by Cathryn Fox
He treats my other breast to the same pleasure, and his mouth is wet when he breaks from my body and presses his forehead to mine, his breath coming faster, spilling over my face.
“You should probably know, boobs aren’t my only thing,” he says, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to my forehead, nose, eyes and cheeks.
“No?” I ask, playing along, even though I’m not so sure it’s wise with a guy like Jonah, but I’m too far gone, too damn needy to turn back now.
“No, I’m into many other things.”
“Such as?” I ask, my entire body vibrating, anxious to find out.
“Oh, you suddenly want to know now, do you?”
“Yes,” I say, unable to keep the desperation from my voice.
“Okay, then.” He slides his hand up my thigh and grips my lace panties. “Why don’t you lift, and I’ll show you.”
I brace my hands on the counter and lift my ass, allowing him to lower my panties to my thighs. He wiggles them down, his calluses scraping my bare flesh and sending shivers skittering through me as he removes the scrap of material and proceeds to twirl them around his finger.
“Black lace,” he murmurs. “Sexy, but I was hoping you were naked underneath my shirt.”
He reaches between my legs, strokes me softly, and a growl catches in his throat. “You’ve been thinking about me touching you like this?” he asks.
“Jonah,” I say, sexual frustration lacing my voice as he teases me, circling my clit but never quite touching.
“You might as well admit it, Quinn. Just look at your panties…look how wet they are.” He runs his finger along my length, presses into my opening, and I moan. “Don’t lie to me. I feel how wet you are.”
As I stare at him, I’m fully aware that there is no sense in denying it. I want his touch, and my wetness is a dead giveaway. “I’ve been thinking about you touching me,” I admit. I take in his dark eyes, and just hope he doesn’t ask how long I’ve been fantasying about us together like this. He doesn’t need to know that it goes back many years. Since he always overlooked me, I pretended to hate him. That was easier than rejection.
He’s not rejecting you now, Quinn.
No, he’s not. He’s looking at me with hunger, worship even. I’m certain this is a one-night thing. Come tomorrow, when we’re not overcome with lust, we’ll both come to our senses and realize this wasn’t smart. But tonight—oh, tonight, I plan on taking full advantage of our bad choices.
“The second I saw you in these boxers, I became wet,” I admit, deciding to hold nothing back.
He grins. “See, that wasn’t so hard, was it? And since you’re being honest, I will be too.” He runs a finger over my sex, and finally, finally, strokes my swollen clit, and my hips come off the counter. He sucks in a breath, a tortured look on his face, like it’s taking every ounce of strength he has to keep it together. “Earlier tonight, I almost took my cock in my hands and jacked off as I thought about burying my mouth between your legs and eating you.”
“That’s…” I begin, my body visually quaking. “That’s what you’re into?” I ask, and don’t miss the anticipation in my voice.
“Oh, yeah. That’s exactly what I’m into.”
He pulls my hips forward and puts my legs over his shoulders. A little whimper catches in my throat as he leans into me and run his tongue along my slit. I grip his hair and shamelessly rub against him.
“Jonah,” I cry out, as he expertly pleasures me with his mouth, eats at me like he’d been living on rations. My eyes slide shut, and the room closes in on me, nothing mattering but this man and the way he’s devouring me. He moans, a telltale sign that he loves what he’s doing as much as I love him doing it. He runs the long length of his tongue over me, then pushes it inside my sex. Mumbled curses reach my ear, and for a second I can’t believe Jonah is between my legs, giving me pleasuring unlike any other man ever has.
“So good!” I cry out, and wiggle. He grips my hips, holds me still, keeping me at his mercy as he feasts on me. His tongues swirls around my clit, laps at it, and then, oh God, and then he slides one finger into me—and with that first sweet touch to my G-spot, a dam burst inside my body, and a hot flood of need, many long years in the making, spills out of me.
I gasp for breath, claw at the man licking me, each clench more intense than the first, overwhelming me in ways that are a bit frightening.
