Deserving It

by Angela Quarles

  “Jesus,” she gasps out.

  I give her one last swipe. “I think you’re clean now.”

  She spins around, and I steady her. She’s giving myself a savage grin. “Your turn now.”

  Chapter 21

  Claire

  My legs are like jelly. Damn that man can give good finger.

  I squirt the body wash into my palm, rub my hands together, then skim them up and down his chest. His muscles bunch and flex in the wake of my fingers, and it’s like having a living work of art in front of me—all hard lines of sculpted muscle narrowing down to his jutting cock.

  Eating that cake off him was the best table setting evah.

  Now the remnants of the chocolate I didn’t get with my tongue are sluicing off his chest and cock. I squirt another dollop of body wash into my hand and grip his girth. I press up on my toes and nuzzle his neck and ear lobe as I work his length between our stomachs.

  He tenses all over and widens his stance, bracing a palm on the wall behind me.

  I find the rhythm that makes his hips and moans go wild, and when his hand grips mine to try and pull it away, I know he’s close.

  I pull my head down until my forehead rests against his upper chest and I can look down at my hand, which I refuse to allow him to pull away.

  God, I can’t wait to have him inside me again. Oh, wait. I still and look up.

  “You’re finally understanding now, yeah?”

  This time I let him pull my hand away. I nod. “Then hurry.”

  “Hurry?”

  “Yeah. With the cleaning. Can’t use a condom in here.” Thank God I don’t have to explain, and we rinse off in record time.

  He jumps out of the shower and skids across the tile, righting himself against the counter.

  “Be careful!” I grip the side of the shower door, water dripping off me onto the floor.

  He snags a towel, throws it at me. I snatch it, and we both rub ourselves down as if our lives depend on it. Then we race into the room. I jump onto the bed, and he dives for his duffel. The crinkle of a condom wrapper being opened fills the room. It’s as if I’ve turned into Pavlov’s dog, because that sound now has me clenching.

  I also remember there are crumbs on the comforter. I’ve no sooner yanked it off and pulled the cool sheets back than I feel his hands at my waist and his cock pressed against my ass.

  I moan. “Fuck the sheets,” I say.

  “Yeah. Fuck the fucking sheets.”

  He lifts my leg up, resting my knee on the edge of the bed. Oh yes. I fall forward until my hands hit the bed. My skin, hot from the shower, feels as if it has extra nerve endings or something because every brush of his skin along mine is driving me wild.

  And I ache. “Hurry.”

  “Always wanting to move your arse faster than is wise.” He laughs. “Is this”—his hard cock shoves into me, and I gasp—“fast enough for ya?” He pulls out, the friction heating me everywhere.

  “Yes. Don’t stop.”

  He plunges back inside, over and over, and I’ve never experienced the term “fuck like bunnies,” but this has got to be it. We’re reduced to grunts and slapping thighs, as we both chase our release.

  I can no longer hold myself up by my hands and drop to my elbows. The position has me not only open, but he’s able to drive deep into me. I reach up and rub my clit, hard, as he thrusts inside me, and that’s all it takes. Pleasure roars down my spine, and I’m spasming around him so hard it hurts. But a good kind of pain.

  “In ainm Dé.” He grabs my waist and shoves into me hard, one more time, and I can feel him jerking inside me.

  We both collapse onto the bed, breathing hard, and he pulls me up against him.

  He squeezes me once. “Don’t be moving a muscle.”

  “I don’t think I can.” Everything in me is languid heat.

  He moves off the bed and pads into the bathroom. The toilet flushing is immediate as he disposes of the condom.

  Soon, he’s back by my side, and we snuggle up against each other as we’re catching our breaths.

  It feels great to be here, with him. His stomach growls, and I snort. “We just ate.”

  “An hour ago at least. And I didn’t have lunch. And we did have a bit of a fair workout, yeah.”

  Soon we’re sitting on the bed while he eats another burger and fries, chatting about the upcoming championship games for the men’s team. Unfortunately for my women’s team, we don’t have enough numbers to compete, so we’re out of the running.

  Then he says, “Sorry, Claire.”

  “For giving me a mind-blowing orgasm? Anytime, buddy.” I pat his knee.

  He’s quiet. I quickly glance up. Oh, he’s serious.

  “No, for pushing about you visiting your mam.”

  “I understand. We’re good.”

  “No. I think I need to tell you why. My…my mother...” He pulls in a sharp breath and slowly lets it out. I push aside his plate, and we snuggle on the bed, me holding him tight because I can feel the emotion coming off him and how hard this is.

  He swallows. “She left us when I was around being seven. I don’t care to think about it much, because why should I dwell, yeah? But I think hearing about your mam and how you weren’t going to be seeing her, it triggered something. If your mam—”

  He breaks off and looks at the ceiling.

  I think I know what he’s getting at but can’t say. “If I have a mom who wishes for me to be in her life, I shouldn’t throw that away.”

  He looks at me and brushes a hand down my head. “But it’s your life and your decision.” He pulls a strand away and looks at it. “I’m here for you whatever you’re thinking is best.”

