by Anyta Sunday
“When did you figure that out?” Hunter asked, regaining his control and smoothly turning toward home.
“There were a few signals from the start, so I decided to test my theory out.”
Hunter zipped onto College Street without indicating. I could just make out my apartment from here, its teal trimming a funky dark green in the night.
“Go on,” Hunter said.
I picked at the belt across my chest while I described my findings. “Things felt better with Quinn than they ever have before, and since the weekend I’ve been looking at guys differently. I think I can now say I am empirically more sexually attracted to males than females.”
Hunter raised one sharp eyebrow and gave a smirk that could land a mark in the dark. “Go back to the bit about Quinn.”
“Speaking of,” I said, gesturing out the window toward the path leading to my apartment. Standing opposite each other, arms widely gesturing as if in the middle of a row, were Shannon and Quinn.
Hunter slowed down just before our place, applied the brake, and leaned back in his seat, threading his fingers behind his head. “Well, you don’t see that often,” he murmured.
Even though we were double-parked only a car’s length from my place, neither Shannon nor Quinn seemed to notice us. Hunter used the main control to roll down my window. A cool breeze and Quinn’s voice hit my face.
“I’m telling you because you’re my best friend.” Quinn kicked his heel into the grass at the edge of the path. Then softer, “But I should have told you sooner. Much sooner. I’m sorry for that.”
Shannon’s hair shook free of a loose hold. Her blue streaks shone brightly under the ornate lamppost nestled in front of a large willow lining the path. She was scrunching something in her hand, paper of some sort. “You . . .” she trailed off, stepping back, her shit-kickers clomping against the concrete.
She glanced to her side, and her gaze latched onto the van. Us. She sought Hunter, eyes glazed and saddened.
Tossing the paper at Quinn, she hurried up the street, quickly disappearing into thick shadows.
“What was that about?” Hunter mused as we watched Quinn chase after her in his pajama bottoms, unzipped parka, and unlaced boots.
I slipped out of the van. Shivering against another breeze, I darted to the path, chasing after the scuttling balled paper. I opened it, carefully flattening the paper against my thigh. The words jumped out at me, sharp and long like Freddy’s fingers had been. It was the flyer from the Jell-O party. The one wanting any and every bit of information on The Raven. The one threatening to hurt him.
For a long, cold minute I stared at that paper until all of my thoughts crashed together and unified to give me an answer. The answer.
Calmly, I walked back to the van. To Hunter. I leaned against the door and looked over at him. “I figured it out,” I said, sliding the paper onto the passenger seat. “I know who The Raven is.”
“You just figured it out? Bang, just like that?”
“You sound surprised.”
He tried to laugh, but his curiosity was too dominant. “Who is he then?”
I leaned in and told him. When he’d heard everything I had to say, he shook his head. “No. That can’t be right.” He was already starting the car. He dropped his gaze to his legs, and I shut the door. His head shook again, and he glanced at me one last time before hightailing out of there. “I would have known.”
CHAPTER 15
I dressed for bed and sat myself on the couch with my laptop, awaiting Quinn’s return. I had scanned old articles that had anything to do with The Raven, and in combination with what victims had told me, I was certain I was right.
Quinn came in with a bang of the door, and kicked off his boots. He shrugged out of his jacket, letting it fall to the floor. He didn’t bother to pick it up. The bottoms of his pajamas were soaked with mud and he peeled them off, hopping on one foot and muttering cuss words when they caught.
I swiveled on the end of the couch, shutting my laptop and setting it on the glass table.
The motion elicited a startled look from Quinn in my direction. His stiff shoulders relaxed a fraction, and he tossed his pajama bottoms on top of his abandoned jacket and moved toward me, wearing only his tightie-whities and a matching tank-top.
“Liam,” he said, my name coming like a relieved sigh off his lips.
It was a warm sound that skittered over my skin, the same way the electrical current did between us when we got close. Part of me wanted to give in to the feeling, loosen with it as if it were a drug, but I was in better control of my facilities than to let that happen.
