Plus, she could be walking away, too, and she isn't. So screw it. I know I'm being selfish. I won't give her the answers she wants, but I'm taking what she's offering anyway.
I walk past her and spread the towels on the table. "Thought a little padding might make it more…comfortable. Don't worry, though, honey. Nothing else will be."
And the words work a little magic, because the rush of heat thrashes back between us. I can tell before I even turn around to find her smiling. She traces a finger along my jaw. "Good."
I almost fucking detonate. Instead, I slide my hands around her waist and lift her, spinning us and shoving her onto the table. Her eyes widen when her ass hits, like the roughness surprises her. Turns her on. I grip her jaw, this time not rough but not too gentle, either. "Good."
Her pupils go wide and there's nothing like it, seeing the way she wants me. Now.
Her dress is hiked up her thighs and I run my hands down them. Her legs are soft and smooth and there's a crescent-shaped scar on her knee that I remember back from when it was still stitched up. Skateboarding lesson gone wrong. Damn did she cuss me out for that one. Enough to scare the shit out of me back then—or, more likely, it was the sight of her in pain that scared me so bad… Now, though, she's adorable in the memory.
But here in front of me? Adorable no longer fits.
She's red-hot sexy.
Quinn.
My Quinn.
My Quinn for the moment, at least. For the here and now.
She licks her lips one more time, and I take her face in my hands and I pull her toward me and I kiss her.
I mean to do it briefly and lightly, to ease us back into the ways our mouths used to know each other, but there's nothing brief about this. Nothing light. It's instant intoxication.
She parts her lips to me and my tongue circles hers and in all the years I've tried to remember the way Quinn's mouth tastes, nothing's ever come close to reality. Sweet and fresh. Warm and soft.
She reaches between us and jerks my pants unbuttoned, smiling against my mouth when she discovers it's all me down there beneath them. She pulls her mouth from mine, her eyes appraising. "Hello, old friend."
"He's rather happy to see you," I manage. Jesus, how does she do this to me so easily? My hands are steady, one wrapped through her hair, the other on the table. But inside I'm fucking shaking, like I need her so much I'll tremble into nothing if she ever stops touching me.
But when she does, it's to drag her hand back up between our bodies and lick her palm, base to fingertips, slowly—twice, without her gaze ever leaving mine—like there's all the time in the world even if everything inside of me is zinging in anticipation. And when she wraps it around me again, every ounce of blood in my body zooms straight for where her hand is.
I pull her face closer to mine, to kiss her again, but she puts a finger against my lips, holding it there between us. "I want to watch your face, Sawyer."
I nip at her finger. "I want to eat your mouth, Quinn. I don't know if I can stand this."
She just sitting there, looking up at me, biting her lower lip…working her hand.
She twists her wrist and she circles her fingers around me, climbing them higher until she's there at my tip, using the heat from her palm to swirl over me, switching directions every time I'm just about to remember to breathe. I jerk in her hand, twitching, twitching, and almost let go altogether.
Think about fucking sports, man. Jesus. Haven't had her hands on me in almost four years. Can't come in the first minute.
Oh God, sports thoughts aren't gonna do jack shit.
I grab her wrist, stilling her hand. "Let's not rush this."
She quirks half a smile, her eyes glinting. "Don't remember you being so quick to…hit that peak."
"It's a slow build, baby. We're just getting started."
Her breath catches, and the sound is the best thing I've heard all day. Week. Year.
"It's my turn," I say, "to refamiliarize myself with a few of my favorite parts of yours." Even if the ones I always loved the most are off-limits. Her heart. Her mind… But I push the last thought away. Today is about the physical, and Jesus does this girl rock that part like a goddess.
I fiddle with the edge of her dress, pushing it higher up her leg. "What's under this?"
"More than what you've got on," she says. "Why don't you find out?"
I don't need a second invitation. I shove her dress around her waist and take in the panties I'd almost think she wore on purpose to drive me nuts. They're tiny and white and lacy, and I bet I could tear them off in one yank.
