by Camden Leigh
Flipping back the sides, I massage the pulsing bulge waiting beneath his thin boxers. He shifts at my touch, arching his hips up to make me stroke a little more aggressively. I tug down his boxers until they’re loose enough to expose his buoyant cock. I lick my lower lip then circle my tongue around to lick my top lip, just like I would his cock–in small, teasing circles.
I lean down, but instead of taking him into my mouth, I fondle the grape laying an inch away.
“Jesus Christ,” he huffs. His head drops to the bed as he presses his palms against his eyes. His body gives a little tremor and his cock pulses, reaching for me.
Grape between my teeth, I inch up Quinn’s delicious body making sure to brush against his cock, let my hair fall down past my shoulders and tickle his hardened nipples, and work him up so much he won’t last a second once I trade the grape for him.
His hands fall away from his face. He leans up, watching me, a dark desire in his eyes telling me all the dirty things he’s thinking right now. It’s the sexiest damn look he’s ever given me.
His gaze flicks to my mouth and the grape I have locked between my teeth. He reaches up and hooks the grape, pulling it from my teeth with a single gesture–like flicking away a horse fly. His fingers smooth over my lips. I offer my tongue and his thumb presses into my mouth, teasing my taste buds with the sweetness from the grape and the saltiness from the cheese and crackers.
Instead of going to his mouth, giving him the kiss he’s reaching for, I maneuver backward, reserving my previous actions until I’m settled between his legs and the wet tip of his cock has no choice but to surrender to my mouth.
His hands flatten against the bed. His fingers grip the sheets. His hips raise, wanting me to devour him in a single move. I give him a throaty laugh, and back off.
“I think I need another grape,” I say.
“Fuck the grapes.” He leans up on his elbow. “Jesus, Cassie.”
Sucking him off has suddenly become one of my favorite activities. Watching him plead with a growl, beg with a thrust. I might be beautiful, but he’s a magnificent sexual being.
He shudders and grabs my head, holding me steady for one beat, two, then lets me resume. His fingers dig into my scalp. My hair winds around his fingers and the sensation drives a zing straight to my core. I hum in pleasure.
“Fuck,” he growls out. “F-u-u-u-ck.” His body rocks and shakes as his legs and abs tense, he bucks and calls my name.
I purr when his shudders give way to twitches and he falls against the bed. He gestures for me to join him so I crawl up and curl into his side. “You know what the best part of that was?”
“The grapes?”
“I’ll never look at a grape the same way, but no. The best part is owing you.”
I rub circles on his chest, absentmindedly tracing the spirals of ink on his heart. “You don’t owe me anything.”
“Oh, but I do. I most certainly do.”
We lay for a half hour without talking. My eyes betray how long this day’s been. The thought of leaving his bed makes me ridiculously sad. Leaving him after my internship’s complete makes me even sadder.
“What are you thinking?”
My gaze dances below his chin. “Why did you pick me when you knew I’d be leaving?
“I didn't pick you.” He kisses me on the forehead. “I fell for you. Nothing I could’ve done would’ve stopped the fall. Besides, we’re broken in the most screwed-up perfect way. It was inevitable we’d end up together.”
“That’s an interesting way of putting it.” I smile. “Surely you weren’t not just trying to get me into your bed, because mission accomplished.” I tickle his side and he flinches.
“I wasn’t trying to get you in my bed. I was trying to get you in my life.”
“Mission accomplished,” I whisper.
I’m not going anywhere.” He rubs his palm up my arms. “I can be your someone. Here. Boston. Wherever.”
His words drift inside me, trapped like a bird in a glass house. I want to lock them there forever, but I can’t shake the feeling that someone or something will come along just when I’ve lowered every last defense I’ve fought so hard to keep intact, and leave the cage door open. His words will escape and my someone here, my someone in Boston, my someone wherever, will no longer be him.
“Tell me what you need to believe that.” He leans his lips close to my ear.
