by Drew Elyse
“Don’t call me that,” I snapped.
Heavy silence was his reply.
There was a quiet, blistering curse away from the phone before he corrected, “Quinn.”
“Just go home, Jack.”
When he didn’t reply, I decided it was time to stop letting him call the shots. I hung up. I wished I could have said it was a feminine power moment full of graceful flourish and sass, but it wasn’t. I was all thumbs. I typed a messy text to Max telling her I’d call her in the morning, then rushed to shut down my phone before he called back and tested my self-control. When the screen went black, I tossed it onto my open duffle bag across the room like the thing might spontaneously grow teeth and a taste for human flesh.
I changed into a pair of sweatpants, keeping on the camisole I was already wearing, and was digging through my bag for my glasses when pounding echoed through the door. With a sigh I felt through my whole body, I opened the door without bothering to check. I knew exactly who was on the other side.
For a long moment, I just stared at him as he stood there. He looked exactly the same. The lean build, the hot way he wore a pair of worn jeans, that jawline that used to distract me when he talked. Hell, he still wore the damn beanie I’d gotten him because I'd been worried about him getting cold on his bike. The only difference was the black leather vest I’d seen on several of the guys earlier. Even that looked like it had always been missing.
It wasn’t like Jack hadn’t been a biker back when I’d met him. He just hadn’t been in a club.
There were so many words on the tip of my tongue. Demands for him to leave warred with invitations for him to come in while a million questions fought for supremacy. I said nothing.
Jack stepped through the doorway, forcing me back until he could slam the door shut behind him. Reflexively, I backed up a few more steps so I was out of reach.
“Get out,” I said in a beleaguered voice.
“We gotta talk,” was his response.
“We really don’t.”
“Babe.”
Fine. There was one thing we had to talk about.
“Do you have the papers?”
“Those went in the fucking fire,” he told me. “I won’t sign them.”
The whole trip had been a waste of time. All of it, paying the investigator, driving up, forcing myself to face him, was meaningless.
I was wrong. We weren’t going to talk. There was nothing left to say.
“If you don’t have them, then you have no reason to be here. Please leave.”
He walked my way, slowly, deliberately, backing me right into a corner. Even though I knew what he was doing, I couldn’t get my wits together enough to duck to the side and get away.
Why? Because of that damn gleam in his eyes. It was the same look that got me to agree to go on the spontaneous road trip down to California. The same look he gave me at the courthouse while we were there. The same look he’d had every time he took me to bed for the two months we’d actually had together.
“I’m not leaving,” he growled low when he had me where he wanted me.
“I’ll call the cops,” I threatened.
“We both know you won’t,” he shot back.
He was right, of course. He hadn’t truly hurt me—not physically, anyway. I wouldn’t get him into trouble like that over something stupid.
“Why won’t you just let me go?”
A tremor moved through me as he pushed closer. He was warm, so warm, it felt like he could melt me down to a little puddle right there.
His cheek skimmed against mine, the rasp of facial hair making my breath stutter. He stopped where he could whisper right against my ear.
“Because you’re mine.”
No, I wasn't. Not anymore. He was the one who changed that.
My hands clenched into fists to keep from pushing him back. Still, I moved to the side with enough force to dislodge the hand he had pressed against the wall to cage me in. When I was out of his reach, I moved toward the bathroom. It wasn’t the most elegant escape route, but at least it had a door to put between us.
“Stay if you want,” I said as I retreated. “I’m tired and going to bed.”
It wasn't an invitation so much as an attempt to appear nonplussed. It was also stupid to give him that opening, but as the door shut behind me, I took a moment to feel pride over the knowledge that I had at least managed to sound firm, unaffected. The odds he would buy that after how I reacted when he’d gotten close—something I was sure he hadn’t missed—were low, but I would take the small victory.
God, I was starting to feel like The Little Engine That Could.
I think I can, I think I can, I think I can manage not to make a complete fool out of myself every time I freaking see him.
Go me.
With a sigh, I plopped down on the closed toilet. My hands were shaking, but I managed to still them when I dropped my forehead into my palms. I wasn’t a crier. I had always been the person more likely to laugh at an extremely inappropriate moment than cry.
Still, as I hid like a child in a hotel bathroom while my very estranged, not-wanting-to-become-ex husband was in the other room on some demented mission to make me absolutely crazy, I wished I was the type who just cried. I wanted that release over feeling too full of the emotions I was holding onto.
I wanted, more than anything, to let it all go.
But it was like the saying went, “wish in one hand, shit in the other.” I already knew which one would fill up faster.
I had no idea how long I sat there. I just knew I was tired—so utterly tired, I was minutes away from curling up on the bathroom floor if I didn’t just face him. At least if he decided to stay, I was pretty confident I could fall asleep anyway.
Quinn came out of the bathroom nearly forty minutes after she shut herself in there looking exhausted. She looked fucking gorgeous, but also looked like she’d been through the ringer and didn’t have any more fight in her.
I’d done that.
Fuck if I didn’t deserve to be shot again.
It was time for me to go. We needed to talk, but that would wait. I was a dick for showing up and forcing myself on her like this.
“Quinn,” I started to say, but she cut in, her voice sounding as tired as she looked.
“No, Jack. I’m going to bed. If you want to stay, then I guess you’re staying, but we’re done for tonight.”
I was definitely a dick for coming, but I was also a full-out asshole because there was no way in hell I was leaving when she gave me that opening for the second time.
“Okay,” I agreed.
Quinn moved around the room, turning off all the lights before she made it to the lamp on the bedside table. When she reached that one, she picked up the remote sitting next to it. The TV came to life before she flicked off the light.