“Jonah,” I say when I can finally find my voice again, my nails dragging skin as I run my hands over his back. He stays between my legs a moment longer, touching me softly, licking me gently.
I grip his shoulders, needing my mouth on him. He stands and slides his hands around my body, pulling me to him…claiming me.
“I want you on my bed, legs open.” He pulls me onto his hips, and I wrap my legs and arms around him as he carries me up the stairs like I weigh nothing. We step into his room, and he closes the door quietly behind us.
He carries me to his bed, and I slide down his body. My feet hit the floor, but I don’t stop there. I continue down and kneel in front of him, glance at his poor tortured cock trapped in his boxers.
“Quinn,” he growls. “Jesus fuck, Quinn. What are you doing?”
I stroke him through his boxers, and he’s as hard as granite. “I thought I’d show you some other things that I’m into,” I say. While it’s not entirely true, I never really enjoyed this with the few men I’ve been with, for some odd reason, I can’t wait to put Jonah’s cock in my mouth.
“You on your knees like this…I might fucking explode down your throat.” I quake at that. “But I won’t. Not this time.”
Disappointment settles in my stomach. “No?”
He grips my hair and tugs until my mouth is open, and I’m starting to understand how much he likes me like this. “Because there are so many other things I want to do to you tonight, and when I come, I want to be inside your sweet pussy.”
I gulp, wanting that too.
His hips sway, and I grab the elastic on his boxers and tug them down. His cock jerks forward, slaps my face, leaves a streak of pre-cum on my lips. I brush my tongue over my bottom lip to taste him, and the grip in my hair tightens. Jonah is losing it. That thought fills me with power. I’m doing this to him. Me, Quinn Reed, the girl he always overlooked and challenged when we were young. Damn, I like that. Maybe a bit too much.
Wanting to rattle him just a bit more, I say, “Have you been thinking about me on my knees like this, your cock so deep in my mouth it’s practically down my throat?”
His entire body trembles, and I lean forward to lap at his crown, drink in the rest of his pre-cum.
“Quinn, Jesus,” he grumbles, a warning lingering behind his words.
Deciding to put him out of his misery—I mean, after all, he’d just given me the best orgasm of my life—I widen my mouth even more and offer it up to him.
He grips his cock, strokes it a few times, then slowly slides into my mouth, feeding me an inch at a time until I choke a little. He pulls out, but I grip his ass and hold him there, wanting to take as much as I can.
He rocks with me, and I work my mouth over him, enjoying the tangy taste of his skin. I moan around his cock, loving what I’m doing, and he thickens even more. I remove one hand from his ass and cup his balls, gently massage them in my palm. His breathing is harsh now, labored, and it’s clear he’s fighting to do one of two things—pull from my mouth when it obviously feels so good, or come down my throat.
“That’s fucking good,” he murmurs, and I suck on his crown, and work my hand over his long length. A second later, I’m on my feet…and when my gaze meets dark, intense eyes, a man so close to losing it, I lower myself onto the bed, and open my legs for him.
“Are you going to fuck me now?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he says, and grips his cock. He works his hand over it for a moment, his eyes never leaving my sex. “You ready for me to fuck you, Quinn?”
He looks so carnal and possessive, I know I’m in over my
head, and for a brief second I think about running away. What is this man going to do to me?
I’m not sure, but I guess I’m about to find out.
“Yes,” I murmur, and move back on the bed, giving him room to climb on with me. My body is quivering, and my pussy is clenching just from watching him stroke his long, thick length.
“You want my cock in you, making you feel so fucking good?”
“I do.”
“Show me where you want it?” His gaze leaves mine, travels to the needy juncture between my legs. I touch my breasts, rub my nipples for a second, then move my hands to my sex. I open my damp lips, completely exposing my most private parts to him and shocking myself at how bold I am with this man.
“Right here,” I say as he opens his nightstand drawer and pulls out a condom. “I want your cock inside my pussy.”
His nostrils flare, every muscle in his body taut as he climbs on the bed, grabs my legs and widens them even more. He lightly strokes me, pushes a finger inside, and fucks me like that a few times.
