by Anyta Sunday
Perhaps he guessed my thoughts, because he chuckled lightly and finally lowered his length over me. He nuzzled my neck as he firmly rolled his fingers down my arms and linked our hands. He squeezed them as he rubbed his cock between my cheeks. The condom was on, but the lube was plentiful and he glided back and forth as he breathed heavily in my ear. “You feel so good.”
An electric, beaded shiver had me thrusting harder against the sheets and urging my ass back so he would take me.
“Okay, Liam,” he said, and shifted, one hand coming off mine as he gently angled my ass and aligned the tip of his cock at my entrance. He pushed in, his head popping inside, stretching me. I drew in a breath and clenched my fingers tighter around his hand.
“Keep going.”
He pushed in carefully, filling me with his thick length as he fed me encouraging little strokes with his thumb.
It stung a bit, but I’d had no illusions it wouldn’t. He gave me a moment to adjust to the full feeling and then drew back a short way and thrust slowly, gradually increasing the length and speed of his thrusts.
At first, most of the pleasure came from the thought that Quinn was deeply seated in me, that we were so close. I derived pleasure from the trust and from hearing how much it undid Quinn; the way he groaned and panted, the light nips on my ear when he held himself still for a moment, trying not to spill too early.
My body accepted and anticipated the rhythm, trying to arch back and thrust into the sheets at the perfect moment. My cock grew hard again and with even more zeal and impatience than before. Quinn shifted our positions slightly so we lay more on our sides. My feet pressed against his for leverage, and he gripped my cock and stroked it in time to his thrusts.
His mouth opened on my shoulder and bit down gently and suddenly I needed Quinn to move faster, harder—
He moved as if he read my thoughts, and then he rolled his hips, and a burst of sensation had me whimpering against my arm. “That. Again.”
He rocked against the spot again.
“Keep doing that,” I panted, pushing a hand against the bed to increase the friction as I pitched faster on him.
“Oh, fuck. Liam!”
His hand jerked me faster, and he nipped again at my shoulder all the way up to my neck, where his body tensed and froze around me. His cock pumped with his orgasm, and the combination of mental and physical pleasure of it sent my climax hurtling out in five powerful ropes, splashing over my chest.
Our rapid breaths slowly calmed, and Quinn drew his arm tight around me for a moment until his cock slipped out and he rolled back to take care of the condom.
A kiss met the back of my head, and air stirred as Quinn got up and left the room. He came back a minute later with a warm washcloth.
“How are you doing?” he asked, and wiped my chest clean.
I flexed my ass. “Tender, but I’m thankful for it.”
He laughed, and strategically folded the washcloth and placed it on his bedside table. The bed dipped and bowed as Quinn lay down again and folded the blankets around us from the sides. “I’m thankful for you too.”
He kissed my cheek and rearranged himself so he stared up. The sunlight blotting through the tree and into the window made shadows play across the cream ceiling.
He said quietly, “I’m sorry for our beginning, though. I should never have made assumptions about you before I knew you. The strange thing is, even when I was saying them, I still felt this thing.”
“Thing?”
“The thing that led to the pathetic crush.”
“Attraction, you mean?”
He rubbed his eyes. “Yeah. Since reading your first description of me in that damn notebook.”
“If I had it here right now, I’d jot down a few other adjectives. You’re really quite the sight.”
Quinn rolled over suddenly, fanning cool air between us. He turned back with a pen. “Go ahead.”
I shifted onto my side and took the pen, pressing the tip on his arm. In cursive, I wrote:
Disheveled. Rakish.
And then, thinking of the sex we’d just had:
Strong. Safe. Tender.
The pen slipped when Quinn spoke: “Hunter gave me more details about the idea for your article.”
I continued with Considerate.
“I think he’s right. You should do it.”
“I was going to, anyway,” I said, and after a moment added, “but it makes things . . . better that you’re okay with it.”
