‘Keep watching,’ he said, and butted his head against her shoulder. ‘Look how wet you are. Christ, you’re going to come all over my cock, aren’t you?’
Her vision became fuzzy, and for a moment she entertained the idea of asking him to stop long enough to collect his phone so she could film the culmination to enjoy later, but the thought was wiped from the surface of her brain by a seismic ripple emanating from that place, that perfect bundle of nerves, that perfect fire he stoked.
Molly announced the arrival of her orgasm with a string of filthy words. She couldn’t watch any longer. She pressed her lips to his temple and squeezed her eyes shut as her juices spilled from her body.
‘Oh – oh, hell.’ His muffled words sputtered against her, and through the smothering fog of pleasure unimaginable she understood he wouldn’t last much longer.
Quinn pushed up and gave his head a hard enough shake that perspiration splattered over her.
‘You ready for me now?’
She nodded, too parched to say anything. She was jelly-like while he moved, boneless and liquid. For all his earlier bravado, Quinn seemed to be all thumbs as he worked the flip-top of the lubricant, and his first attempt to squirt a dollop on his dick resulted in a cold blob on her inner thigh.
Revived by a bubble of laughter, Molly pushed up onto her elbows. ‘Do you want me to help?’
‘Don’t pity me,’ he grumbled, and chuckled as he smeared his length. He wiped his hands on the bedspread. ‘Still got that vibe?’
‘Of course.’ She whisked it in front of her, then mustered all of her energy into opening up for him as he leaned down.
She puckered her mouth and sucked in a deep breath as he removed the plug, then sucked in another as he scooted forward.
One hand guided the thick knob between her cheeks. The other rested on her mons, thumb rubbing circles around her clit.
With her first low whimper, he stopped, sharp eyes upon her.
‘I’m fine,’ she assured him. She flopped back and raised her knees.
‘Jesus’ was all he said, and he pushed.
With every inch that invaded her, Molly warred with the part of herself that insisted he was too big, that she couldn’t take any more. She twisted the end of the vibe and pressed it just above her clit. Encouraged by her soft moaning, Quinn went deep.
He shifted his hands to her inner thighs and moved slowly. She understood that he was giving her a moment to get used to his girth, to find her own rhythm with the vibrator.
She lifted her head and used two fingers to splay open her slippery pussy lips. As she pressed the tapered end of the vibe directly on her clit she met his gaze.
‘Good girl,’ he said, and began to thrust in and out of her ass.
He’d been so good to her, giving her whatever she wanted, however she wanted it, and now she was bursting with the need to return it. She increased the strength of the vibrator and shuddered through the resulting pulse.
‘Don’t tease me any more,’ she urged. ‘You know by now how I like it.’
A throaty sound came out of him as he lurched forward. There was something beautiful and cruel in his smile as he rocked back and forth, a little faster, a little harder.
‘I know how you like it,’ he said, sliding his hands up to her knees. ‘You really are a dirty little bitch, Molly Archer. Or are you a good girl who likes it dirty?’
One more twist of the vibe and it rocketed to full strength. Molly jerked up and Quinn pushed down. He lost his finesse, one grunting thrust at a time. His restraint remained etched on his face, furrowed deep in the line between his brows. He had hammered her so hard earlier, and now he was so careful not to hurt her.
This orgasm was the most robust of the three, one that stayed close to home and gathered all its intensity between her legs. She pressed the vibe down and held it against the underside of her clit as long as she could, then thrust it away from her when the pleasure became too much.
‘I’m going to come,’ he exploded, and with a jut of his hips pulled out. He went up on his knees and tore off the condom just as his white fluid erupted from the tip.
Breathless and mesmerised, Molly marvelled at the beauty of his undoing. Muscles taut, chest heaving, his expression so fierce and helpless, the essence drained out of him as easily as the sticky stream that pooled on her wet mound.
He slumped his shoulders and looked as useless as she felt, though Molly was magnificently cosy in the aftermath. After all that noise, the panting and grunting, the roar of blood in her head, the stillness and the hush of breathing in together were wonderful.