I pushed myself off the couch and faced him. Whatever my expression was, it was enough to make him stop mid-step. I didn’t beat around the bush. “I know who The Raven is.”
He braced his other foot to the floor. “You do?” But it came out less of a question, than a resignation.
“Yes, Quinn. I do.”
He drew a pattern with his sweaty sock over the floor. A triangle, or a square. “What are you going to do?” He paused, and his voice grew softer, wearier. “Report him?”
“It would be a sure way to land the features editor position.” I swallowed and searched his eyes. “But I’m not callous. Especially not when it comes to you. As far as I’m concerned, I don’t know squat about The Raven. But—”
He lifted his head and angled it, reading me so intently all those tingles returned.
I shook them off. “But it has to stop, Quinn. One wrong move and it could be over. The end. I don’t think either of us wants that happen.”
He closed his eyes and nodded. “I’m trying. But it’s not as easy to stop as you think.”
“Try harder. I’ll help where I can too, just like I was helped.”
His Adam’s apple jutted hard. “You—you don’t seem surprised. I guess I expected, if you ever found out, that you’d be more . . . well, surprised,” he finished lamely.
“Once I put all the facts together, it just made sense. It was right under my nose the whole time”—I shrugged—“I should have seen it sooner.”
“And you’re not mad I didn’t tell you?”
So he didn’t tell me? No big deal. “Just because we’re friends doesn’t mean we’ve made promises to share all our secrets.”
“Right. Thanks.”
Our gazes held and he came forward, pushing a thick wall of tingles and goosebump soup with him. I wanted to submerge myself in it, wrap myself up in his strong arms, taste him all over again, but then I looked up. His eyes were ringed with shadows and tension, and I knew his calendar enough to know he had an early morning start tomorrow.
“Is there anything else, Liam?” he asked, a mixture of soft and tired. “Anything you might like to say to me tonight?”
I shook my head and veered around him toward my bedroom. “No. I think that’s it.”
“If you find yourself pinned to the floor, there are a few things you can do.”
I hurried in, five minutes late for my self-defense class. The mats squelched underfoot as I made my way to the semi-circle watching Quinn’s instruction, detouring briefly to dump my bag and jacket on the bench.
A quick glance at today’s participants told me Shannon wasn’t teaching today.
“First throw him off balance,” Quinn said. My gaze was drawn to him as he beckoned to Cheddar to come forward and straddle him. “Hold my wrists to the floor.” Cheddar pressed down, locking him tightly. I shuffled around the others until I could see Quinn better. His serious gaze was focused intently on Cheddar.
“Draw your attacker in,” he continued. “Likely any attackers are expecting you to shove them back, push them away, struggle. They’ll be off guard if you do the opposite. Instead”—he slid his arms over his head, effectively closing the gap between him and Cheddar—“bring them closer. As soon as they’ve lost their center of balance, thrust your hips up, like this, at the same time as you sweep your hands in an arc to your legs, and shove your attack
er to the side.”
Quinn sprung to his feet and offered a hand to pull Cheddar up, who grinned like a kid. With a cursory glance around the semi-circle, Quinn stopped on me a long moment. “Partner up, and practice.”
A quick calculation told me there were an odd number of students. I had an easy solution for that and, after removing my glasses and setting them next to my bag, I headed for Quinn.
“Let’s do this,” I said to a bland stare.
His jaw clenched, muscles rippling. “I have to annotate the others.”
“Annotate them after you’re done with me, then,” I said, lowering myself to the mat.
Quinn stared down at me and swallowed. With a mutter and a grumpy expression, he straddled me, thighs gripping my sides tightly and hands firmly pressing my wrists to the mat.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“What’s up?” He shook his head and the blond tips of his hair glittered from the light above like a halo. His voice dropped to a whisper. “I’m frustrated.”
“Why?”
“You’re acting like nothing’s happened between us!”