He stilled his hand over mine on the pen and drew it away, shifting to hold my gaze. “Remember when I came to this apartment the first time and you told me it belongs to your dad?”
“Yes.”
“You said there were no hurt feelings hidden anywhere. That it is what it is. But it’s not, is it?”
So Hunter had spilled more than details about the article. “No, it’s not.”
Quinn glanced to the dancing shadows and back. “I’m sorry, Liam.”
I rolled over him to the side of the bed and shrugged. Quinn tried to grab me, but I dodged him. It was time I get up and get on with the day, anyway. “He’ll get to know me,” I said as I slipped my robe over my shoulders. “I’ll score that position.” And then—more to myself than to Quinn—I said, “I’m not going to fail.”
The Friday following Thanksgiving weekend, Hunter rang. “Wish me luck on my date.”
I held the phone to my shoulder with my ear as I packed my laptop into my bag. “Don’t you make your own luck?”
A short silence, and then, “Make a toast with me: to the most unforgettable night.”
I scoured around and picked up a glass of tepid water I’d had at my bedside. “To the most unforgettable night.”
I swallowed the water, but it left an acrid taste in my mouth. Closing my bag, I asked, “Have you talked to Shannon yet? Quinn said he tried, but things are still awkward.”
I trudged into the living room and grabbed my keys from behind the cookbook stand on the bench. Quinn had marked an eggplant lasagna he wanted to try out on an unwilling me.
“I tried a couple of times,” Hunter said, his voice thin down the line. “Both major fails. But I’m sure things will pick up between her and Quinn soon.”
As if he heard his name, Quinn, lying on the couch talking on his cellphone, looked my way. He covered the receiver and mouthed, “Off to the office?”
“Tonight’s the night.” After a week of interviews and research, I’d drafted my article. And it was good. In need of fleshing out, and possibly rearranging in some parts, but I liked where it was going. “Scribe, here I come.”
Hunter was the first to respond, “Fuck, dude. You’ll rock this. If what I saw was anything to go by, you have this in the bag.”
Quinn hummed something into his cell and hung up. “And the party of the week? If you like, I can go somewhere and write notes for you?”
I checked my pocket for my notebook and pen. There. There. Good. “I’m pushing that to tomorrow, unless I’m feeling particularly sprightly come midnight.”
Hunter snorted in my ear. “Sprightly. Love it. Get cracking on that article, and send me and my buddies a copy when you’re done, yeah?”
He disengaged, and I slipped the phone into my bag. Quinn was there the moment it slid into the snug pocket. “No matter what happens with your report, whether or not you get features editor and what your dad does or doesn’t say, I already think you’re amazing.”
A soft, brief kiss punctuated his words. “But I know how much this means to you, so . . .” A sudden slap sizzled my ass. “Get cracking, Liam.”
The night was thick and chilled, so of course my bus came late and I climbed on with chattering teeth and my jacket done up to my chin. I could have walked to campus faster, and now that I’d had three self-defense lessons, I was confident enough for it too.
By the time I arrived, the church bells in the distance were chiming eight o’clock. Never mind. At least I’d gone through my outline on my way
over and knew exactly how I’d tackle it. It shouldn’t take me longer than an hour to finish. And at Scribe—the reason I’d packed myself up to go there—I worked best. Something in the atmosphere of the place really kick-started my engine. Besides, this moment I wanted to remember for a long time, so along with the email I’d also lay a copy of the article on the chief’s desk.
Outside the ugly concrete block that was my destination, my phone trilled, vibrating in my bag.
Quinn.
I answered, “You miss me already.” His chuckle was breezy in my ear. Beeping came down the line. “Are you going out for the night?”
“How’d you know?”
“Street noise.”
“Right. Well, I’m heading to that cathedral party.”
“Not to interfere with Hunter’s date, I hope.”
“Nah. Shannon called and told me her date was a bust, he never showed up. So I have to get my ass down there. I’m using any opportunity to get us on the right footing again. I bought her blue roses, her favorites. Any other advice?”
