone. “Who ya talking to?”
“Boyfriend.” I squeeze the phone harder.
“Perfect. Let me tell him how safe you are down here. No dancing cowboys in sight.” He leans in and whispers, “But I’m game for some hair pulling.”
Double shit.
Too mortified to move, I don’t stop him when he walks his fingers up my arm and taps my hand.
“May I?” He pulls the phone free and places it against his ear. “Hi, Cassie’s boyfriend.”
I shrink against the seat, closing my eyes as Lilian’s high-pitched voice wavers in and out of existence.
“
So she doesn’t have a boyfriend. Good to know.” He leans against my car. “And she’s available for dinner every night? What’s your name, again?” He pokes my toes with his and I glance up. “Lilian. An intelligent name.”
Lil’s voice goes all squeaky. I bet she’s turning on the faux charm and flirting her ass off. She’s probably squeezing her boobs together and adjusting her shirt.
“Let me ask.” Quinn holds the phone out. “She wants to know where the hottie went.”
Kill. Me. Now. Better yet, kill Lilian later. I don’t take the phone. I’m beyond repair.
I wish they’d both shut up and disappear. I crank my car and put it in Reverse, ready to run him over if it will save me from embarrassment.
Quinn grabs the steering wheel, overlapping his hand on mine. His eyes beg me to wait. His fingers drift down my hand and lightly tug one finger at a time, opening my clamped fist and freeing it from around the steering wheel.
“Nice meeting you, too. Thanks for the intel.” He drops the phone in my lap. “Thought you could ride with Not-a-Cowboy to the flower shop and save yourself a parking ticket. He’s offering, if you’re interested.”
I nod. “Okay.” It comes out on a quiet breath.
His smile grows so big his teeth could domino right out of his perfect mouth. “Great.”
I lean over and nudge her shoulder with mine. “What are you thinking in that sexy little brain of yours?”
“I could’ve driven.”
“You could have, but this will be more fun. Already is.”
She scoffs and scrunches her nose in disagreement. “Fun for who?”
“Want to find out?” I’m teasing, of course, but can be damn serious if she answers yes.
“Eh, I’m pretty sure I have a good idea what you’d suggest.” She sits back, crosses her arms, and stares out the window. She’s obviously still rattled from me sneaking up on her.
I don’t feel guilty in the slightest. Not after hearing her description of me. She wants me, she just doesn’t
want
to want me.
I smile. “You could be disappointed.”
She puffs up her cheeks, still ignoring me.
“Hard to judge myself,” I continue. “You know, biased opinion and all.”
She rears her head back and stares pointedly at me. Her eyes travel slowly down to my lap. “Want me to tell you if you suck?” She ends her comment with a crisp K and my dick goes painfully hard.
Her lips on my cock again? Fuck yeah!
I start the engine. “I have no doubt you’re good . . . at telling people they suck. Maybe, just maybe, Cassidy”—her gaze flies up to meet mine—“maybe I want to be better than good.”
Her
lips part. She lets out a depleted sigh. Oh, she wants me all right.
“Florist, right?” I smile and jerk the truck in gear.
“
Gah
. You suck.”
I laugh and pat her leg. “But I bet you suck better.”
She grumbles something to herself and pulls out a sketch pad and nubs for colored pencils. She slides colors across the paper.
“What are those for? Didn’t Ellie pick her flowers months ago?”
“Yup. Just like she picked her dress, the cake, the food. Your sister changes her mind constantly. I’m surprised she hasn’t changed grooms.”
“Oh, well, that’s because she’s a Covington and allowed to change her mind.”
“Someone ought to tell her when she becomes Mrs. Dean Graham that will change. He’s overly cautious when it comes to money.”
“Won’t be me.” I pat her leg.
The hatchings from the pencils drowns out the engine’s hum. I stay quiet so she can work. I’ve got to give her props on work ethics. Besides her first day, she’s never been late to anything, never been underdressed, and arrives prepared for war. She’s like a nonstop machine cranking out perfect products. She has a comeback for everything, a secondary option ready if Ellie and Mom have a disagreement, and she could sketch mosquito shit if asked. She’s exceptional.
When I reach one of the four stop signs in town, I glance down. Three floral arrangements brighten the page. I already know which Ellie will go for.
I pull into the spot directly in front of the florist. As soon as we step into the floral shop, my nose starts itching like I walked through a pollen cloud. Ellie and Mom walk in behind us.
“
Hey, Quinn. Didn’t know you were coming.” Ellie hugs me, then Cassie. “But should’ve guessed.” They start pulling flowers out of water buckets leaving me with Mom.
“Ask to see Cassie’s—Cassidy’s flower sketches,” I tell her.
“We have flowers picked out.”
“Then why are we here?”
“To pick out
more
flowers.” Mom frowns.
I stuff my hands in my pockets and move toward the greenery section, hoping for a pollen-free bubble to clear my lungs.
Mom follows. “I meant what I said about giving Annabeth an hour.” She plucks fern stems and several huge palms out of buckets. “Just an hour, and I won’t mention her again.”
“Booked solid. Sorry, Mom.”
She huffs, weeds in hand. “She used to be a permanent fixture in our lives. Your father and I planned great things for you and your sweet AnnaBee. What about our family name? The legacy. Our two famil—”
“Is that all you want? Perfect breeding?”
