“Not all feelings,” she said defensively. “I like the guys I’ve been with. I just don’t get all gaga over them because it doesn’t last, and someone always gets hurt if they think it does.”
“‘Always’ seems unduly harsh.”
“I’ve never seen a truly happy marriage. Someone is always faking it or lying, or they’ve just settled into a comfortable pattern and don’t have any motivation to change things.”
“What about your parents’ marriage?”
She made a face. “Please. I love my parents, but my dad has affairs and my mother looks the other way because she’s too obsessed with her job to care. I think she’s glad she doesn’t have to pay that kind of attention to him anymore. That’s not love.”
I shrugged. “Love is different things to different people. Who are you to judge?”
She sat up straighter. “I’m not passing judgment on anybody, nor would I want anyone to pass judgment on me. I’m just saying that the notion of true, everlasting love is a crock of shit, and people who believe otherwise are temporarily deluding themselves, blinded by desire, or just plain foolish.”
“You’re right, you’re not at all judgy.”
She pinned me with her favorite dirty look before taking a big swallow of wine.
“What about Alex?” I challenged. “He’s in love. Which one is he?”
She sighed, slumping against the back of the couch and staring into her glass. “Alex. I don’t know.”
“He and Nolan seem pretty in love and have been for a long time. Is that a crock of shit?”
“I will admit that Alex and Nolan have been together for years and seem genuinely passionate about each other. But I’ve never seen it last forever, OK? And everyone expects it to. I’m just being truthful.”
“Being truthful,” I repeated. It’s being scared, is what it is. But I couldn’t say that to her. Not yet.
“Yes,” she said stubbornly. “And no one can blame me for that.”
“I’m curious.” I put my arm on the back of the couch behind her. “How does it usually go when you give the rules to guys who are interested in you?”
She shrugged. “It goes fine. Some of them love it, actually. I think they’re relieved to meet a woman who’s not looking for a ring, just a good time and good manners. And if they don’t love it, well then… They can move on.”
“And what happens if you actually fall in love with one of these well-mannered commitment-phobes?”
She shook her head. “That will never happen. I’m smarter than that.”
“But what if it did?” I pressed. “You can’t control your feelings. Even smart people fall in love.”
“Then I’d break up with him.”
“What? Why?”
“Because it’s gonna end sooner or later, and I might as well be the one to do it,” she answered, as if it were obvious. “At least then I’d know when it was coming.”
I shook my head. “Did you not get enough love as a child or something?”
“Oh, God.” She gulped down the rest of her wine and set the glass down. “Look, I’m not saying love doesn’t exist in some forms. I got plenty of love as a child. I love my family. I love my friends. I even love my life,” she said, throwing a hand in the air.
“So it’s just romantic love you think is doomed. Relationships.”
“Eventually, yes.”
“Don’t you ever worry that you’re closing yourself off from something a lot of people find joy in?”
“Nope. I have plenty of joy in my life. And I’m never hurt or disappointed.”
“Are you happy?”
A look of surprise flitted across her face. “Happy?” she repeated, as if she’d never considered the question. “Sure, I guess so. Happy for now, anyway. But what else is there?”
“What do you mean?”
“Happiness is always a ‘for now’ thing, isn’t it? People think, ‘What do I want right now? Oh, this candy bar. Those shoes. That purse. Another piece of cake. Another piece of ass.’” She spanked her hip and gave me a coy smile. “But what we want changes over time, so what makes us happy changes over time.”
I thought about that. “But don’t you think it’s possible to know that something or someone would always make you happy?”
“To know it for sure?” She thought for a second, her green eyes serious. “No. I don’t. Do you?”
“Sure, I do. I mean, I’ve never experienced it for myself, but I have faith it exists.”
She gave me a patronizing smile, as if I’d just told her I still believed in Santa Claus. “That’s so cute.”
“OK. I’ll prove it.”
“Prove what?”