I used my key-card to get inside. “If you dance, let her lead.”
“Damn, but I really can’t figure out how the steps go in reverse.”
“Bye, Quinn.”
He grumbled and disconnected.
I climbed to the Scribe floor, expecting to have the office to myself this late on a Friday evening, but milky light came through Scribe’s fogged glass doors. I let myself inside—
A large grunting sob echoed through the room, tensing my limbs. Stiffly, I searched where the sound emanated from. I was never one to deal well with other people’s tears, and when my gaze settled on Jill, head tucked into his elbow at his desk, I was even less prepared.
He hadn’t heard me. That much was clear. If he had, he’d have shut up quick—I was the last person he’d want to humiliate himself in front of.
I considered sneaking back out of the office and finding a Starbucks where I could finish my article. It wasn’t ideal, but neither was listening to Jill sobbing as I worked.
Of course, the other option was to man-up and go over there. I didn’t like the fact it was probably the option Hunter and Quinn would have cheered for most.
That thought had me reluctantly picking my way over to Jill and his heaving back. I kept my stance assertive and packed with as much confidence as I could muster.
But just in case Jill wasn’t the victim Hunter thought him to be, I fished for my cellphone and readied it.
“Jill?” I had to make a quick decision—go to his side, or sit at Jack’s desk opposite him.
I chose Jack’s desk. Space was good.
Jill’s body went rigid, and he slowly peeled himself from his arm. He twisted his chair toward the wall where I might not see his face, but from this vantage, I already caught his teary-eyed, blotchy profile.
“What do you want, Davis?” he asked, his voice devoid of its usual sharpness. “Or are you here to rub it in?”
I shifted, my chair squeaking as I leaned forward and placed my elbows on the desk. “I’m the last person you want to speak to, I get that. I’m not thrilled about this either. But . . . something is up with you and has been for the past few weeks. And—let’s just put it out there—I’m pretty sure it’s got something to do with you liking Jack.”
Jill spun his chair in my direction, scowling, angry. “You don’t know shit.”
“You’re in the closet then.”
His face twitched from a blotchy red to something close to the color of my robe . . . or those tights I wore to the Halloween party. He stuttered, and I thought he’d yell at me again, but instead a gurgled sob escaped his throat.
“It’s more than just that,” he said, knuckles whitening around a phone.
“You told him, and he doesn’t feel the same way.”
Jill shuddered and he focused on the phone. A tear seeped from his eye. When he didn’t say anything, I rested my cellphone on the table and took out my outline. “Tell you what,” I said, “You take your time. Talk if you want. I’m just going to sit here and do some work. But if and when you’re ready, I’ll be listening.”
I unzipped my laptop and started it up.
It was beyond awkward, working across from him as his breath shuddered and he constantly murmured “fuck.” I sat stiffly and within quick reach of my phone.
I’d done less than ten minutes of work when he said, “You think I’m the guy, don’t you?”
I reached for my phone and brought it to my lap. “The one threatening The Raven? I did.”
“That’s why that wheelchair dude kept harassing me about my arm.”
“His name is Hunter, and he’s the best dude you’ll ever have harassing you. How is your arm?”
“Just a sprain.”
I held his tough-guy gaze that no longer looked so tough, but rather uncertain and pained.
He passed the phone to his other hand and tapped the end of it against the edge of his desk.
“Who do you want to call?” I asked, saving my document. “Jack?”
Another sob. “No. The police.”
I straightened, grabbed a packet of tissues from my bag and handed one to Jill. “Are you finally going to tell them about The Night Warrior?”
He snatched it and rubbed his nose. Through a billow of tissue paper came, “He hurt me. He’s going to hurt again.” He glanced at his arm. “But—but I just can’t bring myself to give him up, because . . . because . . .”
“You’re afraid?” I said.
He shook his head, choking on a sob.
“You think it makes you look weak?”