‘Hey,’ she whispered, her voice froggy. ‘I’m making you clean up the mess this time.’
‘You liked it,’ he muttered, and after a moment he opened his eyes and sniggered. ‘You loved it.’
‘I did love it.’
She pushed up onto her elbows and watched him wobble to his feet. He held on to the bedspread for a moment and gave his head a shake, then stretched to his full height. Molly winced at the sound of joints popping, but as she struggled into a sitting position her spine gave a stiff twinge.
‘Ooof. You’re better than a chiropractor.’
‘Are you saying I’ve missed my calling?’ He gave her drenched crotch a pointed look.
Molly stretched her foot out and stroked it along his thigh. ‘Are you really going to make me clean myself up after you used me up?’
‘Used you up? I like that. I like that a lot.’
With a devastatingly sexy purr, he propped himself over her and delivered a hot kiss, but when she sought another he evaded her and with a saucy look turned his attention to the mess between her legs.
‘I do like that a lot,’ he said, and gave her garter a snap.
Chapter Four
In the end, Quinn did the gentlemanly thing by collecting the toys and carting them to the sink, then returned with a warm washcloth. It was only to swipe away the mess he had left upon her. He’d started a bath, and once he had cleaned up he hauled Molly, groaning in protest, into the bathroom where he stripped her down.
‘This would be why they call it the honeymoon suite,’ she said with a sigh once she was nose deep in the cocoa-scented bubbles bought specially for the luxurious room. Quinn rested behind her, his chest pressed against her back, his fingers stroking her nipples beneath the water.
‘This is different. So many hotel rooms and I never get to enjoy it. Is there room service?’
‘Not for us. I don’t want any of the staff to know either one of us is in this room tonight.’
She reached for her icy bottle of water, collected not from the minibar but by sending Quinn on a covert mission in a guest robe to the machine by the elevators.
Still, the mention of food made her stomach growl. That’s what comes from choosing sex over supper, she supposed.
‘We could order something in. There are menus in the binder by the phone.’
He grunted. ‘Pizza and pub food.’
‘Let me guess: you don’t eat carbs, or you’re vegan.’
‘I have my cheat days. Today could be a cheat day. I’ve had a double workout and I’ve probably sweated off what I had for lunch.’ He took the bottle from her. Cold perspiration dropped onto her neck as he drank, and he finished with a loud pop in her ear.
He tossed the empty bottle onto the foam and gave it a kick to set it bobbing. ‘A lay like what we just had calls for very greasy Chinese, with extra egg rolls, and French fries if they do them. Chinese take-out places always have the best French fries.’
‘And I thought the anal sex was wild.’
His chest inflated as he drew in a deep breath, then he squeezed both arms around her. ‘Sore?’
‘Not yet. I’ll be useless in the morning. I may need you to give me a soft tissue massage before I head downstairs to pretend I wasn’t being fucked senseless in the honeymoon suite.’
‘Is that an invitation to spend the night?’
Molly curled her slippery fingers into his
. ‘Another first?’
‘No, but this time I’m spared that awkward moment when I need to point out that my time is money. Besides, I actually want to stay.’
He turned his hand in hers and drew it up to his lips. Then, letting it drop back in front of her, he delivered the same quiet, soft kiss to the top of her head.
‘Quinn,’ she whispered, and was glad her back was to him so he couldn’t see the sudden sentimentality on her face. ‘This arrangement …’
‘Yes?’
‘It isn’t just an arrangement, is it?’
He was quiet. He didn’t even breathe and neither did she, leaving only the sizzling sound of the bubbles popping. She opened her mouth, not sure what she was going to say but determined to say something to dismiss her question.
‘It never was, not for me, anyway,’ he said at last. ‘As soon as I walked into this room and recognised you as the hot piece of ass who runs the front desk, I wanted you in bed. Once you had me on my knees, I wanted a little more. Now that I have a little more, I want even more.’
‘Do you – do you date? In your line of work?’
