“Just, um…like that?”
“Yes.”
“I can’t.”
Quinn repeated himself, biting off each word with a click of his lip ring.
“Moan.” Click. “Scream.” Click. “Yelp.” Click.
Her eyes stayed trained on his mouth, and when he finished speaking, a tiny noise did escape from her lips.
Quinn didn’t know which of the three it was, but he sure as hell knew it wasn’t fake. And he wanted her to make it again.
Shit.
“That was good,” Quinn said quickly, careful to keep his face impassive. “But make it louder.”
“All right.”
She opened her mouth, and nothing came out. She tried again, and managed a small, unconvincing whimper.
“That’s fine,” Quinn said. “If you’re imitating a mouse having sex.”
She rolled her eyes. “What do you suggest?”
“Close your eyes.”
She shot him a doubtful look. “So you can help yourself to a look at me?”
Quinn fought a grin. He had a perfectly good view of her in the mirror above the sink, but he wasn’t going to point it out.
“You said you’d do what I told you to do,” he reminded her. “Are you a liar and a shitty faker?”
“I’m not a – ” Ginnie cut herself off, shook her head, then said, “Fine.”
Truthfully, Quinn was actually relieved when she squeezed her lids shut. It gave him a momentary reprieve from her intense stare.
Why the hell is this so important to you, Quinn? he wondered.
He stared at her face, trying to figure it out. Her lips were parted. Not sexily, but awkwardly. For some reason, it still made him as hard as a rock.
He willed himself to fight it, and he closed his own eyes for a second too, but a pig-like squeal made them fly open again.
“What the hell was that?” he demanded.
“A sex noise!”
“Seriously? That’s the worst sex noise I’ve ever heard.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” she retorted. “And it was a fake sex noise, remember?”
Quinn shot her deliberately cocky grin. “Right. I guess I’ve never heard one of those before.”
Ginnie rolled her eyes again. “Shut up.”
“Listen,” he said. “I realize we’re doing this to induce jealousy, but I’d appreciate it if I walked out of here looking like an accomplished lover. Not a farmer who’s a little too fond of his pigs.”
“That’s gross.”
“My point exactly.”
“I’m doing my best.”
Quinn opened his mouth to tell her what he thought of her so-called best, but he caught the slight tremor in her lip and the trace of insecurity in her eyes.
Dammit.
“Oh, hell,” he muttered. “Just make it a little more authentic. Think about it the same way you would think about a real orgasm. Build and release.”
“I don’t – ” Ginnie cut herself off, mid-sentence. “I’ve actually never had to fake an orgasm.”
An unreasonable surge of jealousy shot through Quinn. She’d never had to fake it with Dr. Husband. Damned if she was going to have to fake it with him. Not if he could help it.
Seven
Ginnie’s face was warm, and she was afraid to meet Quinn’s eyes in case he guessed what she’d been about to say.
Because the truth was she had no idea if she’d ever had an orgasm for real. Not given to her by someone else anyway.
Which was ridiculous.
She’d been with Lawrence for six years. Since her freshman year in college, when she was just barely eighteen. And before she met him, she hadn’t been much for casual dating. She was focused on school, on her scholarships, and not much else. Besides that, she’d been waiting.
And as much Lawrence had liked sex, things between them were pretty routine. He’d never stopped to check if she liked it too.
And maybe she hadn’t.
Maybe when Lawrence cited their lack of compatibility in the bedroom as the primary reason for annulment, it shouldn’t have surprised her so much.
But right that second, it was exactly what had made Ginnie think pretending to join the Mile High club was the perfect piece of revenge. Lawrence hated being wrong. If thought he’d been wrong about this…
Except it wasn’t going to be so perfect if Quinn figured out her secret.
He would have a field day with it, she could tell.
Married, orgasm-less woman.
There was a damned good punch line in there somewhere.
“You know what?” she said, and made herself meet his eyes. “You were right. This was a bad – ”
Abruptly, his hands landed on top of hers, and her protest died on her lips.
“Let’s try something else,” he suggested.
“I don’t – ”
“Now, Ginnie.”
She fixed him with an irritated glare. “You’re awfully bossy.”
He ignored the insult. “Just give me a tiny bit of trust.”
“Trust? We just met.”
“So? No reason not to trust me right?”
Ginnie narrowed her eyes. “Not exactly infallible logic, Quinn.”
The big man grinned. “How about you give me a little leeway instead then?”
Yeah, right, Ginnie thought. Give you an inch, and you’ll overrun the whole damned city.
Quinn went on like she’d already agreed anyway. “I know what your problem is, Ginnie.”
She colored. “I do not have a problem.”
“Yeah, you do. You’re too tense.”
“Of course I’m tense! I’m locked in a bathroom with a man I don’t know, trying to – ”
Quinn’s hands reached up, closed on other side of her face, and he slammed his lips into hers. She wanted to fight him. Ought to have fought him.
Instead, her shoulders dropped, her legs turned to jelly, and the rest of her became molten lava.
Why the hell did he have to be such a good kisser? she wondered as he eased away.
It made it impossible to focus.
Which, it turned out, was his whole game.