“I’ll show you that real love exists. I’ll make you believe.”
She stood up, her smile gone. “Really, that’s not necessary.”
“Scared to take the bet?”
“I’m not scared of anything! I just don’t think there’s any way to prove what you’re saying.”
“Chicken.”
She started for the door. “I have to go upstairs for a minute.”
I jumped off the couch and pushed the door closed when she tried to open it.
“Hey,” she said, annoyed.
“Come on. Dare me to prove love is real.”
She sighed, her expression pained. “No, Quinn, because you’ll only do stupid things to try and make me fall for you, and I’ll just get annoyed. The sex was so great today. This could be fun between us. Let’s not ruin it.”
I smiled. “I swear I will not do anything to make you fall for me—unless giving you a lot of orgasms is on that list. Because that, I’m going to do.”
Her jaw dropped for a second, and then she gave me a flirty smile. “OK then. I dare you.”
Ten
JAIME
I hurried up the stairs to my flat, buoyed by the phrase “giving you a lot of orgasms.” Damn, that sounded good.
In fact, the more I thought about it, this whole setup was fantastic.
I had the hottest piece of ass ever living right downstairs, and he clearly understood my boundaries, even if he’d made fun of them.
Whatever—he’d thank me when it was time for him to move out and our little fling had run its course. A month was perfect! That’s about as long as I liked my fuck flings to last anyway. Any longer and you were looking at relationship status, which was no good, because it led to expectations and resentment, the inevitable accusations and accompanying guilt, and finally the tragic ending.
Fuck that—I was saving us both from a stupid breakup fight that would make Owens family functions awkward for years to come if he stuck around here.
We’d have unattached, meaningless yet magnificent sex for a few weeks, and then get out of each other’s way. It was perfect…as long as he didn’t try to fuck it up. I was a little worried about those dates he wanted, because I wasn’t totally convinced he wouldn’t try to muddy the waters with hearts and flowers, which would completely kill my lady boner and ruin the fun.
And what about the whole “I can prove love exists” thing? Was he nuts? There was no way on Earth to prove that love either did or didn’t exist, was there? What the hell was he going to do? For heaven’s sake, look at the home he’d come from—his father had abandoned his mother when he was just a baby. What had that taught him about romantic love?
I didn’t really have a reason for coming up to my flat, I’d just wanted to exit the conversation, but since I was up here, I used my own bathroom, changed underwear, and grabbed another bottle of red from the rack before heading back downstairs. Quinn was on the couch again, checking his phone. Was it possible he looked even more delicious since he’d said the thing about more orgasms? When would those begin? Before or after the homemade pizza?
Sex and pizza. God, my life is amazing right now.
“How’s your harem today?” I went into the kitchen, peeked at the rising dough, and left the wine on the counter. “They like your early morning bat
hroom selfie with the bedhead hair?”
“They did, indeed. More than five thousand of them.”
“Don’t you ever feel weird about posting so many pictures of yourself?” I came back into the living room, noticing that he’d closed the curtains. I sat a little closer to him.
“Sometimes,” he said, setting his phone on the table. “But I also get a lot of messages from people who say that my pictures inspire them to eat healthier or exercise more or set a fitness goal for themselves. Those are good things.”
“Ah, so you’re doing it for them,” I teased, poking him in the side, “not for your own ego. It’s purely altruistic, all the shirtless muscle pics.”
He tackled me, throwing me onto my back and covering my body with his. “You’re awful, you know that? Quit making fun of me, or I will excessively cuddle you to death.”
“No, no, anything but that,” I said, giggling. But I slipped my hands inside his shirt, rubbed them up and down the smooth, warm skin on his back.
He looked down at me with a glint in his eye. “Or maybe I’ll tease you about the red bikini night, Miss I Don’t Talk About Feelings.”
I gasped. “You wouldn’t.”
“Oh no?”
Something clicked, and I saw it as an opportunity to derail. “Hey…you remember what I was wearing?”
