by J. C. Cliff
Slowly, I carefully slip my arm outside of the confines of the bag, trying not to disturb him. I fumble, searching for the zipper so I can quietly ease myself out. The second I feel the crisp morning air, which is cold and dewy on my arm, my body orders me not to escape his warmth quite yet. I’m warm and cozy wrapped up in his cocoon. Quinn's heavy, muscled arm squeezes me, pulling me tighter against his chiseled chest, preventing me from getting away. I’m smothered, but in a good way. Is it wrong of me to say he feels perfect pressed against me like this?
He pulls me from my musings, his nose nuzzling into the side of my neck, and then he softly exhales a warm breath that cascades over my exposed skin. Goose bumps erupt, and I shiver in response. The man is simply sinful. I want this feeling to last for as long as possible so I decide to revel in his sweet caresses. With everything I’ve been through, his touch is a calming balm, making for a welcome reprieve.
Quinn is still asleep; I can tell by his light, even breathing, but his hands have a mind of their own. His fingers slowly skirt underneath my t-shirt, splaying his heated hand on my stomach. His thumb begins drawing small, lazy circles along my abdomen. God help me, I’m suddenly on fire, and I ache for more.
His soft lips press against my neck, and I stifle a moan. What the hell is he doing? The span of his hand almost covers my entire stomach, resting low on my belly, causing flutters of arousal to stir within. I swallow hard against the lustful sensations he’s creating in me. I'm growing wet, and all he’s done is touch my stomach. How in the hell is he doing this in his sleep?
He slides his hand along the waistband of my sweatpants with intent, and what he does next makes me lose my breath. His fingers easily slip underneath the elastic, and butterflies take flight. I don’t stop him; I can't. I'm frozen with both shock and desire. I’m soaking wet by the time his fingers trail down to my sex. He lazily roams past my clit and then slides his fingers between my wet folds. I should stop him, and tell my body a resounding no, but I do no such thing.
I’ve been starved for a real man’s touch for months on end. The last relationship I was in crushed me, and I had sworn off all men. I realize now I probably shouldn’t have sworn off sex, because…Oh hell, the thought goes out the window the second he slips his finger past my opening, penetrating me fully. He's stirring a strong hunger inside me, either one I've never felt before, or I had simply forgotten what this felt like.
There is no mistaking his stiff erection pressing against the curve of my ass. I think I’m going to combust when he sleepily thrusts his hips into me while he adds a second finger, pumping them into me. Oh sweet, baby Jesus.
My core responds on its own by squeezing around his fingers, willing them to stay deep inside me. This is so wrong, so very inappropriate, and so out of character for me. I’m not an easy mark. In fact, I’ve never allowed myself to get intimate with a man I’ve just met. So why is it that I’m throwing all caution to the wind now? Oh yeah—because he’s a walking sex god.
He thrusts his hips into my backside again while his fingers work a perfect rhythm. He mumbles something incoherent before the warmth of his mouth presses sensual kisses along the length of my neck. A massive tremor rolls through my entire body in response.
“You cold, sweetheart?” he huskily breathes over my skin. No, just shivering in a lusty haze, but I can't answer; my breath is caught in my throat. “Don’t worry; I’m about to set you on fire,” he hums with his lips pressed to the sensitive spot right below my ear.
In a split second, I find myself on my back, and his fingers, never missing a beat, thrust themselves deeper inside me. I gasp for air. The lustful sensations coursing through my body have me spinning out of control. My chest rises and falls in rapid succession as I’m being bombarded with dirty, passionate nips and kisses along the length of my neck. These feelings of affection and ardor are definitely different, I’d remember a man making me feel this way before.
In one smooth motion, he stakes his claim on me by rolling his body halfway over mine. His bare chest rests against my erect nipples, and I arch my back, needing more friction. He's got me on fire. I grab his forearm, feeling his muscles flex beneath my hand. I want to feel his entire body weight pressed against me.
“So sexy,” his voice softly rumbles, “and so wet.”
The angel on my shoulder warns me I’m supposed to be on the run, not wanting to sleep with random, sexy strangers out in the middle of nowhere. The devil remarks it has been too long, and it feels too good. I deserve to feel cherished.