"You don't need these." I slide them over her thighs, down her knees, and let them fall to the floor. I push between her legs, keeping those knees nice and wide, and kick her panties behind me. I realize a second too late that she might've wanted to wear them again, after, but now they'll be too dirty. I glance back at them, a tiny bundle on the grimy floor. I almost apologize, but then the thought hits me that she'll have to walk out of here panty-less. As if I wasn't hard enough already, I fucking swell at the thought.
And turning my attention full back to her, back to where she sits spread before me, nearly kills me. "Jesus, Quinn."
She's beautiful. Every single part of her.
Sitting there with her legs sprawled out…
I want to let go, to lose control, to shove her back against the table and give her exactly what she's telling me she wants.
I want to bury my face in her. Make her scream my name. Wrap her legs around the back of my head and use every part of my face to spread her, tease her, torture her, fucking devour her.
But first I stand before her, sliding my hands along her thighs, pushing them further apart, letting the air sweep across her most exposed, sensitive spots.
"Sawyer." My name's little more than a sigh through her lips. "Touch me. Jesus."
"Still bossy as ever." I push my hands higher, slipping my thumbs along her inner thighs and into the creases between her legs. She's so unbelievably sexy. Lean, toned, tan legs. I don't doubt she's been surfing these past years.
"Still like to take your sweet fucking time." She runs her tongue along her teeth and I want to kiss her, to suck it into my mouth with my own. I refrain. For now. Because there are other things I want to do with my tongue, too.
"Still make you fucking wet, though, don't I?" I gently swipe a thumb across her and feel the truth of my words; she's soaking wet already and we haven't even gotten to the good part. I want to make her wait, torture her just a little longer, but I can't help myself.
I use my thumb again, slowly slipping it over her, feathering it through her, parting her and then, finally, gently, circling into her. Quinn's stomach jumps with her intake of breath, and I draw my gaze up her body. She's leaning back on her hands, her smooth belly taut under the fabric of her dress with the way her back arches. I slide one strap down off of her shoulder. Then the other, pulling at it until her breasts are free. No bra, and I want to fucking cry from the injustice of her ever having to cover these things up. Small and full, creamy skin. Her nipples are pink-tipped and tightened. Perfect as they've always been. Too tempting to resist, especially because I remember just how sensitive they are to even the lightest touch. I lose another fraction of restraint and take one in my mouth, slipping a finger into her at the same time.
"Oh, God." Her two words are a goddamn melody and she tastes like cotton candy-dipped apples and for the life of me I can't remember why I never order dessert. I never want to take my mouth from her skin. I take her nipple between my teeth and tug, gently, hungrily. When she pulses against my hand, around my finger, my entire system sparks.
Taking my time, keeping control? Yeah, that shit's not gonna happen for long. I'm pretty sure I could jumpstart a damn car battery the way I'm jolting. The only thing I want to jumpstart right now is Quinn, and she doesn't even need my help. She's purring like a kitten in soft little sighs, arching harder into my mouth when she tips her head back.
&nbs
p; Another finger. Jesus she's warm. Getting wetter by the second. I want to crawl into her, lap her up from the inside out.
I take as long as I can, using my tongue to tease her nipples, my free hand to stroke her legs, her knees, her calves. I work my mouth down the sweet skin of her chest, nibbling with my teeth along the way so she doesn't get too…comfortable. I mean to peel her dress the rest of the way down her body, but once I'm there I can't be bothered to take the time.
I drop to my knees in front of her; they hit the concrete hard enough to scrape through my pants, but I barely feel it. Her head snaps up, and she looks down, meeting my gaze and gnawing on her lip. She starts to close her legs, but I slide my fingers out of her and push her thighs wider apart, my face raised to hold her stare the entire time.
"Sawyer." Her cheeks flush and for a moment we're teenagers again. She's nervous. Uncertain. But she's breathing fast, too, and I know how turned on she is.