“Better,” Quinn said his voice indescribably soft and sexy. “See how easy it is to relax when you’re not thinking about anything else? You can’t fake an orgasm if your body’s that tense. Even a faked one is about releasing tension. Letting it out. Build. And release.”
“It is?”
“Mm hmm. Build,” he murmured, then brushed his lips against hers. “And release. Try saying that.”
“Build and release,” Ginnie repeated, hoping her voice didn’t sound as breathy as it felt.
“It’s all about mind over matter. And maybe looking the part, just a little bit more.”
His hands landed on the back of her neck, and his fingers buried themselves in her ponytail. The elastic band holding the tendrils so carefully in place snapped open.
Ginnie stifled a gasp.
“Close your eyes again,” he instructed, and she did as she was told. Then Quinn spoke again, and his voice was right next to her ear. “Stop holding it in.”
Ginnie swallowed. “Okay.”
“Relax your hands.”
Her palms dropped open obediently, and Quinn turned them up and pressed his thumbs to their centers.
Another little gasp built up in her chest, and this time she couldn’t have held it in if she tried. It flew from her throat.
“Much better,” he said.
Quinn continued to make circles on her skin. They were so tiny that they should have been nearly indiscernible. Instead, they were all-consuming. And heat soared from Ginnie’s hands to her forearms to her shoulders to her chest, making her nipples come to attention under the lace of her bra.
Just because he’s touching your hands and talking to you? she scolded herself.
But as much as her brain thought she should pull away from the attention, her body had zero interest in cooperating.
/>
No thinking! she ordered herself.
“All right?” Quinn wanted to know.
“Mm,” she mumbled.
He released her hands and set them, palm-down, on the top of her knees. Then he reached up to smooth her hair into a soft fan across her back. His fingers brushed her shoulder blades pleasantly before he pulled away. Every part of her body was on high alert, waiting for his next move.
Ginnie’s eyes crept open, but Quinn shook his head.
“Keep them closed,” he instructed. “Less pressure for both of us.”
“Okay,” she agreed again, even though right that second, she almost wished she could stare into those unusual eyes of his.
But when he spoke again, she realized his voice did the trick just fine too.
“Imagine your favorite actor is across from you, his hands on your knees.”
Actor?
A half a dozen names crossed her mind, but their images were slippery and generic.
This isn’t going to work.
“Got it?” Quinn asked gently.
“Yes,” she lied.
“Good. Now imagine his hands are moving up, taking your skirt with them.”
Ginnie tried, but the backs of her lids kept flooding with images of Quinn’s lip ring and flashes of his dark tattoos.
“You with me, Ginnie?”
With him.
Yes, and that was a problem. No actor could do for her what the mere first glimpse of Quinn had done.
“Genevieve?”
Oh, and the way he said her full name with that perfect accent. It was far better than being the queen of her own sexy movie.
So she gave up. She let herself imagine his hands on her knees instead. And her breath caught immediately.
Now I’m here.
“It’s working,” she murmured.
“Good. Because your imaginary Romeo is having a hard time keeping his hands down near your thighs.”
Ginnie could very easily visualize Quinn’s thick fingers creeping eagerly under the synthetic fabric. Warm and firm against her skin.
She shivered, enjoying the fantasy.
“Try it now,” Quinn said, his voice filling the tiny space with its rumble. “Let some of that imaginary, pent up sensuality out.”
A low moan built in Ginnie’s chest, and she didn’t even realize she had let it out until Quinn affirmed its worth.
“Perfect, baby.”
And now the endearment didn’t bother her at all. In fact, she kind of liked it. She imagined him saying it again. Against her throat. Against her collar bone. Down where his imaginary hands were.
“Your fantasy man has leaned down,” Quinn told her. “And even though his hands are busy – almost at your panties now – he wants a little more. So he’s using his teeth to unbutton your shirt. All right?”
“Yes,” Ginnie replied, hearing the eagerness in her reply and not caring at all.
She could practically feel Quinn’s mouth working open the white buttons, practically hear his lip ring hit the plastic. Her chest tipped forward. Her breasts begged to be free for real.
“Oh, god,” she groaned.
“Very good,” Quinn said.
“So good,” she agreed, her voice rising.
“He’s got the top three undone, baby. But he’s a little excited and he wants to see you. So you reach your own hands up to help him. You undo your bra. Quickly.”
Ginnie slipped her hands from her thighs and gripped the edge of the sink so she wouldn’t do it for real. God, how she wanted to. She actually wasn’t sure she’d ever wanted something so badly.
And it’s not even real.
She shoved down the thought.
“Tell him what you want,” Quinn commanded. “He wants to hear it.”
“More!” she demanded loudly, using the game as an excuse to express what she wanted to ask for in actuality.
“Anything you say.” Quinn sounded pleased, and a little husky, too. “You bra is loose now, and you’re so eager to be touched – to be tasted – that your breasts are aching. Throbbing with need, Ginnie. Do you want him to kiss them?”
“Please!” she cried.
She was sure that the whole plane must be able to hear her, and her natural instinct was to be embarrassed, to bite back the animalist sounds that wanted to leave her mouth.
No, she reminded herself. This is the whole point.