“We jerked each other off. I liked it.” I shoved my hands up like he showed us; he collapsed with a warm, solid weight against me and our noses bumped. “I didn’t realize it was mandatory to broadcast it the entire week.”
His gaze dipped to my lips. He looked poised to say something about that, and then shook his head. Instead he said, “This is the part where you’re meant to buck me off.”
“Yes. I just don’t want to.”
“God, Liam. What are you doing to me?” His lips tilted toward mine and then he huffed out a groan and rolled himself off.
He lay on his back a while, rubbing the heel of his palm on his forehead. “I always fall for the wrong damn guy.”
I frowned at that, and sat with my arms around my knees as he picked himself up off the floor and moved around the room, commenting on other partners. I tried to fish for his attention with long looks his way, but he wasn’t biting. He didn’t for the rest of the lesson.
Did it mean he needed more space? That I should find my own way home today?
After we finished, I grabbed my stuff, tucking my jacket tight to my neck and my hands deep into the relative warmth of my pockets. The streets were already dark outside, but at least there was a bright moon tonight.
Shadows from the trees made me jumpy, and I recalled our first self-defense lesson. I pulled my hands out of my pockets, straightened my shoulders and walked with purpose. Assertiveness.
It actually helped, even if it didn’t expel the visions of Freddy looming in the shadows.
A horn beeped, and I jumped, spinning toward it—
Quinn, driving his beat-up Toyota. The car crawled along next to me as he beckoned me in.
Though relatively confident I could make it home safely, it was cold, and a quick drive was by far more preferable.
I slipped inside and buckled in. Despite offering me the ride home, Quinn didn’t seem to be in the mood for talking. Broody and silent the entire way, Quinn maintained his bad mood even once we’d made it inside and peeled off our outer layers.
I watched him mope into the kitchen and pour himself a drink. Deciding to leave him some alone time, I snuck silently down the hall, grabbed a towel from the linen cupboard, and jumped into the shower.
Water hit my back, warm and firm, like a much-needed massage. I picked up the soap and scrubbed myself clean. A knock at the bathroom door had me rubbing a clear circle on the fogged plastic door. Was Quinn bursting so hard he couldn’t wait? “Come in.”
He did. Through the plastic, Quinn was mostly an outline, blurred with color. But he didn’t stop at the toilet; he came right up to the door until I could see his features more than clearly.
Again, I wiped through the steam. “What do you want?”
“I want to be a bit more like you. Blunt and to the point.” The shower door opened, and Quinn, in his boxers and tank-top, stepped inside. “I liked what we did together last week.”
I moved back, offering him a shared part of the hot water. “I did too.”
Water sprayed over his chin and shoulders, clinging his tank-top to his chest and matting a few of the hairs that peeked over the top.
The lust of his gaze running slowly down the length of my body heated me up more than the hot water, and on instinct, I touched myself, blood rushing to my groin.
Water soaked Quinn’s sky-blue boxer-briefs, outlining his hardening length.
“Your point is certainly clear,” I said through a tight throat, watching rivulets of water drip from my arm and onto Quinn’s inner thigh.
He angled the showerhead so it hit the back wall, creating a makeshift waterfall. Carefully, he stepped in and pushed me toward it. It was like warm silk flowing down my back, while the rest of me was exposed to air that should have been cooler, but instead was heated by animalistic lust.
Quinn’s fingers lifted my chin until we were focused on each other. “I’m not sure my point is clear yet,” he said, angling his head. The tips of his wet hair tickled against my forehead as his hungry lips sucked on mine.
I slipped my arms around his shoulders, dipping under his tank-top then running a hand through the back of his hair, holding him there, forcing him to deepen the kiss.
His lips pulled back an inch but his forehead came to rest against mine. “I want to take you in my mouth.”
My cock twitched at that, the head lightly tapping Quinn’s hip at the edge of his wet cotton briefs and smooth skin. “Please,” I said.
His breath whistled over my cheek and he kissed me again, lips moving softer this time, taking his time, teasing. Sensual.