I ride his finger, but it’s not enough. I want his cock.
“This sweet cunt,” he begins, “I want it so much, I just might ruin you.”
Breath leaves my lungs in a whoosh, his dirty words stroking me deeply. “Yes,” I whisper for lack of anything else.
“You need to be taken by me, Quinn?”
Without waiting for a response, he tears into the condom and quickly sheathes himself, then he falls over me, his mouth finding mine. I taste myself on his lips as his mouth eats at mine. His crown probes my opening, and I move my hips, trying to force him inside. His pushes my hands over my head, and holds them there with one of his as the other goes to my breast.
He brushes my nipple with his thumb as he powers into me, one quick thrust that pulls a cry of pleasure from my lungs.
He seats himself high, gives me a moment to adjust then moves his hips, driving in and out of me, a fast, maddening pace that shuts down my ability to think with any sort of clarity.
“Yes,” is all I can manage to say, and when he lets my hands go and grips my shoulders for better leverage, I put my hands on his damp back, take pleasure in his hard muscles as he fucks me…like a god.
“You’re so fucking tight,” he growls into my ear before he buries his face into the hollow of my throat, his tongue gliding over my skin.
Each thrust takes me higher and higher, and my hips come off the bed to grind against him, a shameless exhibit of need. Little electrical currents move through my body, center on my sex, and when his pubic bone connects with my clit, my muscles clench around his cock, an explosion of passion.
“Motherfucker,” he swears, as my hot release drips down my thighs and coats his balls. He pumps once, twice, then throws his head back and stills inside me. I hold him to me, and concentrate on each vibrating pulse.
When his body finally stops spasming, he collapses on top of me, and I wrap my legs around him, holding him to me, never wanting this night to end.
He lifts his head, cups my face and pushes my hair from my forehead. His eyes meet mine. “You good?” he asks, his voice so full of tender concern, I have to take a quick second to remind myself this is just sex. Two people scratching an itch.
“I’m good,” I say. “You?”
“Yeah.” He rolls off me and drags me with him, until I’m snuggled against his chest. After a long moment, he breaks the quiet. “Quinn?”
My heart races. Is this where he brushes me off, tells me to go back to my own room? The Body Checker’s moves are well known, and the truth is, I knew what I was getting into when I seduced him. Or rather, he seduced me. I’m not quite sure how that all went down. But the reality is, I know he has a revolving door, and women don’t sleep over. When I arrived this morning—was it only this morning?—whoever he was with the night before was long gone.
“Yeah?” I say, and make a move to go.
He drags me back, a possessive tug, and I glance up at him, confused.
He doesn’t make eye contact; instead he puts his arm over his eyes and mumbles, “Next time you’re in my clothes, I don’t want you wearing panties. When I lift your shirt, I want to find you bare and ready to be fucked, okay?”
Oh. My. God.
7
Jonah
I look at the woman sleeping beside me and can’t believe that we fucked last night. And oh, how we fucked. My cock thickens from the memories. It was seriously the hottest sex of my life, and her talking all dirty like that nearly blew my mind and my load.
But seriously, what the hell was I thinking?
I wasn’t. That much is obvious. Did I really tell her that the next time she’s in my clothes, I want her naked underneath? Talk about some big fucking balls. Balls her brother is likely going to cut off and feed to me if he ever finds out. Then again, he’s the one who called her to help me, so part of the responsibility is his.
How is that for logical reasoning at its worst?
I glance at the clock. It’s eight in the morning. My thoughts turn to my daughter. My daughter. Is she still asleep? She must be, otherwise she’s be crying her eyes out. Not that I can blame her. She had a pretty traumatic day yesterday. I have a billion concerns, things I need to think of, plans I need to make, but it’s so goddamn overwhelming, I try to block it out for now, just take this fatherhood thing one day, one hour, at a time.