"I've seen your body before, Quinn. Now's no time to be shy, honey."
She bites her lip harder, completely unaware of how fucking hot it is. Or, maybe she knows exactly. Makes no difference to me. She just is.
Then I drop my eyes, and my heart rate goes from sixty to infinity. "Not in a million years have I even come close to remembering how goddamn exquisite you are."
Every soft pink curve. Every delicate line.
I turn my face and gently sink my teeth into the skin of her inner thigh, needing to make her nerves jolt the same way mine are and when she whimpers, I know I've succeeded.
I swear to God I planned to take this slow. I swear to God I meant to lick my way up the insides of her legs, tease her with my tongue until she begged. To breathe on her, hot and cool, until her toes curled. To give her a break, let her catch her breath between courses.
But these techniques are the ones we perfected together; they're comfortable; they're what she'll expect. She deserves the unexpected. The thrill.
Plus I can't fucking wait that long.
So I don't give her a chance to breathe. I pull her knees, yanking her toward me, gripping her hips. I take just a few seconds to nuzzle her, to revel in the moment, in her scent, and then desperate for a taste, I thrust my tongue straight into her.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
QUINN
HOLY FUCK.
I have no idea how Sawyer knew I wasn't in the mood for some slow buildup, but damn did he ever read me.
He's using his fingers and his tongue and even his freaking nose to drive me wild, pushing against me, in me, through me. Air shoots up from my lungs, tunneling through my mouth and out my lips. My fingers grip the towels behind me, twisting through the fabric. His fingers are nimble and gentle, teasing me, spreading me so that his tongue has further reach, flicking back and forth… and I've never been this close to coming so quickly.
Oh sweet Jesus.
He's making these circling motions with his tongue that have me shifting my hips, pushing up against his mouth.
"Sawyer. Slow down."
I'm not even sure he hears me. I'm not even sure I actually say the words.
"Sawyer." I twine my fingers through his hair and still he doesn't stop. He does lift his eyes, though, bright green straight up at me. I am transfixed. I am soaring. I can't look away.
He lays his tongue flat against me for a moment—breathing through his nose and the air hits me, tickling in an almost painful and also yummy way—and then he's just lapping, lapping, lapping my skin in long, slow licks. And everything inside me, everything between my legs is about to erupt into something intense and velvety and hot.
The room is so quiet, so sharply quiet, the sounds of my breaths, little exhales growing bigger and faster, fill the air like an off-beat song. I couldn't stop it even if I tried.
He grazes me with his teeth and maps me with his fingers and curls his tongue along my skin and into me.
And I lose it. Sensations spark, spark, explode inside of me. My blood is rushing electric through me. Wild. Heat sizzles down my belly, exploding between my legs. My muscles clench and I come undone against his mouth. Bucking through the hardest orgasm I've maybe ever had. Saying-screaming-moaning-whispering-thinking his name as I come.
And I come.
And I come.
Until my blood trembles in my veins.
Until I nearly slide like jelly down the table.
My body is a traitor.
A wonderful, completely satisfied traitor.
I slip the straps of my dress back up my shoulders. And somehow Sawyer's suddenly standing in front of me, saying something. His mouth is moving, but time must be slowing down between his mouth and my ears because all I hear right now are the echoes of my own gasps.
"What?" I ask, eventually, when he's staring down at me with an amused smirk across his annoyingly perfect mouth.
"Are you going to tell me what you're thinking? Because I'd sure like to hear whatever thoughts are making you look the way you do. Like you're ready to eat me alive."
A little embarrassed and somehow already aroused again, I shrug. "Not thinking anything."
Then I wish I'd admitted at least a little to him. About how fucking pleased I am. About how I don't think I'll be able to stand for another few minutes. Nothing emotional. Just physical. Because now that I've had this once, his hands on me, his tongue in me… I want it again. And soon.
Screw emotional anything.
Just for now. Just for…a week. I'll give myself a week to enjoy this.