I need my someone to show me how to heal, to be free. And that’s exactly what he does. As smart as I am, my math smarts don’t equal heart smarts, and if anything, I’ve proven to myself that I’m incompetent when it comes to protecting my heart. How do I explain to him he was the problem, but now he’s the solution? Logically that should be impossible. I can’t wrap my head around the fact that it suddenly is.
I slide my fingers over his ink. His skin flushes under my touch and the smooth texture gives way to goose bumps. I trace the heart-shaped void, finding the point of impact where multiple wired vines originate. As they separate and web out from their epicenter, they soften, become less harsh to the eye.
Quinn sandwiches my hand between his and his chest, keeping me from exploring further. He’d said the ink represented guilt but never explained why. Is there something he can’t disclose? Or won’t? Does this beautiful, kind-hearted man wear a scarlet letter to remind himself, every day, how bad things were? How bad could it have been?
“I’m scared to need you,” I finally admit. I lift my chin and peer into his eyes.
Our faces are inches apart. His breath and my breath mingle like fog and smoke.
His lips brush against mine, ever so gently, as soft as a whisper. “And I’m scared you won’t.”
Chapter 18
Quinn
“There’s a good spot to make out.” Cassie points to the way too public café across from the tux shop.
“Awesome, and I’m all turned on after the tailor felt me up.” I hold the door for her to exit.
“So that’s not a no?” She pinches my ass. “Or would you like to go back to the tailor’s?”
“He wore me out. I think I’m good for a couple hours,” I tease.
She sighs dramatically like she doesn’t know what to do with herself in the meantime. I laugh and pull her against me until our hips bump.
“I have to admit, you look damn awesome in your wedding ensemble. Annabeth has great taste.” She smooths my wrinkled shirt like she’s picturing me in the white dress shirt, vest, and tie.
“She always did. I thought she’d go into fashion design or spearhead the industry itself, but running a company isn’t her strong suit.”
“Because she gets along smashingly with everyone.” Cassie rolls her eyes and I squeeze her hip.
“I get along smashingly with you.” Since staying in my room, and actually waking there in the morning, she’s had a different outlook on our relationship. I don’t get shot down nearly as much, only when I’m competing with work. I like seeing that drive in her. Her push to succeed. It’s like she has this vision, a big-picture plan I’m not a part of, but she does her damnedest to squeeze me in between inspecting international deliveries and sorting the wedding gifts that seem to be taking over the house. She wants me to work in her plan. Hell, I want me to work in her plans, too.
“Where to?” I ask her.
She climbs into my car and frowns. “Can’t believe I let you convince me to get rid of my rental.”
I lean over and guide her pouty lips toward mine. “You don’t need a car. You have me.”
She scoffs and scrunches her nose in disagreement. “I haven’t had you today.” She pushes me away and slides the seat belt across her lap. “Makes my car the more reliable choice, doesn’t it?”
“That piece of crap isn’t reliable. It’s a death trap.”
“Yeah, yeah.” She thumbs through the binder studies the page labeled with today’s date. “Fantastic! I’m done for the day. Unless I get a call for something major, like ordering matching toilet
paper and towelettes for the portable potties.”
“Then I’ll usurp your time until then. Have you had a chance to walk around the square?” She shakes her head.
“Then, Ms. Beck, as your tour guide, let me welcome you to our charming town of Lucas Hill, one of several stomping grounds for the infamous Ms. Elizabeth Lucas, also more familiarly known as, Eliza Pinckney, the first to successfully grow indigo into a thriving business in South Carolina.”
“Are you serious? I didn’t know that.”
“I doubt she ever dyed herself as blue as you did.”
She grunts then hops out of the car and it’s like she sees the town in a different light. A blue one, maybe?
We walk around town and I point out the Pinckney statue, the oldest working cinema in the state, and the fountain that no longer works because my sisters and I accidentally clogged the intake with chunks of indigo when we thought we were doing the town a favor by dyeing the water.
Cassie says hello to the people she’s met. They hug her like they’ve known her forever. Their reception of me is a bit more standoffish. I guess that’s understandable considering I deserted my family and my town.