My skin prickled as his lips drew crooked, explorative lines over my chest, pinching at my nipples and pulling them into his mouth. He lapped at my right nipple, the one surrounded by a smattering of dark freckles. His fingertips danced over them as he lightly bit, sending a shock of current to my already hard cock, making it leak and bob against Quinn again.
I gasped as his hands traveled down my sides and rounded my backside, one finger stroking my entrance. “Take me into your mouth!”
He murmured a laugh as he bent to his knees, his mouth sustaining its contact with my skin. “I want to hear you cry my name when you come.”
His tented briefs brushed over my leg and the moan he let out skated over the tip of my cock. I tilted my hips toward him, nudging my head at his parted lips. His gaze flew up to mine as his wet, warm mouth enveloped me. I moaned, my head falling to my chest as my eyes shut with the intense pleasure of being firmly sucked deep into Quinn. I thrust lightly, the head of my cock squeezing down his throat and twisting gloriously.
I slammed my arms on either side of the wall as Quinn moved in time with my thrusts, as if he knew my song and could sing it to perfection. I wanted him to never stop.
Quinn’s finger harmonized with my song of pleasure, nudging at my entrance with every outstroke. Water trickled down my ass and thigh and over Quinn’s shoulder. My tempo increased. I wasn’t sure which one I wanted more, to plunge down that deep, tight throat or to impale myself on his finger.
My orgasm built quickly, and I was panting harder and harder and—
“Quinn!” It burst out of me, and my pleasure swelled with each of his swallows. I sagged against the wall, a spray of water hitting my shoulder and fanning outward, lightly misting Quinn.
He carefully drew off me, palms running down the backs of my thighs. He held my gaze as he slipped his hand down his boxer-briefs and drew out his hard length. “Stay like that. Keep looking at me.”
Sitting back on his haunches, he pumped himself hard and fast, as if already close to the end. His eyes shut briefly, but when he reopened them, they were locked on mine again. His body stiffened and he shot over my knee, my ankle, the floor.
He was suddenly trembling, so I moved to the side, re-angling the showerhead so he could get some warmth. “No, that wasn’t what I�
�thank you,” he said.
He peeled out of his clothes and for the next few minutes we focused on cleaning, taking turns to rinse off under the water.
Once we were out, towels tightly wrapped around our hips, I headed for the door only to have my wrist snagged. I turned back toward Quinn, who was staring intently.
He softened his grip but didn’t let go. “I don’t want you racing off to your bedroom, and I don’t want to wait another week without mentioning this.”
My gaze dropped to my wrist and back to him. “Are you saying you want a relationship, Quinn?”
He drew himself and that tingle-inducing shell he always seemed to wear right up close. He nipped my ear. “You bet your ass I am.”
I moved to his room, snatching up my laptop on the way. His bed hadn’t been made and, climbing into it, I kept an eye out for the likelihood I’d be exfoliated by Pringle shards. Seemed a low possibility. The bedding might have been tangled, but it also smelled faintly of washing powder.
Sitting back against the headboard with the pillow jammed behind me and my naked legs stretched out, I burrowed the right leg against Quinn’s body and opened up my laptop.
Quinn pecked my elbow, rasping the edges of his teeth lightly over my skin. “Of course you’d bring your work in here.”
He delicately nipped my elbow again, and then watched as I checked my mails. My mom had written promising next year she’d make up for having to work.
I hit reply and typed back that it wasn’t a problem, and then I described in detail my ideas for “the article” that had to “wow” the chief. Mostly it was to cement the ideas for myself, but I knew my mother liked it when I went off on detailed tangents. She said it was always a privilege when she was allowed inside my head.
I wrapped up twenty minutes later, asking her a question at the end about how her new job was going. Quinn watched, his breath funneling under the sheets and over my hip.
I dragged the mouse symbol to the “send” button, and hesitated. A quick glance at Quinn’s blond tufts and clubbed ear nuzzled close to my side, and I added a P.S.