  My heart does this weird squishy thing. “Thank you.”

  Chapter 22

  Claire

  Later that night, we’re walking down the sterile hallway of the hospital. I called and received permission to arrive after visiting hours. Conor has a tight grip on my hand. I asked him to come along, not because I need him as support but because it feels natural.

  I push open the door of her room. The early evening sky makes up the far wall of her room, and a single bed in the center is hooked up to a bunch of beeping monitors. I pull in a breath and let my gaze travel up from her feet to her head. And there she is.

  My mom. Whom I haven’t seen in five years.

  She’s awake, and she’s staring at me with round eyes. She bites her lip. I can feel the tension in the room, and some of it’s new—tension of a reunion, of not having seen each other in too long of a time. But most of it’s familiar tension.

  All my memories of feeling inadequate, of not being enough, rush back.

  Even hooked up to an IV and one of those nasal oxygen things, with wires snaking to monitors, she’s still beautiful, graceful. I guaran-damn-tee you if I was in her place, I’d have crusty drool, flat hair, and under-eye bags or something.

  My mom claps her hands across her stomach. “What happened to your blonde hair?”

  I haven’t seen her in five years, and that’s the first thing she asks? I shunt aside the familiar irritation. “I stopped dyeing it, Mom.”

  She’s silent, and the usual judgment seeps into the space between us, keeping us apart. She’s not happy that I’m no longer dyeing my hair, but I’m okay with that. I no longer see it as a failure I need to rectify.

  She reaches out a hand.

  I squeeze Conor’s hand, then let it go and close the distance to her bed. I clasp her hand, bend over, and give her a kiss on her cheek and an awkward hug, considering she’s laid up on the bed all hooked up to stuff. More memories swamp me as I inhale her scent—still the same soap and perfume, though blunted by the general odor of hospital.

  I squeeze her arm. “How are you feeling?”

  “Been better.”

  She looks over my shoulder, and I turn around and wave Conor inside. “Mom, this is Conor.”

  “Nice to meet you, Conor. Sorry it’s like this.” As al
ways, she’s all proper, and she manages to look regal and poised despite being laid up in a hospital bed connected to all these devices.

  “I’m sorry too, ma’am. And the pleasure’s all mine.”

  I turn back to my mom. “What does the doctor say?”

  “I’ll be fine. Mostly shook up.”

  “What exactly happened? They just told me you were in a car accident.”

  “Some jerk T-boned me running a red light. Air bag deployed, so it’s mostly bruises and scrapes. I did hit my head on the side of the car, so they’re keeping me for observation, but I’m supposed to be released tomorrow.”

  “Why did they keep you so long then?”

  She looks to the side.

  “Mom?”

  “Turns out I had what they’re calling a ‘mild cardiac incident.’ Some kind of blocked artery. There’s a stent in there now, and it’s all repaired. Doctor said that it was fortunate I had the accident because they might not have caught it otherwise.”

  All I can feel is relief. At all of it. “That’s good.”

  Conor clears his throat. “Would anyone care for some tea or coffee? I’m going to make a run for myself.”

  My mom and I shake our heads, and Conor looks at me with an eyebrow raised—a silent question.

  “I’ll be fine,” I whisper, and he nods.

  As soon as the door closes, I turn back to my mom. “Why are you in Denver?” I ask softly, feeling guilty that I don’t know the answer.

  “I moved here two years ago for a job.” Her eyes range over my face, and then she starts crying. Given that it’s my mom, they’re genteel tears, not great, ugly sobs, but they’re real.

  “I’m sorry, Claire. I didn’t know.”

  I cock my head to the side. She knew I was sick.

  “What I put you through when you were growing up. I just…I just wanted what I thought was best for you, but…it wasn’t until after you cut yourself from my life that I went to see a therapist.”

  “You did?” That floors me, because my mom used to call them quacks.

  “Yes. She helped me see what I did by pushing you like that. I was just…scared. Money was tight, and I…”

  “You thought the Olympics would be a great way to secure our finances.” And “tight” is a relative term. We were solidly middle class.

  “Yes.” She swallows. “Can you forgive me?”

  I pull in a deep breath. “Yes. And I’m sorry. For leaving and cutting you out of my life. I had to, to…” Now it’s my turn not to be able to finish.

  Mom squeezes my hand. “To protect yourself. I understand. I didn’t have the right…coping tools to help you get better.”

  There’s still healing to be done in regards to my mom, but…

  But this is progress.

  And maybe, just maybe, I can also forgive myself for having to do this. For having been too weak to do anything other than cut her completely from my life.

  At a noise at the door, I turn and see Conor’s head peek in, and warmth blooms in my chest. I could have faced coming here on my own. But I’m also really glad he’s here too. Conor gets me, and I’m still my strong self.

  Which is an amazing gift.

  Conor

  I’d waited until I heard the murmurs inside the room quiet down. Until I heard some tentative laughter. Then I’d pushed open the door. I wanted to give Claire space with her mam.

