Reaching between them, she slipped a hand under the waistband of his sweats and down into his boxers, her fingers brushing over the smooth skin of his penis. There was a fleeting moment where she wanted to snatch her hand away, not because she was scared, but because… yeah, she was a little scared. This was happening, like… for real happening, and while she knew how to please herself, none of that expertise extended to pleasing a man.
But… something had changed. His lips were still pressed to the hint of cleavage that showed above the neckline of her dress, and he was waiting.
To see what she would do next.
What the hell do I do next?
She knew what fictional women did, but seeing a love scene played out on a screen, or visualizing the words in a book was much, much different than a very real, very hot, heavy penis against your fingers. She sucked in a deep breath, then covered him with her hand, curling her palm around him. She moved her hand in one gentle, cautious stroke, and finally he exhaled.
Or… maybe she had been the one holding her breath. Because when their eyes met in the glowing light from the fire, as she carefully stroked him, there was no apprehension, no hesitation in his, only desire. He wanted her. Knowing things that no one, not even her therapist knew, things that had made her feel dirty, and ashamed for so long. And he wanted her anyway.
Suddenly, having him in her hands wasn’t enough. She moved out of his arms, out of his lap, and onto her feet, letting the blanket fall to the concrete as she stood. She grabbed the hem of her dress, but Quentin quickly sat forward, covering her hands with his.
“Hold on,” he urged, scooting to the edge of the seat. “You’re supposed to be careful about over-extending this arm, remember? Your shoulder’s still healing.”
Renata bit her lip, taking a step back as he stood, then carefully helped her out of the dress. Standing in front of him in just her underwear, she trembled at his touch as he ran his fingers over her body, then sat down in front of her. The air held a chill, but between the fire, and the heat radiating from Quentin, she didn’t feel cold at all, and was confused for a second when he picked the blanket up, lifting it to drape across her shoulders.
She held it around herself willing, but purposely kept the front view exposed as Quentin brought his hands to the waistband of her panties. He hooked his fingers in them on either side, then slowly dragged them down over her hips, instructing her to step out. She did, and a moment later he tugged her forward, propped her foot on the seat beside him, and covered her with his mouth. Her back arched in immediate pleasure, and she forgot about holding the blanket, reaching instead to hold onto his shirt to keep her balance.
He hooked his arm under her leg to keep her open, using his fingers to spread her feminine flower wide as he devoured her, nibbling and teasing and licking until she climaxed again, with violent trembles that made her knees give out. She collapsed into his lap, high off passion, but still eager to explore.
Renata helped him out of his shirt, and he helped her out of her bra, moving them deep into the corner of the sectional and pulling the blanket back over her shoulders before he touched her again. Quentin slid his hands up her thighs and butt, over her stomach to reach her breasts. Squeezing them in his hands, he looked up at her with a smile.
“Vous êtes magnifique, bien-aimé.”
She blushed at his compliment — telling her she was gorgeous —, then pulled her lip between her teeth as he covered her nipple with his mouth, keeping his gaze focused on hers. She closed her eyes as he sucked hard, drawing a gasp of pleasure. He repeated that on the other side, then flicked his tongue over her nipple before taking it in his mouth again.
Renata moved her hands between them, removing him from the confines of his sweats and boxers this time. With no preamble, she lifted herself up, intending to lower herself onto him, but he caught her by the hips.
“Whoa dere,” he chuckled. “Unless you’re trying to make a baby chérie… hold on.”
Averting her gaze, she watched from the corner of her eyes as he pulled his wallet from the pocket of his sweats, then handed her a condom from inside. She simply… stared at the little foil packet as he eased off his boxers and sweats, and toed off his shoes. When he was done, he looked at her, and she looked at him, wondering if her confusion — and lack of experience — showed on her face.
He lifted his hand, burying his fingers in her freshly redone braids as he pulled her into a kiss, then gently pulled the condom from her hands. She watched with interest while he tore it open, then deftly covered himself with the flimsy film. He sat back then, tipping his head to the side with an expectant grin.
“You comin’?”
She lifted her eyebrows. “Oh… I thought you would want me to like… lay down.”
“Nope,” he said, gripping her thighs to pull her into position. “If we do it like this… you get to be in control. The pace you want, the rhythm you want… however deep you want me.”
Excited heat rushed through her, followed quickly by a mild sense of panic. “But… I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“Just do what feels good.”
The smile on Quentin’s face served as a soothing balm for her apprehension. With a deep breath, she raised herself up, and onto him.
She almost expected her body to clamp down and reject him, refusing entry. Instead it welcomed him, and she gasped as it did, spreading and stretching to accommodate his size. She wrapped her arms around his neck, holding onto him, not moving, just… feeling him. Focusing in on the way her body contracted around him, relishing in the foreign sensation of having a man inside of her.
Foreign, but… good.
Better than good.
He’d groaned, kneading her butt cheeks as she lowered herself onto him, but he hadn’t moved since, hadn’t shown any signs of impatience. He was waiting for her. Waiting for her to do what felt good. So she did.