She stares at my mouth. “Manners, Quincy.”
“I’m sorry, but you’re treating me like a fucking racehorse.”
Her lip does this dance, like the wave in football stadiums, then releases an irked breath. “A racehorse I’d whip into shape. You’re more like a wild stallion, sowing your oats in the wrong field when the field you’ve got is perfect as is.”
Heat bunches in my shoes, works up my legs and all pistons want to fire at once but I smother my agitation. I move past her, spilling a bucket when it impedes my stride.
I
walk up to Ellie and Cassie, hating to break up their laughter because Mom soured my mood. I pull the sketches from Cassie’s bag and hand them to Ellie. “You’ll like number two. We’re done here.”
“What are—oh, I do like that.”
I grab Cassie’s hand before she can say anything back and pull her outside. I help her into the truck and slam the door a little too hard. She jumps and I take a step back. I’ve got to pull it together. I rub my hands through my hair and blow out a long breath before opening my door.
The engine sputters to life. I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to go into Charleston, I just want . . . what? I pound my fists against the steering wheel.
“Hey.” Cassie slips across the bench seat and pulls my hands from the wheel. “Spill.”
“Stupid shit. Don’t worry about it.”
She squeezes my knee, but doesn’t pry or insist I confess my deepest secrets. She’s what I need at the moment.
I give her a gracious smile then pull away from the curb and head toward home.
Several miles out of town, Cassie releases her seat belt.
“What are you doing?”
She scoots closer. Her lips hover near my ear.
“Put your belt back on.”
She nibbles my lobe, her warm breath teasing my neck. My cock goes rock hard in zero point two seconds.
Eyes on the road. Eyes forward. Shit.
Her hand dances down my chest and tightens over the bulge in my jeans. I mangle the steering wheel as if it’s a poisonous snake and I’m trying to wring venom from the poor bastard.
My
belt loosens and the top button, my best hope at holding my sanity together, slips through its hole. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I bite my lip and grab Cassie’s hand, gripping it around the fabric, wishing we were skin on skin. She puts my hand back on the wheel and points out the front window. I’d rather pull off the road, park behind some trees and throw her in the back where I can drive her as fucking crazy as she’s driving me.
My zipper releases and the cool air soothes the heat building beneath my boxers. “Cass, not here.” My cock springs from its prison, pulsing and ready for her touch. “Shit.”
She giggles and frames my dick with her palms but refuses contact. She leans down, hair falling to block my view. The heat from her breath sends my dick pulsing toward her and I swerve, righting the truck once I regain focus.
Her hand covers me like a glove and I buck forward. “Cassie.” I thread my fingers between hers, working her hand open, loosening her grip.
She interlaces her fingers with mine and squeezes our hands closed. Slowly she moves up the shaft to the tip, then back down. “Touch yourself.” Her words melt in my ears and I soften in the seat.
Someone passes us. Had they been in a truck they would’ve seen my girl hovering over my cock. That shit ain’t happening. I accelerate, attempting to stay the speed limit.
“So soft,” she whispers.
Her thumb swipes across my tip, making everything glide. Faster. Better. She releases my hand and I put it back on the steering wheel.
“Not-uh.” She grabs my hand, returning it to my cock. “Feel that?”
I tighten my grip at the sound of her voice.
“That ridge makes me scream.”
Holy
fucking shit balls. I thrust my hips and feel her fingers, my fingers, everything tense. I’m going to die from the buildup. I drop my hand away and she replaces it with hers, pressing deep at the base so my tip rides high in the air. I glance down. What is she doing . . . in broad daylight?
She rolls to her hands and knees, pushing her ass into the air. She runs her tongue over my head slowly, bringing me to the edge. Fucking A, she’s good at teasing. And touching. And hell . . . putting those pretty little lips on my cock.
I swipe at the fog forming on the windows then adjust the vents to no avail. I nudge Cassie back and squeeze my cock, trying to gather some sanity.
She takes me deep, responding to every pulse with a suck, exploring the swells with her godforsaken-I-won’t-last-another-second tongue, brandishing every inch with her fire-hot lips.
I groan and lift off the seat, burrowing into her wet mouth. She counters with a nip, forcing me to sit back and relinquish control. But I’m about to lose it and I didn’t want it this way. I wanted to wait but it feels so fucking good. So fucking . . . I yank the truck off the road and park behind a closed roadside stand.
My fingers tangle in her hair as I try hard as hell not to hold her down until she sucks me dry.
Her lips come up to the tip. “Show me how you like it, Quinn. This is for you. Take it exactly how you want it.”
Her eyes, dark and crazed, drive me wild. I nod and she licks her lips before dropping back down over my cock. God, the heat. My dick hardens more. I cling to the pre-come bliss, the hover before the release. I still her movements, squeezing her neck as a subtle suggestion. Her tongue dances around me but she remains in one spot until I’m in better control.
I
press her head, guiding her mouth down then pull lightly at her hair. This is fucking heaven wrapped up in a redheaded bow.
She twists her head, working one side then the other, bringing me closer than I was before. I buck toward her, convulsions wanting to lead me to the finish line. She grips the creases near my hips and plants my ass against the seat. The power she exerts has me teetering on the edge.