  And I’m ready to leave and give her more if she’s wanting that.

  But Claire turned to me. Now she smiles, but it’s a weak thing, barely lifting her mouth, and somehow I know the wet of tears I’m seeing in her eyes isn’t about me, but more for this situation with her mam, and I’m welcome to come in.

  A nurse comes in behind me, and I step aside.

  The older woman asks Claire’s mam her name and birth date, checks her vitals, and records them in some handheld digital thing. Then she gives her some meds.

  She turns a stern eye on Claire. “She needs her rest.”

  “What time will she be discharged tomorrow?”

  “We won’t know until the doctor clears her tomorrow.”

  Claire steps to her mam. “We’ll see you in the morning, okay?” She kisses her cheek.

  Her mam pats her hand and murmurs something I’m not hearing. I hold my hand out, and Claire places her palm into mine. I clasp it, enjoying the connection with herself again, and lead us out of the room.

  When the door closes behind us, I slip my arm over her shoulder. “Let’s go, stinky feet.”

  Claire gasps then laughs. “I don’t have stinky feet.”

  “Sure I know, but I still love picturing you at the airport, legs all bent and looking like you were catching a whiff of your own feet.”

  “I’ll never live that down, will I?”

  We stroll down the hallway, and I pull her up snug against me. She feels grand by my side.

  “Nope.” I lean down and kiss that spot right behind her ear. On cue, her neck turns pink. As we find our way into the cool Denver evening, I whisper in her ear what I’d like to be doing when we get back to the hotel.

  And while her reaction is everything I could wish for, what I really love is this feeling right now. Here. In this moment. Because I find myself more comfortable, and more myself, next to her than ever I have before with anyone else. That’s giving me hope that together we’ll sort out whatever issues we might face.

  This connection with her—I’m not sure I believed I deserved it on its own. Not without feeling like I had to earn it.

  Thank you for reading Claire and Conor's story. and I hope you enjoyed their journey to love as much as I did writing it! If you missed the first book in the series, check out Earning It! To be alerted to my releases, be sure to join my newsletter.

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you for reading Deserving It!

  I hope you enjoyed Claire and Conor! If you join my mailing list for the latest news, I'll send you deleted scenes from Must Love Breeches as a thank you! I also have a Facebook fan group you can join to get the latest news and goodies!

  Want some visuals? While drafting and revising, I created a Pinterest board to help visualize and brainstorm.

  Please feel free to reach out to me. I love to hear from readers about what they loved (or didn't) about my books, so drop me a line if you'd like at angela@angelaquarles.com or find me on my website or on twitter at @angelaquarles, or on my Facebook page.

  And now a big favor. Readers like you make it possible for writers to do what they love, spin tales! Thank you for your support. If you enjoyed Deserving It, I hope you'll take a moment to share your enthusiasm with other readers by posting a review. Discoverability for new authors like me is a challenge and every review helps connect a reader to a book they might enjoy. I appreciate any review, positive or negative, so if you have a moment to post one, even just a line or two about what you thought of the story, on Goodreads or your favorite review site, I’d be grateful! The more reviews a book receives, the more other readers are willing to take a chance on a new author. It also helps a reader decide whether a book is for them or not. Regardless, I thank you for reading! If you do leave a review, send me an email at angela@angelaquarles.com so I can personally thank you, or tweet me @angelaquarles.

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  Also by Angela Quarles

  As You Wish

  an erotic geek romantic comedy

  Steam Me Up, Rawley

  a steampunk romance

  Must Love Breeches

  Book One in the Must Love series

  Must Love Chainmail

  Book Two in the Must Love series

  Must Love Kilts

  Book Three in the Must Love series

  Must Lov
e More Kilts

  Book Four in the Must Love series

  Earning It

  Book One in my romantic comedy series, Stolen Moments

  Risking It

  Book Two in my romantic comedy series, Stolen Moments

  Acknowledgements

  I’d like to thank the following folks who read early versions and helped me make this a better story! Jami Gold and Shaila Patel. You guys helped me to not only craft a better story, but also helped in the cheerleading department too. Thank you!

  I’d also like to thank several of my readers who also read early versions and gave me helpful feedback: Megan and Courtney, thank you!

  My editors Gwen Hayes, Erynn Newman, and Julie Glover had my back again, which I appreciate so much.

  I’d also like to thank several people I consulted with regarding bulimia and eating disorders: Laura R. for reading the whole and giving feedback, and August McLaughlin for answering extensive questions before I even started writing the first draft and for answering the odd question during the writing and editing phases. She has an excellent blog at augustmclaughlin.com and has a book releasing the summer of 2018: Girl Boner: The Good Girl's Guide to Sexual Empowerment (Amberjack Publishing), which includes her eating disorder story and a lot about body image.

  To Shannon Donnelly and Zara Keane for helping me with Conor's speech patterns and expressions, I appreciate it big time! County Galway has one of the highest percentages of Gaelic speakers and his cadence would reflect that, as well as the occasional Gaelic word thrown in.