Her body moved instinctively, just a soft, subtle rock as she got used to feeling him inside of her. She loosened her grip around his neck, moving back so he could palm her breasts, and his gentle, encouraging squeezes made her rock her hips harder, moving up and down, raising and lowering herself onto him again.
She didn’t know what she was doing, she was just doing what felt good, but more than good. Much, much more than good as he lowered his mouth to her breasts again as she rode him. It felt great then, moving into incredible as he kissed and sucked her nipples, then brought his hands up to caress her butt and thighs. And even better when he slipped a hand between them, using his fingers to stimulate her as she began to move faster, spurred on by the chase of what felt good.
He brought his mouth back to hers as a heavy, but somehow… freeing sense of pressure began to build at her core. Her movements were frenzied, frantic, and she kissed him hungrily, desperately, because … hell yes, this was what felt good. Quentin put his hands at her hips to steady her, but not slow her down, lowering his mouth to her neck, finding one of those hot spots again and sucking hard. Hard enough that Renata knew she would have a mark, but she didn’t care, because she’d found what felt good, and she wasn’t letting it go, not for anything in the… world.
Renata squeezed her eyes tight, gasping as tremors shook her body, and a kaleidoscope of colors exploded in her mind, and she couldn’t breathe, or think, but she could feel, and it felt magnificent, and liberating, and she felt… different.
Free.
She clung to him for a long time, and didn’t realize she was crying until her mind cleared enough to realize that the muffled sounds in her ear were soothing words from Quentin as he rubbed her back. His shoulder was soaking wet, and when she drew back, the concern in his eyes made pain stab at her chest.
“I’m fine Q,” she assured him, smiling as he reached up to wipe away her tears.
He brushed a handful of braids away from her face. “Your mouth is sayin’ one thing, but these tears say somethin’ else, Beautiful.”
“Happy tears.” She smiled
again, then leaned forward to press her lips to his. He didn’t let it end at a simple peck, he cupped her face and held her close, pulling her bottom lip between his.
When he finally let her draw away from the kiss, she buried her face in his neck. He was still inside her, but she felt no inclination to separate herself from him.
“Q?”
“Yeah baby?” he asked, pulling the blanket up, yet again, to cover them from the chill of the night air.
Renata lifted her head, pressing her lips to his.
“Thank you.”
fourteen.
“Are you awake?”
Eyes still closed, Quentin smirked. He was awake, but he briefly considered pretending not to be, just to see what Renata would do. As he suspected, a moment later, she climbed on top of him, lowering herself onto his chest.
“I know you’re not sleeping,” she whispered, tracing the outline of his face with her fingers, then pressing a soft kiss to his jaw.
Bringing a hand up to palm her butt, Quentin kept his eyes shut. “I am sleep. Don’t you see me sleepin’ right now?”
“He’s not asleep.” She moved her hand down between them, running it over the erection straining his boxers. “I think he’s wide awake.”
Quentin chuckled. “Insomnia. Because you won’t let him have a break.”
Since that night, three nights ago now, Renata had been eager to explore her newfound sexuality. Not that Quentin was complaining. He definitely didn’t mind being her chosen partner, and making love to Renata was… an experience. She was curious, and responsive, and vocal, and beautiful. But more than anything, he loved how much more free she seemed, like she was relieved to have broken through a barrier. She’d even been more productive on the job lately — it was her hacking that had finally gotten them into an email stack they’d been working on all week, and planned to start going through today.
Whenever she let them out of the bed.
“You don’t need a break,” she teased, slipping her hand into his boxers. “It’s not like I’m tiring you out. You’ve been gentle with me, I can tell. Holding back.”
She turned her face up towards his, waiting for a response, which really wasn’t very fair, not when those soft, sweet hands of hers had him hard as steel.
After a deep breath through his nose, he spoke. “I have been gentle with you, because… you’re… I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Hurt me?” she asked, lifting an eyebrow. “Hurt me how?”
She sat up, pulled him free of his boxers, then licked her hands before she touched him again, using the moisture to stroke him harder.
Goddamn.
He forced himself to look up at her face. “If we get too… vigorous, you might be sore after.”
“And you’ve gotten that complaint?”
He grinned, then sucked in a hiss of air, nostrils flared as she gave him a gentle squeeze. “Not exactly a complaint. Just the reality of what happens.”
“I wanna do it.”
“You wanna do what?”
“I wanna do vigorous. I want you to stop “going easy” on me. Stop treating me like I’m fragile, or… weak.”
Something in her voice made him look up to meet her eyes, and he was disappointed to see a trace of sadness there. He sat up, moving her hands away from him before cupping her face in his.
“I don’t think you’re weak, chérie. Not at all. Just want you to feel well taken care of, so I’m followin’ your lead, workin’ at your pace. Whatever makes you feel comfortable.”
She smiled, then leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. “I don’t know what I’m doing though, Q. I just learned how to touch you, what, yesterday? I’m willingly giving you my body, because I love you, and you love me. But… that’s all I know, when it comes to this. I’m still learning…. I need you to teach me. I trust you to take care of me.”
I’m such a goner.
