by Trisha Wolfe
She’s fucking breathtaking.
Her hands move lower only to halt at her belly button, and I stop breathing. “Undo my skirt,” she says, her breathy request about sending me over the edge.
Hell no. I lock my hands at my sides. “Aves…don’t ask me—”
“Please,” she breathes out. “I just need the stimulation. I’ll do all the work.”
Fucking hell. I crick my neck, working out the gathering tension. But there’s nothing to be done for the poor bastard in my pants. I’m already engorged and throbbing, and every subtle move Avery makes on top of me is a torturous tease to the sad fucker.
But this isn’t about me. This is about the woman in my arms, getting her through the pain, and I’m man enough to do that. At least, I damn well hope I am.
With a resigned groan, I flex my fingers, accepting my duty. I grip the button and give it a firm tug. It comes undone easily, and Avery bucks against me, arching her back and digging her ass into my groin.
My fingers nearly tear through the edges of the cushions as a jolt travels the length of my shaft. Only allowing myself a small thrust of the hips, I lift up; just enough to offset the overpowering need to bury myself inside her.
There’s just not enough time to recover. As she assured, Avery does the rest. I watch, paralyzed, as she pushes her skirt down, wriggling it all the way off her legs and kicking it to the floor. Her hands wander over her thighs as she brings her knees up and parts her legs.
Punch myself out—that’s my only option. Because there’s no damn way I’m going to survive this.
She’s going to fucking wreck me.
And as she tentatively roams her fingers over her lacy underwear, I all but lose my shit. She starts to push those down, too—and I grab her wrist.
“Those stay on,” I say, my tone gruff, commanding.
She must hear the desperation breaking into my voice, because her movements halt. The elastic band snaps her hip as she releases it, then she gracefully slips her fingers under the lace. Her sensual moan nearly unravels the last of my control.
As her hand expertly works beneath her underwear, I swear it’s the most erotic thing I’ve ever experienced. She thrusts her hips as she speeds her pace, meeting her need with timed perfection.
I’ve become entranced by some kind of morbid fixation, where watching her get herself off becomes as necessary as taking my next breath. I’m a needy, greedy fuck, and I’m surely going to hell for this.
“More stimulation,” she begs. “I can’t…get there. It’s too much.” She lifts her hips, over and over, each time coming down harder on my cock. I know she feels the thick ridge of it digging into her backside, but hell, I can’t help myself.
I spear my fingers into my hair, losing all sense of control. “Avery, don’t ask me this. I won’t do anything that either of us will regret tomorrow. You can do this, Aves. Just relax.”
Her whine pierces my chest, and I’m right there with her. My damn cock aches so badly…if she continues to grind against me, I’ll fucking blow in my pants.
“Just a little more,” she says, her voice a sexy rasp. “Play with my tits.”
Holy fuck. That dirty talk coming from Avery’s sweet mouth is my undoing. My cock jumps, and I have to push back in order to keep from clutching her hips to me.
Jesus Christ, I know I’ll pay for this—but I reach for the ice-wrapped cloth and unravel it just the same, letting the cubes fall into my hand. As she arches her back, working her fingers deeper inside, I rest the tip of a cube to her nipple.
She gasps, undulating her hips hard and effectively bouncing her tits, getting the friction she craves from the ice. With measured breaths, I slowly swirl the cube around her nipple. I’m so fucking hard I’m going to have blue balls for a week.
“More,” she demands.
I switch hands, bringing the ice to her other nipple and applying more pressure, rubbing the perfectly peaked bud until she cries out. I drop the ice. “Shit.”
“Quinn,” she pants my name. “Stop fucking around and give me what I need, or this is going to take all night.”
“You’re not making this easy,” I say, then bite my tongue. “Sorry. Not your fault. I’m just trying to respect you through this.”
She releases an anxious laugh. “Always a saint. Even when a girl is begging for it.”
My brow furrows. There’s no reasoning with her. Not right now. But later, when she comes down, she’ll probably hate my fucking guts for this. I ring out the cloth and place it over her chest, giving myself some kind of a barrier, at least.