I clear my throat, but it doesn’t steady my voice; it comes out all breathy and wanton. “Quinn, what are you doing?”
He growls into the side of my neck, pulling my body tighter to his chest. “I want to be a mile deep inside of you, sweetheart. That's what I’m doing.”
Oh, geez, there is no way to calm my racing heart after that statement. I want him, too. Being this tangled up against someone so sexy, I listen to the devil on my other shoulder, and go for the one-night stand. I’m too weak to deny something that feels this heavenly.
He shifts his body to lay his full weight on top of me, and then takes my lips in a heated kiss. Oh God, his lips...they're soft and supple in contrast to his raging hard-on, which presses near my opening. God, his erection feels like a steel rod pressing against me. I close my eyes, imagining it’s his cock pumping into me instead of his fingers, and I'm coming undone. “Quinn,” I moan out his name in such a way he knows I need more. I’m wet and needy, my muscles trembling, feeling as if I’m on the verge of coming.
His mouth devours mine, becoming more intense, and when his tongue slips out, I open to him. When the warmth of his tongue touches mine, I die a thousand deaths. I’ve never felt this consumed, or experienced this level of sexual desire before. As his skilled tongue laves mine, he tastes a part of me very few men ever have. Everything from his touch, his kiss, to his smooth moves screams experience, dominance, and self-assurance. He knows what he wants as he takes me the way he wants, and I let him. I want to experience all his measured moves and passion.
The palm of my hand slides upward, wrapping around his bicep, feeling his powerful muscles pulse and flex while he continuously thrusts his fingers into my heat. Electricity sparks, and then explodes between us. I know the moment he feels it too, because he frantically deepens the kiss and releases a deep, sexy groan. His breathing picks up, and our bodies begin moving like one, rocking against each other as if neither one of us can get enough. I lift my hips into his hand, seating his fingers deeper, feeling his large knuckles pressing against my sex as our tongues heatedly collide. I want him. God help me, but I want this Adonis naked right now and pounding his hard cock into me.
His throaty words vibrate over my lips, “I have never had the lips of an angel before, but damned if you aren’t one.”
His fingers trail out from between my sex to spread my arousal out and over my clit. Adding pressure to my swollen nub with his thumb, he makes small circles around my clit with killer precision as he pushes his hard cock against my opening. Damn clothes, as much heat as we're producing, this fire between us should've disintegrated our clothing to nothing by now. He swallows my frantic whimpers as I open my legs wider in invitation, letting him know I’m ready and willing. I want everything he has to give. Heat and passion roll off him in waves, and I’m frantic to experience him.
I itch to touch the hard lines of his body, so I do. I lightly run my fingertips up along his taught back, paying no heed to the warning signs of how taboo this is. That train left the station five minutes ago. He rolls his hips into mine once, twice, and then grinds himself into me. The muscles in his back flex with his every motion. My God, the man has moves. He dips his fingers back inside me and firmly rubs them against my silky walls.
I whimper in protest when he breaks the kiss. He pulls away briefly and looks down on me with half-lidded eyes filled with desire. “You are definitely Heaven-sent,” he huskily whispers. His hair is a disheveled mess, and
I'm about to run my fingers through his short hair, and pull him back down to my lips, but something is off in his expression. I watch as his brows draw themselves together in slow motion as if he's processing a mathematical equation, and then his eyes flash open wide in surprise.
“Oh shit, Lexi!” he blurts out, suddenly panicked. “Oh shit!” Mortification paints his entire face, but then his eyes grow extra wide as if he just now realizes his fingers are still nestled deep inside me.
He yanks his hand out from beneath my pants as if he’s touched a hot burner, leaving me empty. “Oh shit, oh shit…” he repeats in hysteria.
He then scrambles to find a way out of our sleeping bag, but in his fumbling around, it does nothing but make our predicament worse. He’s trapped, just like me. He loses his balance in the tight confines of the bag as he flails all over top of me like a fish out of water.