Why, oh why did I purposefully take the condoms out of my bag before coming here? Oh. Wait. To keep myself from doing exactly this.
But screw that decision, too.
"Get a condom." My request has his face tensing, then slacking—and then tensing again. I could laugh if I had room for it in my state. I lift a brow as suggestively as I can. "You pulled this table out like a man with a plan."
"I don't have one." He clears his throat. "A condom, I mean."
"Please." I don't believe him. Sawyer's basically a walking piece of sex on a stick. No way he doesn't stay prepared. But…one quick glance downward shows me he's more than ready to roll. He's not playing hard to get. He's too hard for that. Jesus. Now I'm revving even harder than I was a second ago, thinking about that in me. "I bet Rajesh has one. And also…why the hell is your shirt still on?"
"Do you want me to go ask for a condom or do you want me to take my shirt off? I'm not walking in there without one."
"First one then the other, Einstein." I roll my eyes, but really it's toward myself because, yeah. I just want to see his damn chest. The abs that felt so tight against my knees earlier. The skin I know is browned from the sun. I wonder if he tastes as good as he did years ago. And now I'm making myself uncomfortable at the thought. I cross my thighs, leaning back on my hands…trying not to enjoy the tight sensation between my legs too much. "So go," I tip my chin toward the door behind him, "get a rubber."
He stares at me a moment longer, and I think he's struggling with something, though what I'm not sure. Only when he heads back into the shop do I realize…we're about to finish what we started four years ago.
But this time, we're not virgins anymore.
We know what we're doing.
Still, for the briefest moment I think maybe I should pull back. He walked away from me without a backward glance. He doesn't deserve what I'm offering.
Plus, I came here for answers, and he won't give them to me. Deep down, I remember these things.
It's just that I'm all achy between my legs. Needing.
It's just that my skin is still zinging from his touch, greedy for more.
If I walk away now to punish him, I think… I'll be punishing myself, too. Which, okay, is probably the most ridiculous logic ever, but I'm clinging to it like a lifeline. So I'm giving in to what I want. Here, in this dusty blue, resin-scented, surfboard-building room. I want Sawyer as much as I ever did. And I'm finally going to have him.
Except he comes back empty-handed,
shrugging and not quite meeting my eyes. "Rajesh is fresh out."
"Well that's damn inconvenient."
"Feeling frustrated?" His mouth quirks. "You didn't seem so a moment ago…"
I blink at him, all innocence. "But Sawyer… A moment ago I was having a rather intense orgasm. How can a girl not want for more after that?"
"Lucky for you then, honey, my tongue's not even close to tired."
"Is that so?"
And he shows me exactly how true his words are until my toes are curled and I can't breathe and I'm not sure how I'll ever walk again because my bones have all melted into honey.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
QUINN
"TAKE OFF YOUR shirt," I demand at some point, later, when I've come back a little closer to earth. "I can't believe you're making me ask twice."
"You're not exactly asking," he says, a cocky little smile across his mouth. "But if you insist."
"I do." My hands ache to slide his shirt up his chest and over his head, but I tuck them under my legs because something about that feels…too personal.
I mean, not that we haven't spent the last who knows how long getting very personal. Maybe intimate is a better word. There's something intimate about helping him with his shirt, sober, in the daylight. More intimate than I want. So I watch, instead, as he peels it off. And I do my best not to drool because his body's everything I'd imagined. And more.
Skin tanned to a golden hue—which makes me wonder how long he's been back here, at the beach. Unless he came from someplace else that was sunny and warm. But I'm not about to get distracted wondering about all that. Not with what I have in front of me. Perfection in a stomach. Perfection in a chest. Shoulders. Arms. Everywhere. He's cut, but not bulky. Lithe and muscled. Pecs just full enough that I want to lick them.
So I do.
I hop off of the table where I've been perched—relieved not to simply sink into a well-sated puddle onto the floor—and I put my mouth to his skin. His nipples are small, brown. They harden under the flicker of my tongue, and I smile against his chest. My hands work a little lower.
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