Quentin kissed Renata’s forehead, then her nose, cheeks, and finally, her lips. He laughed at the condom she produced from underneath her pillow, then gently pushed her down onto the bed. Positioning himself between her legs, he propped them around his waist, then used his hands to pin her wrists above her head as he pushed inside of her in a swift, confident stroke that made her gasp, and attempt to scoot away.
Grinning, he pulled back, then stroked her the same way again, pulling a whimper of pleasure from her throat as she tightened her legs. Lowering his mouth to hers, he slipped his tongue between her lips as he continued moving inside of her. He knew it felt good to her, from her moans and facial expression, but still… she kept moving away.
He released her wrists, using his arms to lift her body from the bed, so she couldn’t get any leverage. He kissed her again, then moved his mouth to her ear. “Am I hurting you?”
“I can’t tell,” She said, letting out a breathless moan as he pushed into her again. “It’s like… it almost hurts, but then it feels amazing.”
He chuckled, then nodded, driving into her again as he kissed her ear.
“So… lesson one: don’t run from it.”
— & —
An hour and a half later, Quentin practically bounced down into the war room to set up his laptop for the day, freshly showered and feeling great. Renata was still soundly asleep in bed, where he suspected she’d be for a while after the morning session they’d just had.
He was working slowly through Terry King’s old emails, scouring them for names, places, anything that might tell him anything. Quentin shook his head. His first thought was that it was stupid to talk about some of the things discussed, but then he reminded himself that these correspondences were from the late nineties. They didn’t have the technology innovations then that were available now.
Which is probably why we had to work so hard to get into them.
King had to recognize the sensitivity of this information, for all parties involved. Quentin guessed that the only reason they weren’t destroyed now was because King was holding on to incriminating information as leverage. But… email didn’t gain real popularity until the nineties. King, Wolfe, and their other peers didn’t suddenly stop being legit then, so it begged the question… was he harboring other evidence of misdeeds?
Instead of reading them, Quentin sat back in his chair, running a query through the database of emails, searching for mentions of Damien Wolfe’s name. While that ran, he stroked his chin with his thumb… if King was saving correspondences as potential power… other than the emails, what else…. What else…. What else?
Phone calls!
Quentin clapped his palms together, then sat up again, fingers clicking away as he pulled up a folder of audio files he’d originally dismissed as irrelevant. They were marked as music, but Quentin realized with disgust what an amateur evasion tactic he’d fallen for. The folder was filled with files not marked with song names, but with dates, and a person’s name.
Most of them were marked with Damien Wolfe, dating back before Quentin was born — or even conceived. Those would have had to be wire taps, converted later to audio.
Damn.
Terry King was calculated. He was bad… but he was good.
The earliest of the files were from the very early eighties, so Quentin started there, pulling on his headphones to listen to them as background noise while he completed other tasks.
Wolfe and King — Williams, back then — were only in their twenties, just out of college, trying to make a name for themselves doing something different in the drug trade. The first few audio files didn’t hold anything of much interest, but then suddenly, Quentin stopped what he was doing on the screen to focus on the audio.
“King: So that’s why you’ve been MIA, chasing pussy?
Wolfe: Noelle ain’t just pussy, I might marry this girl.
King: And what are you gonna do about your brother? Isn’t Noelle his lady?
Wolfe: Half-brother. And I saw her first. I had her first. He only went after her because he knew she was imp
ortant to me. She’s just scared of the lifestyle, and Nelson’s punk-ass seems “safe”. I oughta tell her about how he kicked his last old lady’s ass, and that’s how he ended up in New Orleans in the first place. Can’t go back to Texas.
King: You serious?
Wolfe: Hell yeah. Nelson will hit a bitch in a heartbeat, but won’t step up to a man. That’s how I punked his ass into working for me in the first place. I’ve got him making my money, while I screw his lady.
King: So she’s screwing both of you… and you’re okay with that?
Wolfe: I didn’t say I was okay with it, but she thinks he’s the safer option. I’m content with her figuring her shit out while I figure out mine. When the time comes… I’ll have her.”
“What are you listening to?”
Naomi’s voice rang out in the room, drowning out the voices in Quentin’s ears. He stopped the playback, then took a deep breath as he pulled the headphones off and sat them on the edge of the table.
“What you doin’ up so early this mornin’ Mimi?”
She shrugged, her hand resting on her stomach as she moved out of the doorway, and further into the room. “Couldn’t sleep, I guess. Where’s Ren?”
“Sleeping.”
Naomi grinned. “Mmhm. You tiring her out yet?”
“No idea what you’re talkin’ bout, cher.”
“Oh please,” Naomi said, taking a seat in the chair beside him. “You two have been humping like teenagers for the last three days, and we all know it. I saw you in the hall closet, and you should be glad it wasn’t Inez, she probably would have shot both of you for sexing near her ammo.”
Quentin lifted an eyebrow. “Ammo?”
“Yeah… you know that closet is where she keeps the extra stuff from the armory downstairs, you know how she is. But anyway, my point is that I’m actually happy for you and Ren. Her whole mood is changed, and outside of the times when she gets into her feelings about Taylor, Marcus says that she’s back to the Ren he knew before all this happened.”
Release Me If You Can Page 18