I ease from the bed, pull on a pair of sweatpants, and tiptoe quietly from the room. I listen outside Daisy’s door and when I hear cooing noises, I inch it open, praying to God the sight of me doesn’t send her into hysterics again. I walk to her crib, and she’s staring at the ceiling, her feet and hands moving. Her eyes move to mine, and when her chin quivers, I act quickly, wanting to soothe her worries.
“Hey, little one,” I say quietly, and she watches me with those big blue eyes, so unsure of me. I don’t blame her. I’m unsure of me, too. “Are you hungry?” I ask, as I cradle her against my chest. Her little head bobs against my body, then she glances up at me, like she’s trying to figure out if she likes me or not.
Her diaper feels soggy beneath my hand, so before I feed her, I need to change her. I place her on the changing table, and talk quietly to her. “If you’re wondering who I am and what I do, well, I’m your daddy, apparently, and sorry that was just sprung on you. It was sprung on me, too. Anyway, I’m a hockey player. When you get bigger, I can teach you how to play, too.” I frown. “That is if you want to. Maybe you want to be a dancer or something.” I unsnap the bottom of her pajamas. What was it Quinn had called it? A onesie? “I’m new at this and it’d be great if you’d give me a chance and not cry.”
She wiggles, her little hands fisted, swatting at the air, like she’s looking to land one on my chin. I take her hand in mine, lean in and give it a kiss. “You’re going to be a fighter, aren’t you?” I remove her diaper and reach for the baby wipes. “That’s good, Daisy. You’re so pretty, you’re going to have to learn how to fight the boys off.”
She makes a noise and gives me a big smile—the first smile I’ve seen on her—and my heart jumps into my throat. “No way.” I turn around, half-expecting Quinn to be there, to witness this moment, but disappointment takes up residency in my gut when I find the room empty. I turn back to Daisy.
“Oh, you like that do you? You want to take care of those boys by yourself.” As I look at her, think about who’s going to protect my girl once she’s in school—a teenager—possession moves through me. Yeah, I know what guys are like, and if any of them think for one moment they’re going to get within ten feet of my teenage daughter, they’ve got another thought coming. I slide the diaper beneath her, tape it up, and re-snap her onesie.
She’s cooing and smiling at me when I pick her up and hold her against my chest. “How about we let Quinn sleep a little longer, and I’ll get your bottle. We can watch Sportsnet and maybe you can see snippets of your daddy’s last game.”
Daddy?
Man, will I ever get
use to that?
She wiggles in my arms, and her fingers tug at my hair. Damn, I’m going to have to get it cut before she tears it out. We head downstairs, and I take a bottle from the fridge. I set her in her car seat, which is plunked on the kitchen table, and make some coffee, wanting a mug ready for Quinn when she wakes up. My mind races to my best friend’s sister.
How will she react this morning?
Will she go running out of here, or take me up on the offer I’m about to make her?
When it comes right down to it, I really shouldn’t have seduced her. If she runs now, I’m fucked. Hindsight is a wonderful thing, and now, since neither of us can deny that last night was pretty damn awesome, we can only move forward with that knowledge
The microwave beeps, and as I prepare the bottle, I turn to see Daisy, one of the rubber toys hanging from the car seat handle in her mouth. Heart in my throat, I jump toward her, ready to grab it—but then stop. I guess it’s okay for her to chew it. They wouldn’t make a car seat toy that wasn’t safe, right? Fuck, I have so much to learn.
One day at a time, dude.
As the coffee percolates, I pick her up and we head into the living room. I sit, put the bottle into her mouth and flick on the TV. I go through the stations until I find Sportsnet, showcasing highlights of last night’s basketball game. Daisy drinks half her bottle, then I burp her, but before I do, I throw one of her blankets over my shoulder.
Like I said, I’m a quick learner.
Behind me the stairs creak, and Daisy begins to make babbling noises. I angle my head, catch the hesitant look on Quinn’s face.
“Sorry if we woke you. I was hoping you’d get more sleep.”
“You didn’t wake me. I’m always up early. Habit. How is she this morning?” She comes around to face me and tugs on the hem of the T-shirt she’s weaning. My T-shirt.