Then, sending the last of my inhibitions to hell, I take her tits in my hands. She arcs into me as I caress her, and I hate myself but god—her breasts feel so damn good. Even through the infuriating rag, they’re damn perfect. Heavy and full, with her silky nipples pebbling against the wet cloth. Right under my touch.
She relaxes again, her hand working eagerly beneath her underwear to get her there, while I rub my thumbs over her nipples, offering her as much stimulation as I can without losing my mind.
Only it’s too damn late for that.
Right here, right this second, everything changes. That wall that keeps me safely guarded comes crashing down, and I’ll never be able to desire another woman the way I desire Avery right now.
The want will kill me.
Just as I begin to crack, my sanity past the brink, Avery releases a sexy moan, her body trembling. Her thighs spread wide as she rolls her hips higher, her pussy thrusting eagerly as she breaks against her hand.
The sight of her has me pinching her nipples, just as desperate to feel her relief crash into me. I’m too close. My balls tighten, my cock ramrod straight and pulsing, but I rein it in. A growl rips loose as I clutch her tits, watching her milk the rest of her orgasm.
She falls limp against me, her hand sliding free of her underwear, and all I can think about is tasting those slick fingers. Shit. Not letting her get too comfortable, I say, “Avery, roll over.”
Her body is spent. She groans but allows me to roll her onto her side. I jump off the couch with a harsh curse at my aching balls. I push at my rock-hard erection as I locate her bathroom.
Then I lock myself the fuck inside.
Bracing my hands on the marble counter, I heave deep breaths. I can’t look at myself in the mirror. Fucking saint. She has no idea.
I flip the tap on and splash my face with cold water, thinking about grabbing some more ice to pack against my throbbing dick. Just the thought of lowering my zipper is too tempting, though. If I unleash myself now, I’ll wear my cock out.
And there won’t be any forgiving myself for jerking off to Avery’s pain. Hot as hell…but I won’t be that sick fuck.
Inhaling deeply, I can still smell her scent all over me. I tear my shirt off and press my back against the cool paneling of the door, praying like hell she’s sated when I leave this room. As much as I want to help her, I won’t be able to endure that torture again.
I do the only thing I can: I envision the bastards who did this to her, mentally putting my fist through their faces, and that swift bite of anger checks me.
When I’m composed enough to enter the living room, I almost collapse from relief. Avery’s eyes are closed, and though she’s suffering a fitful sleep, she’s out. I settle on the floor near her, so I can listen to her shallow breathing. Making sure she stays safe through the night.
13
Surrender
Avery
The piercing shriek of the kettle assaults my head. I trip over my feet on my way to flip off the stove burner. After I move the kettle aside, I bury my temples against my palms, resting my elbows on the counter for support.
A hangover I can deal with. But this is a whole other level of day after dejection.
I plop a green tea bag into my cup and pour steaming water over it. Then I think better and make a second cup. I owe Quinn a hell of a lot more than a stupid cup of tea, but it’s a start.
I feel his heady presence before I turn to see him standing in the entryway of the kitchen.
Our eyes lock, silence stretching out between us like a gulf. And I should feel desperate to fill it, but a strange comfort settles over me that he’s still here. That he didn’t fling himself out the door at the first ray of light.
His white dress shirt hangs open, black tie left undone, matching the unkempt look of his unruly hair. Which is the first time I can say I’ve ever seen Quinn out of sorts. My gaze roams lower to the tattooed words peeking from beneath his unbuttoned shirt. A quote covers the upper-right side of his chest. I first noticed it when I saw him stretched out on the floor this morning, but I still can’t make out the words clearly.
“Tea?” I offer lamely.
His crooked smile sparks a flutter in my stomach. “Have anything stronger, like coffee?”
I shake my head. “Not in this house.”
He cocks his hip against the counter, crosses his arms. “Tea is fine.”