Unexpectantly, I find that I'm struck funny by his freaking out and his clumsy attempt to escape. A spontaneous chortle escapes from the pit of my stomach, and then it picks up speed, turning into uncontained belly laughter.
He stops struggling momentarily, giving up on his efforts, looking down at me with a perplexed look on his face. He doesn’t seem to find the humor in our situation. His voice is oh-so-serious. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“It’s all right,” I interject, gasping for breath. “It was the hottest action I’ve ever had. Seriously, the pleasure was all mine.” Oh crap. My hand flies to my mouth, shutting my stupid trap, but it's too late. Now it’s my turn to be mortified.
The corners of his lips twitch as the tension visibly leaves his body. It's apparent he doesn't want to escape our predicament now, because he settles himself back down, propping himself up on his elbow to hover over me. He's made himself quite comfortable, and as his muscular thigh rubs against my leg, he wears a cocky grin. As if I’m under a microscope now, he studies me with rapt attention, using those bright blue orbs of his. I feel his gaze boring a hole right through me. The heat of embarrassment creeps up over my ears, and I wish I could simply vanish into thin air.
He gently pries my hand away from my mouth, the cocky grin evolving into a full blown smile as he asks, “Hottest action you’ve ever had, huh?”
I look away from him, turning ten shades of red. Since the disappearing act isn't happening, I wish somebody would just shoot me right now in order to put me out of my misery.
“Hey,” he whispers, turning me back to face him, his expression now humorless and remorseful. “I truly am sorry. My touching you that way was a total mishap...a slip-up. I was half asleep. It's like I knew what I was doing, but it didn't register who I was doing it with. I totally respect you, I swear.”
“It’s all right, Quinn. I know you didn’t mean to.” I'm kind of bummed in a way. A large part of me wishes he did have intentions of touching me intimately, desiring to have me like I did him. At least it looks as if he’s going to show me some mercy by not ribbing me about my confession.
“No…no, it’s not all right. You’re…” He pauses, looking out into the forest as he searches for the right words.
“I’m what?” I question curiously, getting ready to go on the defense. I’m too chunky? I’m not his type of woman? What? Because even though he’s got this handsomely rugged exterior going on, he’s the type of man who could take his pick from a hoard of supermodels.
He scrapes his hand down over his face, looking pained, and I want to die, because I've probably called it; I'm not his type. “Well, you probably have some special boyfriend working his ass off this week while you’re out here, sharing a bag with a stranger, and I’m acting highly inappropriate.” He reaches over me as he searches for the zipper on the side, clearly very upset with himself.
I grab his forearm, halting his movement, I don't want him hating himself. “No. No boyfriend,” I sadly whisper, and for a moment, I'm reminded of Myles. We broke up over six months ago. He had destroyed more than my heart, he'd shredded my self-esteem, too. He had obliterated my faith in men, because I had thought he was the one. We had even talked about marriage, and despite my health issues, he assured me over and over again it was a non-issue, but apparently it was.
Quinn arches a brow as if he's not convinced. “What? No significant other? That’s very hard to believe.”
“Why do you say that?”
“C’mon, sweetheart, look at you. I mean, I may have been in a sleepy haze, but my hands know the feel of real woman’s body.” His lips twitch as he tries to hold back a grin, and just that quick, his playful mood has returned. His eyes slowly graze the length of my body in a way that sends shivers through me. “And my eyes are not deceiving me right now either…so, yeah, I’d think you’d have an army of men beating down your door.”
“Not when you have the kind of father I do,” I divulge. I snap my mouth shut, scolding myself for the slip-up, knowing I can't disclose my personal life to anyone.
“Ah…the overprotective father saga,” he says lightly, and then he chews on the inside of his cheek in thought. For some odd reason, he looks somewhat disturbed over the mention of my father. Abruptly, the mood shifts, and there is an unspoken tension radiating off him. His mood swings are giving me whip lash, and it makes me uncomfortable so I try to ease the strained moment.
“I’m sorry. This was all my fault.”