We cross through the square and walk toward the water tower. The sun reflects off the rusted metal and Cassie shields her eyes until we turn up the next street.
“Your little town is busy today,” she says.
“Lucas Hill’s Memorial Day.”
“Really?” She turns in a circle on the sidewalk. “Oh! I see it now.”
I follow her line of sight. Commemorative flags for the fallen line the sidewalks, hang in the windows, and fly as pennants from each iron lamppost. “There’s a parade up to the cemetery and then everyone releases magnolias into the pond behind it.”
“Can we?” Her eyes dart up the magnolia-lined hill toward the gathering crowds.
“Of course.” I grab her hand. She tugs once but relaxes and wraps her hand around my arm. I kiss her temple as we walk up the hill.
I’d seen this parade every year growing up. Dad would line my sisters in matching indigo blue dresses along the sidewalk and mom would pin a palmetto tree and crescent to their chests. We’d wave flags, sing with the band, and circle the plots with the other townies before the firing. Seventeen gunshots for seventeen buried soldiers raised in Lucas Hill. One was another John Quincy Covington.
Cassie tugs my arm. “Hey space cowboy, where did you go?”
“Dad would bring us. Just remembering.”
“Where would you guys stand?” She weaves through the crowds lining the sidewalks, pulling me along like my dad would.
“At the top, right by the gate.”
When we reach the gates she points at the only free spot left. “Here?”
I smile. God, she’s perfect. Doesn’t even know what this means to me. I fend off the memories surfacing to make room for this new one. Cassie and me holding on to the Covington tradition. Dad would’ve loved her.
One by one, others fill in the gaps along the road but the space next to us remains empty. Coveted turf typically. I glance at the crowd and their staring eyes and hidden whispers. Has my return tainted my family that much? Is it my ink? Do I scare the townies? How is that possible when over half probably wiped my ass as a baby?
Music grows louder as the band and local veterans make the final turn to climb Magnolia Hill.
“Oh, wow.” Cassie covers her lips with her fingers.
I peer over her head to see what excited her. My sisters lead the parade wearing identical blue dresses. My heart stops as I step into the street. On each of their chests is their palmetto crescent pin. They hand out state flags to kids and anyone who doesn’t have one. Kat sees me first and stops in her tracks. Her eyes widen, her face pales, and then suddenly she’s smiling.
“Go to them,” Cassie urges me forward.
I walk down the road and Kat wraps her arms around me. It’s the first bit of kindness she’s shown since my return. Ellie follows suit, hugging me as we walk the short distance to the top.
Kat hands Cassie a flag and pins a palmetto to her dress. “Rid you of that accent and we’ll have a crossover.”
Cassie smiles and Kat grabs her hand and pulls me to her other side. Together, we line the streets like Dad would have us do. A lead weight lifts off me and Cassie has every bit to do with it.
I mouth, “Thank you.”
She smiles in return.
While the band and the reenactment team settle into their ceremony spots, Cassie steps into the road to take a picture. My sisters beg her to join and I can’t stop staring at the redheaded star surrounded by Covington blue. She leans up and kisses me on the cheek and hugs me so tight I couldn’t care less if I ever breathed again.
After the parade we release flowers and head to town to eat an early dinner with my sisters. They’re openly nicer and it feels good to joke with them. Mom shows up toward the end with Annabeth and pulls up a chair. She squeezes Annabeth’s shoulders until she drops into the seat.
“Cassidy, may I borrow you a moment. I’d like to get everything on the calendar for the week since wedding functions are picking up.”
“Absolutely.” Cassie gives her a huge, fake smile, then follows her to an empty table.
Kat crosses her arms and stares at Annabeth. “Did you invite yourself or did Momma ask you to come?”
“What ever are you talking about, Katherine?” Annabeth presses her fingertips against her chest.
“Don’t call me that, you know I hate it.” Kat rolls her eyes and turns in her seat to watch Mom and Cassie.