Turning my attention to the cups, I keep busy with adding honey, slicing lemons… “Thank you for being there for me yesterday.” I add a slice of lemon to each cup and bob the tea bags. “And for not taking me to the hospital. I know it was asking a lot, and totally against protocol, but—” I face him, needing to look into his eyes, no matter what I find there. “It might not seem like it, but it was the right thing to do.”
I wish I could read his mind. Know exactly what the slight furrow of his brow means, the serious, hard stare of his hazel eyes. When he breaks the intense stare off, it’s to reach up and feel the scruff along his jaw.
“It might’ve been the right thing for you, but it was most definitely not the right thing for me,” he says.
His words pierce my heart. “Oh,” is my pathetic response.
Quinn’s mouth hardens into a line. “I can’t ever do that again, Avery.”
Averting my gaze, I stare at my bare feet. My legs that I shamefully forgot to cover up and my dumb T-shirt that just barely hides my ass. After yesterday, I didn’t feel the need to hide, or for any stupid pretenses. Obviously, I made a huge error in judgment.
“I should go get dressed. Your tea’s on the counter.”
I attempt to rush past him, but he clasps my arm and pulls me to a stop. I wince at the sudden stab of pain in my shoulder.
The mortified look on Quinn’s face steals my breath. “It’s not you,” I rush out before he thinks the worst of himself. “My shoulder was hurt…yesterday.”
His features relax, but just as quickly, his eyebrows draw together in concern. “I thought you said you weren’t hurt?”
“I wasn’t. Not really. But it’s not as if they handled me like a delicate flower petal.”
He scrubs his hands down his face, releasing a groan. Then he goes to touch my shoulder, and I step back.
“It’s fine,” I assure him. “Hot water will help.”
Before I’m successfully out of the room, he says, “You do understand why?” I turn toward him. “Why that was so hard for me?”
A whole list of reasons quickly formulates. His feelings for Sadie. Getting involved with a colleague never ending well. Ruining a friendship.
But the one thing that sticks out—despite all my effort to suppress it—and coils my stomach in tight knots, is the one thing I know Quinn is adamant about.
Never get involved with a victim.
And regardless if he didn’t see me as one before, that’s exactly what I was to him yesterday.
I move closer, my embarrassment receding now that my anger mounts. “I get it, Quinn. I appreciate what must’ve been a difficult situation for you, and I’m sorry that it was me who put you in it.” I swallow down the burn of resentment. “Don’t worry, though. It won’t happen again. I know the rules on victims, and I know that here, with me, is the last place you want to be.”
That furrow in his brow deepens. “What the hell are you talking about, woman?”
My shock must be apparent. I shake my head in fast jerks, blinking hard to fight back the stupid, angry tears. “You claim you don’t see me as a victim, and you put out all these mixed signals that I thought I was finally deciphering. But yesterday… Yesterday you could barely stand to touch me. It’s almost as if the very thought of it was physically painful for you. I don’t know if it’s because it’s me…or if the victim in me just disgusts you—”
Quinn moves so quickly that, before my last word is even voiced, his hand is in my hair and gripping me to him, his lips on mine.
The impact of his kiss rocks into me and I moan, unable to repress the sudden intensity of feeling his lips crushing mine. His other hand fists my shirt, then both are suddenly clutching my waist and lifting me off the floor.
I lock my arms around his neck as he hauls me across the kitchen. The counter where our cups tumble over, his destination. Then his hands are seeking my thighs, pushing the barrier of my shirt away, his mouth never letting up. Our breathing becomes ragged and desperate as we try to claim oxygen without losing each other.
When he does break the kiss, it’s to capture my neck. His hungry kisses and branding nips send me spiraling, and I link my legs around his hips, needing him closer.
He pulls back. “Does this feel like I don’t want you?”
My chest rises with my leaden breaths. I shake my head. “Why now?”
He groans. “Because now you’re Avery. Not drugged, not on some chemical to fuck with your senses. And if you can’t feel how badly I crave you—every fucking sexy bit of you—and if you don’t get that I’ve never seen you as a victim, not once…” he trails off, his gaze becoming heated. “Fuck, Avery. I just need you.”