His eyes snap back to mine, and then his forehead wrinkles as if he can't process what I just said. “Sweetheart, you woke up screaming in the middle of the night, and then you started crying hysterically,” he says with a frown, then lightly runs his index finger down the side of my face. His voice is full of empathy as he continues, “How is this your fault, and how could I not want to console you? You were seriously having a bad time of it. I may be a lot of things, Lexi, but being callous toward someone while they’re in distress isn’t one of them.”
I squint my eyes, wanting to forget the anguish I woke up to last night. “Yeah…about that.”
“Yeah, about that, do you want to talk about it?” He asks in such a tender way it makes my heart flutter, but I shake my head, I’m not ready to talk about it. His lips form a thin line as he thinks hard about something. “Can I at least ask who Griffen is?”
“That’s my horse,” I glumly answer. “I’ve had him forever, and I miss him terribly.”
He nods his head in understanding. “Are you sure there isn’t anything else you want to talk about? I’m a good listener,” he prompts. His concern is genuine; I can see it plain as day, and I adore him for it.
I give him a small smile and cup the side of his unshaven, bristly jaw. He's so damn handsome. “Thank you. You have no idea what it meant to me last night, you holding me the way you did. I can’t thank you enough.”
He covers my hand with his and looks deep into my eyes, as if he’s searching for something else. “Of course. It was my pleasure, and I’m here if and when you decide you might want to talk, okay?”
I wonder if his statement means he's going to stick with me. I hope so, but I don't want to presume so, or over think it.
“Okay.” I don't want him to think I’m a wanton hussy because I had allowed him to go as far as he did with me. I’d hate for him to think badly of me, so I confess, “Just so you know, I don’t sleep with random strangers…like at all.”
A soft smile plays on his lips as he assures me, “Don’t worry about it. I could tell from the get-go you’re not that type of woman.” He then breaks eye contact as he looks around, and then smiles a full, megawatt smile, lighting up the day. “Well, good morning, girl.”
Kimber has come to my side as she wags her tail and kisses us both good morning. I giggle as she works her way in between us. “Jealous, Kimber? You think this chick is off limits to me?” His joviality has her getting more excited, and she wags her tail with more enthusiasm. He then does something totally off the cuff and unexpected. He leverages me against his dog in play for affection.
“This is my girl, not yours,” h
e playfully teases, and then he starts kissing the side of my neck, making all kinds of strange noises. I burst out laughing, because it not only tickles, but it’s even funnier when Kimber paws at his hand for him to stop touching me. As if she actually is jealous, she whines, making a cute, frustrated sound, and then uses her snout to try and break us apart. She’s a strong little stinker as her nose tries to nuzzle between my neck and Quinn’s lips, but she can’t seem to break us apart. Quinn's heavy kisses on the side of my neck have millions of goose bumps erupting over my entire body.
Kimber winds up licking the side of my face relentlessly in a show of excitement. I squeal as I’m attacked by a wet, icky tongue. I’m trapped with affection on both sides of me, and I revel in it. Quinn plays this cat-and-mouse game until I’m laughing so hard I almost pee myself. I finally cry out, calling a truce between the two.
Quinn relents and pulls away with a huge grin on his face. “C’mon, Angel, time to start our day,” he says, giving me a quick wink. When he leans over me and unzips the sleeping bag, I catch a whiff of his musky scent, and believe it or not, it's sexy. I want nothing more than to stay snuggled together with him all day. I can’t help but note he called me Angel. He was awake enough while kissing me to remember the endearment he'd spoken, and a part of me wonders if he calls all his one-night stands Angel.
Quinn is all man, rough and hard around the edges, yet he has a tender side to him that he’s not afraid to show. His blatant honesty, openness, and show of affection has me puzzled because I’ve never met anyone quite like him before. Plus, he comes across as having this expertise and intellect in all aspects of life, which I know is a rarity. Heck, half the men I had dated in college couldn't change a light bulb; Quinn is on an entirely different playing field.
It's really bizarre, but I felt this unusual and mystifying connection the second I saw those stark blue eyes of his. As much as it's going to pain me, it’s best if I make him off-limits, because I can tell he’s a player, and a damn good one at that. I also know he’s going to be a hard one to resist if we stick together.
