“Do those football boys you usually run with not want you this badly?”
Quinn’s question made Ginnie go a little still. He was still in the game – the fantasy that had been her idea. The one she’d all but forgotten about the second his mouth met her skin.
“They don’t say much,” she replied with a swallow against the sudden lump in her throat.
“No?” He dragged his thumb along her collarbone.
“No. They just grunt a lot.”
An irresistible grin lit up Quinn’s face for just a second before he shot her a scowl instead. “Clearly, the football boys have been hit in the head too many times.”
“Clearly.”
Quinn leaned close and rubbed his cheek against hers, and Ginnie was sure she could feel every piece of his barely-there stubble. Rough, but somehow soothing and sexy at the same time.
Just like Quinn as a whole.
He placed a soft kiss on her lips, then eased away again so that he was looking down at her once more.
“Anyone,” he said emphatically, “Who says he doesn’t want you that badly is either a liar or an idiot.”
Right then, she realized he wasn’t talking about the fantasy world after all.
“And Ginnie?” he added. “I’m neither of those things. And I want you very, very badly.”
Her breath caught, and her chest rose, and Quinn’s eyes moved away from her face and back to her body. Like he couldn’t help it. Like he meant those words as much as he’d meant so sweet.
He rolled off of her then, and though Ginnie missed the contact immediately, Quinn didn’t leave her wanting for long. Lying on his side, he cupped her cheek and tipped her face toward him. He gave her a long, lingering kiss. As his lips laid claim to hers, his palm slid down her body, stroking each bared breast. When he’d drawn both of her nipple into hard, aching points, he moved his fingers to her cleavage, then drew a searing line to her belly button.
Hot. So very hot.
The edge of his pinky pushed against the waistband of her pajamas and rubbed along it, back and forth, lowering it until it was just above her pubic bone.
The need she felt was everywhere. Consuming beyond words.
She wanted his mouth on her and his hands. She wanted to thrust her hips up and tear at the sheets.
“Oh, God,” Ginnie moaned.
Quinn’s teeth nibbled her earlobe and he whispered, “Shh, baby. Gotta keep it down or someone’ll hear you and then we’ll have to stop before I get to third.”
She knew he was kidding.
He had to be kidding.
He wouldn’t stop.
Would he?
Ginnie wasn’t taking the chance. She bit her lip to keep from crying out again as Quinn’s hand went under the pajamas and came to rest just above the most needy of all her parts. Very gently – too gently – one of his fingers stroked her. Just once.
Ginnie whimpered through her closed lips.
“A bit more?” Quinn asked, his voice thick.
Ginnie nodded, afraid to speak.
His hand slid lower, cupping her, then pressing into her, then drawing out.
Not enough.
He gave her another little push, just a bit deeper, once, twice, and on the third time, his thumb came up to circle her clitoris. Then stopped. It was torturous. Incredible. And this time when her body wanted to do it, Ginnie did thrust herself up. She couldn’t help it.
Quinn let her push herself into his hand, keeping his fingers in just the right place and he growled, “More, Ginnie?”
“Yes!” she cried, careful to keep her voice as quiet as possible.
“Slow and steady?” He rocked his hand over her, and she moaned.
“Or fast and hard?” He plunged his fingers into her, pulled them out, then plunged them in again, and she bit down on her lip so forcefully that she tasted blood.
“Genevieve?” he prodded.
“Both! Slow. And hard,” she gasped.
She was far too turned on to care if she sounded greedy or contradictory. All she cared about was getting more of Quinn.
Quinn.
She wanted to say it out loud. So she did.
“Quinn! Please!”
“Slow and hard,” he agreed. “Since you asked so nicely.”
And he stopped teasing her, stopped holding back. He tunneled into her, and Ginnie’s insides pulsed in response. She could feel her muscles contract over his fingers as he explored her more intimately than she’d ever been explored before. Her need grew unfathomably strong.
How was it even possible, to want someone like this? To want to be so consumed?
Quinn’s ministrations intensified.
She’d thought she wanted him on the plane. She’d known it was good. But maybe she’d believed the incredible, touch-less experience there to be a one-off, a release of pent-up need and frustration.
So wrong.
This was much more than that.
Oh, God.
Up, went her hips.
In, went his fingers.
Stroke, went his thumb.
His attention ruled her body.
A wild spiral of heat wound tight in her core. It grew hotter and hotter and tighter and tighter, making Ginnie shake.
“Quinn, I’m going to – oh – I – Quinn – ”
“Yes,” he replied. “Do. Now, Ginnie.”
His mouth found hers, sealing his gentle command with a deep kiss.
And Ginnie was consumed.
The spiral exploded in flames that extended from where Quinn held her to every other part of her body. Her fingers and toes tingled with it. Her mind spun with it. And her heart bloomed with it. It let loose in a mad crescendo of release that left her panting. Her pulse thundered through her, and her chest rose and fell erratically, but the rest of her was a pool of molten liquid, unable to move, even if she wanted it to.
And she didn’t want to.