“Touch me,” I say, the only response I can give him.
He doesn’t hold back. Not this time. Quinn consumes my senses; his masculine scent of cologne and leather, his rough hands adding friction to all the right places. And unlike before, when he barely allowed himself near me, he now ravishes me with a punishing voracity meant to tear down all obstacles.
As his mouth caresses my skin, his tongue and lips massaging the ache in my shoulder away, my hand subconsciously goes to my lips. Concealing the scar.
Quinn sharply changes course. His hand sinks into my hair, his thumb tilts my chin up, angling my face toward his. His other hand encircles my wrist, removing the barrier to my mouth.
“A force of habit…” I falter.
His gaze lingers on my lips as he moves in, sealing his mouth over mine and enveloping me in a sensual kiss. Then, he whispers, “Every. Fucking. Sexy. Bit of you”—his eyes ensnare mine—“is just as beautiful as the next part. You’re beautiful, Avery. Even your scars are beautiful to me.”
Then his teeth nip at my lip, tugging it into his mouth before he pulls me into a devastating kiss that shatters me.
I’m lit with a blazing heat as his hand finds its way between my thighs. With a swift, expert move, he tugs the lacy fabric aside, his fingers seeking me without hesitation. His back tenses underneath my hands as he swirls the pads of his fingers deeper. Cool air nips at my core, proof of my arousal.
“Christ, you’re so wet,” he whispers harshly against my ear, and I can’t help the smile stealing over my face. I’m wet—without any need of an aid.
I ache all over, completely insatiable. And when he pushes inside, filling me with two of his fingers and leaving them there…I tremble against him. “Oh, god, please move. I want to feel you inside me, Quinn.”
His rough growl heightens my need, and as he gives in, sliding his fingers deeper and with more force, all I can taste and sense is him.
I want to dissect this feeling—to try to understand how it’s Quinn that shreds my defenses. How with every other man—even with my cocktail—I have to power through the fear, block out the encroaching shadows.
But I can’t stop my mind from spinning long enough to unravel the meaning. Quinn tastes like pleasure and sin and longing. Such a powerful combination of emotions that steal my reas
oning…but it’s as if I’ve always been aware of them. Just hovering on the edge of the both of us, waiting to be recognized. Like I’ve been denying myself a right to this feeling all of my life.
And now that it’s unleashed, ripping us both open at the seams, I dread the loss of it.
I arch into him, unable to control myself as he works me closer, my walls clamping down around his fingers and my body begging for more.
He nips at my ear, ratcheting up my desire. “I should’ve taken your pain yesterday, Aves,” he whispers. “I should’ve tasted your sweet pussy until you came in my mouth…and the only thing you knew was pleasure and how badly I wanted you.”
His words caress me, and as I build toward a climax, desperate to push past any banked uncertainty, I cling to his shoulders. He drops down and takes a nipple into his mouth, his hot tongue tasting me through my shirt, his teeth firing a sharp spike of need right through me.
“That’s it,” he assures. “Let me feel you come… I need to taste you.”
He dips lower, leaving me panting and aching, but soon his mouth—that mouth I have never heard utter such sexy things—takes me completely, finishing me off. His tongue swirls fast and needy over my clit, tipping me over the edge, as his fingers bring on a deep and consuming orgasm.
He pushes one of my knees up, spreading my legs wider as he devours me, my core pulsing against his thrusts. Then he meets me there. His mouth swallows my moan with a hungry kiss, taking the rest for himself.
When my breathing calms, he slows the kiss and pulls away. His eyes fervently holding mine, he reaches down and unclips his phone. “Stay right here…” he says. “I have to return this call.”
“I didn’t even hear it ring,” I manage to say around the receding aftershocks still thrumming through my body.
He crooks a wicked smile. “That does a guy’s ego good, but it’s on vibrate.”
This side of Quinn…a girl could get used to. But just like that, Quinn is all business, his cop persona slipping into place like the gun he holsters to his shoulder harness.