‘I have, but nothing really monogamous. The most successful relationships were with women who are in the sex trade like me. With others, they usually find it exciting at the start – I’m always up front with what I do to make money – but eventually it gets to them. They go funny and they’re gone.’ He linked his fingers with hers and rested his cheek against hers. ‘I’ve been cynical for the last few years, so I gave up.’
‘So why am I here, if you’re so cynical?’
‘Timing. I’m done in a few weeks. I’ll keep you adequately distracted using my many skills and my charming personality, and then, next thing you know, it’ll be a new year and the man you’re sleeping with won’t be a male prostitute.’
Thinking it in her head was one thing; to have him talk about continuing this beyond his departure from his trade, the words reverberating in the bathroom, jabbed her in her side.
She rested her head against his chest and groaned. ‘I don’t even know why I’m doing this.’
‘The same reason I am. You like me.’
‘But why?’
‘Do you need another spanking as a reminder?’
‘You know what I mean. We’re in a bathtub discussing Chinese food and we’re spending the entire night together – aren’t we?’ she asked, realising he had never said he was.
‘Try and get me out.’
‘I mean, we don’t even know one another.’ She laughed. ‘This is as close to porn as you can get: the front-desk manager and the gigolo.’
He abandoned his fascination with her nipples and placed a wet hand over her mouth. ‘I hate that word, and I’m not a gigolo. A gigolo is a kept man, a trained monkey with a hard-on. It’s like if I called you a chambermaid. I make a woman come, collect my money and go back to my own life. As for us not knowing one another, there’s no reason we can’t fix that. Ask me something.’
She tugged his hand away from her mouth.
Ask him something? Ask him what? The sort of thing one would ask on a blind date? Where are you from? How big is your family? What sort of car do you drive?
Her gaze fell to his hand, to those scars that marred his knuckles. ‘Tell me how you got these.’
Quinn brought his other hand around and joined his fists almost proudly. ‘I ended up on the streets when I was sixteen. I was always a bit of a bruiser. When I went to school I spent more time in detention than I did in the classroom, before I got kicked out for good. When I left home and ended up sleeping under overpasses and in shelters, my fists kept me from getting robbed or raped. I even made some money doing bare-knuckle fights.’
‘How long were you on the streets?’
She wanted to keep him talking so she wouldn’t have to think about that boy, bruised and scraped, sleeping in some shelter, at a time when she was warm in her fuzzy pyjamas, probably throwing a tantrum over not being able to take her favourite stuffed animal to bed with her.
‘Until I took a swing at a mall cop and ended up in a youth penitentiary. I figured that was the beginning of a long career in prison, but when I got out I was accepted into a halfway house. I got a normal job washing dishes in a hotel restaurant. It was all right for a few months. I moved out of the kitchen and into the dining room as a waiter. When my time at the halfway house was coming to an end, I started to get an itch again. I hated authority, and all that being normal was giving me an itch. I was about a week away from getting back into selling drugs when I got that first tantalising offer.’
‘Which hotel?’ she wondered, and captured his hands once more to draw them to her breasts.
‘Not here. I got my start on the West Coast,’ he said, then hummed happily as he toyed with her soapy nipples. ‘It’s funny, she treated me like utter shit in the dining room, muttering how stupid I was under her breath when I brought her the wrong dessert, told me that I was useless when I accidentally brushed crumbs on her lap. There I was, fantasising about throwing a drink in her nipped and tucked face, when she flat out asked if I was better in bed than I was in the dining room. I was so shocked I forgot about being pissed, and when she opened up her pocketbook and showed me the cash inside, I was struck dumb.
‘“More than you make in tips in a week, right?” she said. “If you can get hard and stay hard for me, it’s all yours.” I didn’t have to think about it. As soon as my shift was over I went to her room, and the next thing I knew I was spreadeagled on her king-sized bed while she sucked me raw. That was January, just after my birthday. One minute I was a kid on probation and the next I’m this stud with a fat roll of bills stuffed into a coffee can I kept at the back of my locker at the house. Scoot a little – there.’