“His mouth finds your nipples – they’re swollen and pink and perfect,” he said. “And he sucks each of them slowly, while his fingers finally find the edge of your panties. He’s glad they’re lace because he can feel you underneath them as he strokes you overtop of them.”
Ginnie’s legs fell open, wetness soaking her real underwear as Quinn talked about the fake ones.
Holy shit.
How could Quinn not be feeling what she was feeling? Was it even possible?
“Soon, baby.”
His soft comment brought her to the edge. She was too far gone to care. Her insides were coiled tightly, eager for release.
“One finger pushes the lace aside,” Quinn said. “And the other…It slides inside of you, where you’re hot and wet and ready to be touched.”
Part of her couldn’t believe he’d just said that. But most of her was so glad he had and wanted to hear more.
“It feels good, Genevieve.”
Yes, it sure as hell did.
Unable to help herself, Ginnie tossed her head back and let out a cry.
“He wants you, Ginnie. Really fucking badly,” he murmured.
“Yes!” she moaned.
“But this is about you, not him, and he’s not a selfish man. So he thrusts that finger into you, just deep enough, just firm enough. His thumb gives your clit the attention it wants, circling around, bringing you closer and closer.”
And Ginnie could feel it build.
Build.
And build.
And build some more.
“Now!” she commanded, completely losing herself in the fantasy. “Please!”
“All right, baby. He pushes into you, finding that sweet spot.”
“Yes!”
The plane bounced, just hard enough to slam her right into Quinn, and under his jeans, his was diamond-hard, clearly as turned-on as she was. But Ginnie didn’t have time to stop and think about what that meant. She was far too caught up in the moment.
Build. One final time. And release.
Ginnie’s body exploded with pleasure, heat rocking her to her core. She shook with it.
Holy god.
Every part of her was pulsing. Spent. She could barely breathe. She wanted to collapse into Quinn’s arms and stay there. Maybe cry a little. Definitely kiss a lot.
No way in hell had she ever experienced something like that. Not with Lawrence, not ever before.
Was it like that every time? She kind of wished she could just ask.
“Ginnie?”
Her eyes opened slowly. There he was. Shit. Why had she let herself get carried away like that, with him at the center of it? Why hadn’t she pictured some rom-com actor like he’d suggested?
“You back with me now?” he wanted to know.
I never left you, she answered silently.
“I’m here,” she managed to get out.
“That was the best fake sex I’ve ever had,” Quinn stated.
Ginnie had recovered just enough to narrow her eyes at him. If he was mocking her, he was hiding it well. His heated gaze did rake over her body once – very quickly – then focused on her face again.
“Was it believable enough?” she asked, cringing because the question felt so deceptive.
“Incredibly believable. Actually…I feel like I should’ve bought you dinner first.”
Ginnie flushed. She couldn’t decide whether to be insulted, or flattered. The only thing she was sure of, was that she was glad he didn’t seem to have noticed her own intense, momentary break with reality.
Thank God.
; “You ready to face the masses?” Quinn wanted to know.
“You think they heard it?”
“I think they heard it. And I think the men are wishing they were me and the women are wishing they were you.”
Definitely a compliment.
Ginnie inhaled. “Okay. I’m ready.”
She started to slide to the floor, but Quinn stopped her.
“Wait. One more thing,” he said.
“What’s that?”
“Your underwear.”
Ginnie frowned to cover the blush that crept up her cheeks. “What about them?”
“Take them off and give them to me.”
“No!”
“Yes.”
“Why?!”
Quinn smiled crookedly. “Because I’m going to go out first. And I’m going to drop those underwear on the floor directly in front of your former husband’s seat.”
It was brilliant. And devious. And the perfect climax to their little revenge plot.
Well. Second most perfect climax, she corrected mentally.
The only problem was…The underwear in question were thoroughly soaked from her not-so-fake-after-all orgasm.
She couldn’t do it.
“Ginnie?”
“Yes?”
“If you don’t take them off yourself, I’m going to take them off for you.”
Ginnie’s eyes widened. “You wouldn’t.”
But she knew he would. Maybe he even wanted to. God knows just minutes ago she would’ve been happy to let him.
“Better hurry,” Quinn warned.
Quickly, Ginnie jumped from the counter to the ground and pulled the panties down to her knees without even lifting her skirt. Then she shimmied them down to her ankles, kicked them off one ankle, and angled the other foot up awkwardly to slip them off.
“Here,” she muttered as she handed them over.
She was ridiculously glad she’d opted for a pretty pair of panties. Pink. New. Hole-free.
And lacy as hell.
But Quinn barely glanced at them. If he noticed their embarrassing dampness, he didn’t say. He just balled them up in his meaty fist, making them disappear completely.
“Thanks, baby,” he said teasingly.
“You’re welcome. I think.”
Quinn leaned in, kissed her lips with easy familiarity, and swung the door open.
“Remember. It’s fine if you’re blushing. It’s fine if you look a little guilty. We were naughty, after all.” He winked. “Just keep your head up when you hit his seat. Make sure you smile at him. See you in a minute.”
Mile High Weekend (Opposites Attract Book 1) Page 5