“Of course I do.” He kissed me, but it wasn’t like the first time, in his room. This one was softer and sweeter, and allowed me to better appreciate the firm fullness of his lips, the taste of the wine on his tongue. He picked up his head. “Some things are unforgettable.”
Feeling validated, I smiled bigger than I meant to. My heart beat faster than it was supposed to. My insides performed acrobatic feats they hadn’t attempted in years.
A warning bell sounded in my head.
I ignored all of that and focused on the external things—the hardness of his cock between my legs, the friction making my clit tingle and ache, the solid weight of his body, his mouth sealed over mine, his tongue sliding inside—the safe things.
His kiss had me riled up fast, and I tugged at his jeans. “Wait,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”
A minute later, he came back with his pants undone, condom already on, and peeled my pants and underwear off in one smooth motion. Fuck yes. I love a man who doesn’t belabor the point. When there’s a matter to be settled, let’s settle it.
He sat back on the couch and I quickly straddled him, grabbing his shirt at the hem and lifting it over his head. Then I reached down and took his cock in my hand, rubbing the tip on my clit.
“You really are all business, aren’t you?” His hands moved up my thighs and over my ass.
“Is that a complaint?”
“Nope.” He groaned, his eyes closing, head tipping back, as I lowered myself onto his dick, inch by inch, until I was sitting on his legs. “Just an observation.”
“Sometimes I mix business with pleasure,” I said, taking a moment to appreciate how full with him I was, how deep he reached, how hard and thick he felt inside me. I loved being on top—loved the control and power it gave me, loved watching a guy fall apart beneath me. And Quinn was so beautiful, this view was like none I’d ever seen before. Fucking stellar. His bone structure was ridiculous.
Also his boner structure.
I circled my hips, smiling lazily at the way he dug his fingers into my skin. I took his head in my hands, curling my fingers into his hair, pinning those blue eyes with a look that said I’m. Fucking. You. Get it?
His lips looked so delicious I couldn’t resist rubbing mine against them, less a kiss and more a tease. Then I took his bottom lip between my teeth, grinding against him a little faster. Fuck, I could get drunk on this feeling. It was a bigger kick and a higher high than from any other drug—I could feel my body making the climb, feel his taking me there.
His hands flexed on my ass, and he held me tightly against him as he started to thrust up inside me. I gasped, dropping my head back, each powerful jab taking me closer and closer to release. My lower body hummed and tightened, and I tilted my hips back to get the perfect angle—the base of his cock rubbing my clit and the tip of it hitting the magic spot. He moaned and cursed under ragged breaths, matching my rhythm perfectly.
At the precipice, I looked down at him, and the sight of his gorgeous face seized by the agony of pleasure sent me over the edge. I clawed his shoulders, crying out as I came long and hard.
My orgasm subsided just in time to feel the powerful, surging pulse of his, and even though I generally try not to look at a guy’s O face since most are scary and beastlike, I’m happy to report that Quinn’s O face is just as fucking hot as the rest of him. So hot that it rekindled the fire inside me, and I felt a second orgasm building.
“Oh God—Quinn.” I chased it, riding it out on his throbbing cock as he held still, paralyzed by the intensity of his own climax.
When we were finally zapped of energy, I tried to get off him.
“Just a second.” His hands squeezed the tops of my thighs. “Don’t move yet.”
I squirmed a little. “But I—”
“I’m not going to hug you or kiss you or talk about my feelings. I just want to enjoy my dick in you for ten more seconds, OK?” He pinched my ass. “Jeez.”
“OK. I’ll give you ten more seconds. But only because I came twice, and it’s been a very long time since that’s happened.”
He looked happy. “Oh yeah? I like that. But you’re probably going to tell me you did all the work.”
“Not at all. I give credit where credit is due, and your dick deserves at least half the credit for those two orgasms.”
“Half?”