“I ran into your mother outside. She said she was meeting y’all here and invited me. I didn’t realize this was just family . . . or almost. I see the wedding girl is here.”
I cock an eyebrow and round on Annabeth. “Yes, you do. Cassie is with me.”
“Oh? Cassidy is now Cassie? So . . . sweet.”
“Has Cass found a dress to match your tux yet, Quinn?” Kat spins in her seat, ready to cause mischief like when we were younger.
“Your . . . tux?” Annabeth’s eyebrows knit together. The perfectly plucked lines angle into a disjointed vee.
“Ellie insisted Cassidy come as a guest, so she’s Quinn’s date.” Kat claps like a sea lion and I want to smack her upside the head for starting shit. I don’t need Annabeth grilling me on one side and Mom badgering me on the other. “I think there’s something raw and primal between them. The other night Cass—”
“Kat, shut up.” What the fuck? Raw? We aren’t raw or primal or whatever shit she was about to say.
“Why? You disagree?”
I jump to my feet and throw down some bills for food before Kat pokes the fire burning in Annabeth. “Cassie and I are trying things out. I like her a lot.” I shrug. Why am I making excuses to her? She’s in the past. “See y’all later.”
I tell everyone good-bye and drag Cassie out of the restaurant.
“What was that?” She hops in the truck. “Don’t do that in front of your mom. She’ll fire me.”
“She’s not going to fire you.”
“She’ll fail me.”
I shake my head. “Just come on. I have a surprise planned and we’re going to be late.”
“A surprise?” Her eyes light up and my mom issues disappear. If that’s all it takes, I’ll surprise her every day.
Chapter 19
Cassidy
“You’re going too fast.” I scramble down the muddy embankment.
Quinn quickens his pace and it takes me three steps to keep up with his stride. He pushes a gate open. “We’re losing light, come on.”
I peer around him. Splintered planks with slimy moss reaching over the edges like corpse fingers lead into the dark. A shudder runs through me. I pull my elbows in to wrap my hands around my arms. “No way. We’ll get lost. Or killed. Or eaten.”
He laughs. “You’ll appreciate the dark once we get to the end.”
“I appreciate light, too.” I step onto the
first plank. “Like flashlights.” The chains linking the boards together rattle and I pull back. “Or lanterns. Are you sure about this?”
“Trust me, you’ll love Fire Swamp.” He steps over the first board and the sway sets me on edge. Definitely can’t step on the same board as him; we’d fall right through.
Hands linked and a death grip on his wrist, I tiptoe behind him, fully aware my spiked heels could be my ruin. Falling into the swamp isn’t on my agenda. “You could’ve let me change.”
“No way. I want to see you wearing nothing but those shoes.”
My ears perk up at that. So do my nipples. Suddenly, I’m very aware of how he’s able to take me from the studious teacher’s pet to the rebel rouser in the back of the room, ready to cause as many problems as possible. . . as long as those problems include us naked. And it sounds like it does.
The moon’s glow reflects off the water and stretches around the cypress trees. As we move deeper into the marsh, the trees become wider, older, and scarier. The perfect hiding spot for a rabid alligator or a vicious, I don’t know . . . weasel. Opossum. Snake. Something to be waiting.
An owl hoots in the distance. Something claps like bird wings, sending a clammy gust brushing against my cheek. Please don’t be bats. I scrunch down, pressing my forehead against Quinn’s back. What in the hell are we doing?
The humidity trapped under the limbs weighs down everything, locking in the odor of decay from fallen trees and swampy things I’d rather replace with a mirage of warm sand and piña coladas. Just as I’m ready to suggest turning around, because I can’t see a damn thing and I value my life, the boardwalk stops. Quinn undoes a chain wrapped around a gate.
Light filters through the break in the overhead canopy, defining the dock’s edges. I move to the center, captive on the floating prison. Unlike the rickety old walkway, these boards squeeze together solid as concrete. At the far end there’s a glimmer, corrugated metal, maybe.