She just wanted to lie there and forget about everything, to selfishly hold onto the glow that warmed her. The glow that Quinn brought her.
Quinn.
Her eyes dragged open slowly, seeking his face in the dark. And there he was, lying on his side, his dark-lashed eyes glinting at her and his mouth turned up at the corners in a pleased, sexy smile.
“Good, baby?” His voice was rough-edged velvet.
“Good?” Ginnie whispered back.
She didn’t think a word had ever sounded so inadequate. And suddenly she wanted to show him just how much better than good she felt. She reached for him.
And without warning, the door swung open, bathing them in fluorescent light, and an embarrassed gasp and a stammered apology carried across the hotel room.
With her face flaming, Ginnie yanked the quilt up to her chin, and Quinn grinned at her before he jumped to his feet.
“Busted!” he announced a little too gleefully, then added, “Don’t worry sir, I’m just here to change a light bulb.”
“Uh.”
Ginnie refused to look at whoever made the slightly strangled noise. It sounded like a man. And if she ran into him in the hall, or in the gift shop, or anywhere, She didn’t want to recognize him. She didn’t want to see his face and know that he’d gotten a full view her while she was practically topless. Post-orgasm. Her mind full of hedonistic debauchery.
God.
She squeezed her eyes shut, and she didn’t open them again until she was sure Quinn had closed the door firmly behind the unfortunate delivery man.
Then she sat bolt upright, her hands holding her pajama shirt closed tightly, and she shot Quinn a glare.
“What the hell was that?”
He looked amused. And he was holding a sandwich.
“You said you wanted to know what it was like to be at risk for getting caught,” he pointed out.
“Not like that!”
“I was trying to add some authenticity.”
Ginnie did up her buttons. Not as swiftly as he’d undone them, but still quickly.<
br />
“Remind me to never ask you to do something with handcuffs,” she muttered.
Quinn chuckled and leaned against the tiny table across the room. He lifted the sandwich.
“Want a bite?”
And Ginnie wanted to say no, just for spite. But as she glared at him, wondering just how he could sit there so casually after totally rocking her world and not having his rocked in return, her stomach rumbled. And the sandwich started to look almost as tasty as the man holding it.
Saturday
Eighteen
Quinn made his way back to the hotel room, coffee and cookies in hand.
Out of habit, he’d risen early, then headed downstairs to see if he could get some information about their flight to Vegas.
And the news was bad.
Or good, depending on how you look at it.
They were stuck in the bowels of Asscrack, Colorado for at least another twenty-four hours. And he kinda thought Ginnie wouldn’t be too pleased, so he decided to soften the blow with a little caffeine and a little sugar. Now that he was almost back, though, he was doing his best to keep quiet.
If last night was any indication, Ginnie needed a good rest.
He grinned.
Minutes after offering to share his sandwich with her, Quinn had found himself prying the last piece of it from her limp hand as she nodded off, mid-chew.
He’d never been so ridiculously grateful for – and ridiculously resentful of – a food item before.
He’d seen the look in Ginnie’s eyes right before that door flew open, and there was open invitation there in those wide green irises of hers. He thought it was probably a damned good thing that his prescheduled interruption came when it did. No way would he have been able to hold back.
The sandwich saved her.
Instead of ravaging her the way he wanted to, Quinn had tucked her into the bed. She hadn’t even fought him as he did it. Hell, she hadn’t even bothered with a clever retort when he teased her about wearing her out so easily.
Then he’d climbed in beside her, more for a need to torture himself than actual rest, because he’d thought there wasn’t a chance he would fall asleep himself.
Except Quinn did fall asleep.
In fact, he’d had the best sleep he’d had in years. Maybe since the day before his senior training officer pulled him from a class and asked him if he’d ever considered the fact that he had no family and few friends a blessing. Less than twenty-four hours later, he’d been on the street, hocking his falsified experience as a low-level dealer to a recruiter for the Black Daggers. It was a successful sell.
And no. The eight years following that weren’t restful at all.
“It’s done now,” Quinn muttered.
When he realized he’d almost walked past his own room he balanced the cups, one on top of the other, and opened the door. Then he froze in the frame.
When he’d left, the room has been swathed in darkness. Now the sun, still on its ascent, peeked through the curtains and hit the edge of the bed, lighting up Ginnie’s hair. The tight bun had managed to come loose – this time all on its own – and fanned out across the cream-coloured pillow in a shiny array of gold and blonde. Her eyes were closed and her lips sealed and her whole body was peaceful.
That right there, he thought absently, might be the best view in the world.
As Quinn stared down at Ginnie, the big man – tattooed, pierced, and who considered himself pretty fucking clueless about every part of living a normal life – felt a little piece of his heart shift.
Was there a chance that this was right? That he might be right for her?
Ginnie exhaled in her sleep and rolled a little so that one foot stuck out from the blanket, and Quinn noticed that the nails had been painted a shimmery shade of pink.
Had she treated herself to a pedicure before leaving for her trip?
No nail polish. It was at the top of Jason’s this-is-how-down-to-earth-my-sister-is list.
Maybe she kept her toes covered around him.