He had dragged her on to his lap so that his shaft nestled between her wet cheeks. He wasn’t hard, but he was a little stiff, a little bigger than he had been when they had got into the tub.
‘Tell me the rest,’ she said, then sighed as he kissed her lightly behind the ear. ‘Tell me some of the things you did.’
‘Are you getting excited again?’
‘A little.’
‘Good, because I’m getting turned on at the thought of filling your head with some very nasty things.’ He gave her nipples a hard tweak, then wrapped his arms right around her. ‘So that was January. Every night I’d take her abuse in the dining room – she was some socialite blowing her husband’s money and lived at the hotel – and then when my shift was over I’d fuck her. I wouldn’t say she liked it rough, but she definitely liked it energetic. With her, I had my first experience with anal sex, my first threesome and my first bi-experience. In February she moved on, but left my number with about a dozen of her friends. By the summer my probation was up and I was out of the halfway house. I quit my shitty job and made fucking my full-time job.’
‘You only work three days a week, though, unless you work at other hotels.’
‘I work part-time now, but in the early days I did five or six days a week, and usually all night. It was as much about getting off for that first year as it was about getting paid. There were some nights I wondered if I had died in prison and I had somehow made it into heaven in spite of being a shit-stain on humanity. You want to know when it really set in for me? When I knew I wasn’t dead, wasn’t dreaming?’
‘Of course I do.’ By now her eyes were closed. She rested her cheek against his bicep and drank in his words.
‘My next birthday, almost a year since I’d started. I didn’t spend it getting legally shit-faced in a pub with my friends like I would have thought the previous birthday. I had champagne on my nineteenth birthday, in a fucking mansion. I was halfway in the bag, wearing a stupid party hat, singing “Auld Lang Syne” and getting sucked off by a cabinet minister’s wife wearing crotchless panties while her husband watched. I saw the fireworks exploding over Vancouver and thought to myself, “Jesus Christ, this is real. These people paid me twice my rent tonight for this.” A
nd let me tell you, at that moment I came harder than I ever came in my life. Nearly choked the cabinet minister’s wife – wouldn’t that have been a headline?’
The water was starting to cool, but Molly didn’t feel the chill. Her blood was on fire in her veins, and her pussy unspeakably hot.
The clever mind-reader Quinn slipped a hand under the surface of the water and between her legs. She was still sensitive, but she opened up to him. She kept her eyes closed and held onto that pornographic picture behind her lids, matching the image of a young Quinn with the one who had seemed to shatter before her eyes earlier. She saw his flushed face twisting in a grimace as he jetted into the mouth of a polished soccer mom while her straight-and-narrow husband urged her on.
‘That’s an interesting turn of events, isn’t it?’ he said softly. ‘You ask about the scars on my knuckles, and I end up telling you about my most memorable sexual experience.’ He jiggled her fat clit until she was lightheaded with the rings of pleasure that skated outward, then ran his fingers through her pussy lips. ‘Tell me something about you. I want to hear two things. Something nice, and then something naughty.’
There was nothing nice in her head now. It was all naughty, filthy wet scenarios in a red haze.
Like a lottery wheel in her head, benign thoughts whirred by. Her childhood, her adolescence, the places she’d been and the places she wanted to go, the way she took her coffee. Gone in an instant as he stroked the tip of his finger in and out of her.
‘My name isn’t really Molly Archer,’ she said as the wheel stopped, and shifted on his lap. Flesh had hardened between her cheeks, and she was starting to ache for it. ‘I mean, it is, but it’s not. It’s Molly Gardiner on paper. My divorce isn’t final.’
‘Is that your way of telling me you have a husband I need to worry about?’
‘No, it’s not that sort of complicated. It’s over, more than over, but we’re still working out the assets. The house – the house is – oh, Jesus, I can’t think while you’re doing that.’
His attention had returned to her clitoris, middle finger twitching on the underside.
Holding My Breath Page 7