“Fuck off.”
“Because you’re in the closet?”
He threw the tissue between us and banged the phone against the desk. “Because it’s Jack. Because I’m in love with him.”
Silence.
And then it all came crashing into place. How The Night Warrior had slipped the threat into Hannah’s mail, how I thought Freddy had known my name, why Jack had been so cold toward Jill . . .
I clutched my phone. “You need to file a report immediately. And if you think he’s going to hurt someone, call the police. Immediately.”
Jill rubbed the top of the phone against his forehead. “Don’t you think I know that? He wants to teach The Raven a lesson.”
“The Raven,” I repeated. A shiver wormed its way down my spine to the tips of my toes.
“I’m in love with him. He keeps a spare key taped to the back of his desk drawer.” Jill rummaged in his pocket and procured a key. He tossed it between us. “I stalked. Snuck into his apartment, and he has all this stuff on The Raven. He’s hated him with a passion for years. I always thought it was because he didn’t believe in using violence to stop violence.” He glanced pointedly at his arm. “I don’t think that anymore.”
I leaped to my feet. “Do you think he’s figured out who—?”
“Yes,” Jill said, pressing something on the phone. “From the stuff I read, Jack’s been working with someone to gather information on—and lure out—The Raven.”
“Why does he care so much?”
Jill rested the phone and swiveled his chair. He fumbled through a bag and brought out a folder-full of newspaper clippings and photos. “The Raven knocked Jack’s brother down and held him until the police arrived. He disappeared just as they pulled up.”
I took the folder. “Is this what you found at Jack’s?”
“Everything. Call me pissed, but I took it all. Among a few other things.”
I marched to the shredder and fed every scrap of evidence about The Raven into it. Glancing out the windows, I was met with the view of Cathedral of Learning lit with featured lights.
The Raven’s gonna lose his wings
We’ll smile while he sings and sings
Then we’d love to watch him fly
Through a deep, dark, angry sky
Acid rose up my throat as I remembered Jack saying he would be at the cathedral party to work.
I sucked in a sharp breath. He was going to attack tonight.
Fingers trembling on my phone, I rushed out of the office, dialing the police—
“Someone I know is about to commit an assault . . .” Jill spoke firmly into the phone.
“Tell them that it might be happening at the cathedral party,” I said. I barreled for the door. The police would take anywhere from seven to ten minutes to get to the cathedral?
My friends were across the street. I had to warn them.
I ran.
CHAPTER 19
I kept running.
I made it into the neo-gothic building, skidding around the corridor to the elevators, and pounded on the UP button.
My heart punched against my ribs. “Come on!”
The elevator dinged open, and two women spilled out laughing, one tugging the other by the hand. I squeezed past them and pressed for the 32nd floor, once, twice, three times.
The doors grated shut, and each second passing made it feel like the elevator was being manually lifted. I shifted my weight, my hands clamped into balls at my side. I’m coming, I’m coming, I’m coming. An age later, the doors squealed open and I skidded into the party.
Tens of students and lecturers chattered over a live Bach pianoforte, popping hors d'oeuvres into their mouths. Through the thick pack of champagne-drinking tuxedos and gowns, Quinn and Hunter weren’t anywhere to be seen. Darting around a waiter in a golden waistcoat balancing a tray of caviar, I spotted Hannah near a large bookshelf, leaning against Roger, who was playing with the ends of her hair.
I pushed my way to her, stumbling over my shoelace. “Have you seen Quinn and Shannon? Or Hunter and Mitch?”
Hannah tilted her head. “Are you okay, Liam?”
“No,” I said, scanning the crowd once more. “Have you seen anyone?”
“Is Hunter the one in the wheelchair?” Hannah asked. “I saw him and another guy head into the bathrooms ten minutes ago—”
I zipped to the bathrooms, banging my shoulder against the door in my hurry. It swung in. Cold air whistled through a partially open window, but otherwise it was unoccupied—