Quinn winced a little. He really owed his friend a call.
As if on cue, a buzz and a muffled bit of music drifted up from somewhere in the room.
Shit. Ginnie’s phone.
Where the hell was it now?
It rang again, and Ginnie stirred.
It’s under the bed.
Quinn set the cups on the table and dropped to the floor.
Under Ginnie’s side of the bed.
“Of course,” Quinn muttered.
He stuck his hand underneath, trying to keep his body from bumping the mattress. The sparkly case was just out of reach.
C’mon, Mcdavid. You used to be a cop. Cops retrieve guns from floors. They use gum attached to coat hangers to do it. They do it from inside closets. In rooms full of gangsters. You shouldn’t have a problem getting a phone out from under a bed.
The phone rang a third time, and Quinn finally managed to get a hold of it. He dragged it out from under the bed, pressed the off button hard, then slid open the night stand drawer and dropped it inside.
“Quinn?”
He jerked his head up.
Ginnie was leaning on her elbow, her wide green eyes blinking at him sleepily.
He forced a grin. “Morning, baby.”
“Quinn?” she said again.
“Yeah?”
“Are you on the floor?”
Quinn looked down, then up, then dropped her a cheeky wink. “Appears so.”
“Why?”
“I wanted to let you have the upper hand for a minute.”
She yawned. “I think you might be lying.”
Shit.
“Lying?” he replied innocently.
“Mm hmm. You would never let me have the upper hand on purpose.”
“Well,” Quinn teased. “I wasn’t going to tell you about it. But then you woke up.”
“What were you going to do, then?”
“Kiss you.”
“Kiss me?”
This time Quinn’s grin was real. “If you insist.”
He came up to his knees and grazed his lips over hers quickly, then pulled away.
“Quinn?” Ginnie murmured.
“Uh huh.”
“You taste like coffee.”
“Probably.”
“I want coffee.”
He chuckled. “You want coffee, do you?”
“Yes.”
“More than you want another kiss?”
“It’s a tough call.”
“Let me see if I can sway your decision.”
He grabbed the edge of the bed with the intention of pulling himself up and tackling her. Instead, he gripped the sheets a little too hard, and without warning, the blankets and Ginnie both came sliding forward. With a little shriek, she slammed into him. Quinn toppled over. The blankets twisted around their legs binding the two of them together.
Ginnie wriggled on top of him like she was trying to get away, but the harder she tried, the more they stuck together. And the more they stuck together, the harder Quinn got.
Christ.
He clearly had no control.
“Stop,” he said with a groan.
“What?” She wriggled a little more.
“Stop,” Quinn repeated.
“But we’re stuck.”
“And what you’re doing is unsticking us?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
She put her hands to the ground and held herself up. If she was trying to put some space in between them, she failed. So badly. There were only a few inches between their faces. There were no inches between the rest of them. She moved up and…Jesus. There was also no chance she couldn’t feel what she was doing to him.
“Ginnie…”
Her eyes widened and she finally stopped moving. “Oh.”
“Yeah. Sure as hell not unsticking.”
“What’re we going to do?”
Quinn had a few ideas. “Is that a real question?”
“We can’t stay like this all day.”
“Actually…” he raised an eyebrow suggestively.
A blush crept up her cheeks. “We’ll miss our plane.”
“Right. About that.”
“What about it?”
“You want the good news, or the bad news?”
“Bad,” she replied immediately.
“The storm’s picked back up and the planes are grounded. They figure we won’t get out until tomorrow morning at the earliest.”
“So we’re extra stuck?”
“Mm hmm. No Vegas for us.”
Her face fell. “And the good news?”
Quinn forced one of his arms out from the tangled mess of bedding and cupped her cheek with his palm. He ran his thumb along her lip, watching as the bottom one dropped open and she tried to cover her quick inhale and failed.
“The good news,” he said softly. “Is that there are no extra rooms available in the whole hotel.” He pulled her lips open a little more. “Or anywhere close by.” He moved his thumb to the edge of her tongue, then used his fingers to close her mouth overtop of the digit. “So we’re stuck together.”
She sucked on his thumb gently and it was Quinn’s turn to draw in a breath. He pulled his hand from her mouth, freed his arms, then planted both palms on her hips. He held her there for a long moment, revelling in just how good she felt, even fully covered.
“Ask me again what we’re going to do, Ginnie,” he suggested in a thick voice.
“What’re we going to do, Quinn?” she whispered.
“We’re going to make our own Vegas.”
“We’re going to…Oh.”
Quinn chuckled at the poorly disguised disappointment on her face.
“What were you hoping for?” he teased.
“Nothing.”
He moved swiftly, flipping them over so she was pinned underneath him. “Have you been to Vegas before?”
“No.”
“Well I have. My old boss had a big, sore thumb of house out in the desert, so I got to spend plenty of time in the city. And it’s full of naughtiness,” he said. “Trust me when I say you’re going to enjoy my version of it. It’ll be right up your good-girl-gone-bad alley.”
Mile High Weekend (Opposites Attract Book 1) Page 13