I narrowed my eyes. “Maybe three quarters. Now can I get off?”
Big sigh. “Yes.”
We cleaned up in separate bathrooms again, and I fought the sudden urge to come up with an excuse to leave. It was like an automatic trigger with me after an orgasm, some kind of fight-or-flight response—I always wanted to be alone.
Cut it out. Quinn gets you and gets what this is, or at least he appears to. If at any point tonight, you feel he’s losing sight of the big picture, you can make an excuse and leave.
But he didn’t, so I stayed.
I drank wine and watched Quinn make pizza, helped make a salad (even though he teased me by quizzing me on vegetables as if I didn’t recognize them), and enjoyed the feeling of being warm and cozy inside his flat while the blizzard outside buried us in snow, the temperature dropping below zero.
We ate at the table—I impressed Quinn by gobbling two bowls of salad and scarfing three big slices of pizza—and talked about lots of different things, including places we’d been in the world and places we still wanted to visit. Quinn preferred Florence and I liked Rome; he liked cabins in the woods and I preferred a resort on the beach; but we both agreed Paris was a magical place and Marrakech was on our list of dream vacations.
“I wish my mom had gotten to travel more,” Quinn said, leaning back in his chair. “There are so many places I’d have loved to take her just for the food.”
“Did she ever go back to Poland?”
He shook his head. “Nope. I don’t think she ever wanted to. Her parents didn’t have great memories of it. But I’d like to go someday.”
“Can you make any of the Polish food she used to make? Like those meatballs? Or the pierogies and sausage?”
He smiled. “I haven’t yet, but you just let me know when you’re in the mood for sausage and I will accommodate you.”
“Very funny.” After stacking our bowls and plates, I got up from the table, carried the dishes over to the sink, and began rinsing them.
“Don’t worry about that. I’ll do them.” Quinn came in behind me with the leftover salad.
“I don’t mind helping you. But after that, I should get going. I have to get up early for work, and the drive is going to be a bitch tomorrow with all this snow.”
“Do you have to go to work? The roa
ds will still be pretty bad.” He covered the salad serving bowl with plastic wrap and stuck it in the fridge, while I loaded the plates and bowls into the dishwasher.
“Yeah, I do. I took today off to catch up on some things and got nothing done.”
He poked me in the butt. “The allure of my closet was too strong.”
“Oh, shut up.” But I giggled as I rinsed our forks. “I still can’t believe you caught me in there.”
Shaking his head, he carried the leftover pizza into the kitchen and set it on the counter. “I can’t either. It’s a good story, anyway.”
I gasped, whirling to face him with the silverware in my hand. “You can’t tell anyone that story!”
“Why not? It’s hilarious. And it has a great ending.”
“What?” I shrieked. “No!”
“Well, then, I guess you’ll just be that much more motivated to honor your agreement about our dates.”
“That’s blackmail,” I sniffed. “You wouldn’t.”
He shrugged and smiled. “Guess we’ll see.”
I dumped the silverware into the dishwasher. “God, you’re a smug bastard.”
“And you’re a dirty little snoop. Don’t forget your wine glass in my bedroom.”
I tossed my braid and went back to his room to get it, glancing over at the closet and bathroom with a smile. What a crazy day. The sight of his bed made my insides tighten, and for a second I was tempted to suggest another round.
What the fuck? You start breaking your own rules, he’ll think you didn’t mean what you said. He’ll get stupid ideas.
Grabbing the glass off the nightstand, I went back to the kitchen doorway and poked my head in. I didn’t want to get within touching range in case he was planning to bug me about staying over. I was strong, but not steely. Not when it came to him, at least. “Sure you don’t want more help cleaning up?”
“I’m sure.” He stuck the leftover pizza in the fridge. “Now get the hell out of here. Before your face makes me want to cuddle.”
I grinned, ducking out of reach fast. “Night. Thanks for dinner.”
“Night.”
Man Candy Page 7