A peace moved through me as she dropped the volume down. Quinn always went to bed with the TV on. She’d set a timer once she was in bed and ready to sleep. At first, it had driven me crazy. Even though she had the volume low, the light and sound kept me awake. It used to be that I’d be up long after she fell asleep, waiting for the timer to plunge the room into dark silence before I would join her. When I left, though, I couldn’t fall asleep any other way.
There was nothing in her expression as she held the remote out toward me, a silent offering to turn on whatever I wanted. That was another part of the routine we’d had, if only for a short time. She’d always felt guilty that I had trouble sleeping with the TV on, so she offered me full reign over what was playing.
I didn’t tell her what it did to me that she’d slipped right back into that habit. I just took the controller from her and watched as she moved to the far side of the bed. She discreetly—or as discreetly as she could in the light coming from the TV—removed her bra from beneath her shirt before climbing in.
My dick got hard imagining that damn shirt out of my way. Her breasts were a fucking masterpiece. A perfect handful, each tipped
with a small, pink nipple.
Fuck.
I was standing in a fucking hotel room while my wife I hadn’t seen in two years went to sleep and I rocked a boner the likes of which I hadn’t had since…
Well, since the last time I’d seen my goddamn wife.
My life was a shit show, and it was all my fault.
Two hours later, long after her breathing had evened out, came the first sigh. Quinn didn’t snore, but she had this adorable fucking habit of releasing a little sigh with each exhale while she slept. They were quiet, never loud enough to even scratch the surface of annoying—no, they were cute and proved to be a test to my restraint.
I’d thought about leaving while I’d sat on the bed next to her as she fell asleep. Every couple minutes, I would flip back and forth between telling myself I should let her rest and being resolute that if I left, she might not let me back in. That, of course, was interspersed with me losing the battle to keep from staring at her.
My Quinn, closer than I’d had her in far too fucking long, was hard to resist.
When that sigh hit my ears, there wasn’t a damn thing I could do to stop myself.
That sigh was pretty damn close to the sound she made when I sank into her tight pussy. Every time, that came with a sigh too. It had been so consistent, just hearing her actually sigh in response to things throughout the day would have me hard in a second.
The fact that she was right there where I could see her, smell her perfume, and making that goddamn noise was enough to have me past hard and to the point of fucking aching for her. Given that, I should have been smart and kept my clothes on.
I wasn’t fucking smart.
If I were smart, I wouldn’t be in that position in the first place.
Like the damn fool I was, I got up from the bed, careful not to disturb her. With quiet movements, I stripped down to my boxers, then settled beside her, molding my body to hers. I had to hold her, even if I would regret it in the morning.
Her lush ass hugged my cock, and I was surprised I didn’t draw blood from how hard I bit down on the inside of my cheek. If I hadn’t known getting in bed with her was a bad idea before, I knew it then when I felt the bead of pre-cum leak from the tip of my cock. If I couldn’t get control, I was going to end up jerking off in the bathroom like a goddamn teenager.
Or like the first night I met Quinn.
Or like I had way too many fucking times over the last two years.
Good to know nothing had changed.
I was close to just giving in to the juvenile behavior when she shifted, her hips rolling back against me. I couldn’t help it, the groan of pleasure and absolute fucking distress slipped out. It was subtle, but I felt the change in her. The softness of sleep left, even though she tried to stay relaxed.
We both stayed suspended in that stillness for long moments, then she destroyed me. Her hips rolled back against me again and any trace of control disintegrated.
I thrust my cock against that incredible softness and lowered my head to the exposed skin along her neck and shoulder. She smelled so fucking good, like green apple, tart and sweet. That smell had been making my mouth water since the beginning.
Quinn, my beautiful fucking girl, arched her back, pressing her neck and her ass tighter to me. I didn’t deserve it, not for a second, but I couldn’t help but take what she was offering me. I pressed my lips to her neck, then opened them to taste her. She started at the feel of my tongue on her skin, but melted into me. I kept going, loving the subtle churning of her hips as I devoured her.
I wouldn’t take more, though. God knew I didn’t even deserve what I was getting. She had to ask. Of course, I was going to do every fucking thing in my power to get her to do just that. Luckily, I knew Quinn’s body better than she did.
Trailing my hands up her sides until I was just below her breasts, I moved my lips to her ear and nipped at her lobe before tickling it with my tongue. She squirmed, wanting to move down so I would cup her breast, but not wanting to pull away from my mouth. I’d often wondered if I could get her off just by palming her tits and playing with her ear like that. The combination did her in every time.
She wiggled around desperately for longer than I thought she would. I’d expected her to relent or tell me to fuck off sooner. I was about to try something else when the sweetest word slipped past her lips.
“Please.”
In one swift move, I had her on her back and sealed my lips over hers. She opened for me and her tongue met mine with only the barest hint of hesitation. It reminded me so much of the kiss we’d shared when she became my wife. Quinn burned hot as fire for me, but she wasn’t one to jump into public displays. Even with only the Justice of the Peace and the witness we paid for, she still felt too on display for the kiss I’d given her. I might have toned it down if she hadn’t just said “I do”.
I focused on the moment at hand, not wanting to feel the weight of regret that lived down that memory lane. None of that mattered when my wife was beneath me, her lips on mine, one of my hands full of her soft breast. Not a fucking thing in the world mattered when I had her like that.
Her legs, which had opened for me, came up to wrap around my waist. I fell deeper into the cradle of her hips, my cock lining up right against her pussy. I ground down, getting pressure right on her clit. Her breath hitched, but I was after more. Lifting my hips away, I made room for my fingers to slip into her pants and through the wetness I’d coaxed from her.
The slow exhale of breath as my finger pressed into her tight pussy had my dick jumping. Her slick walls clamped down on me and I knew I would have to get her ready for me.
She hasn’t been touched, my brain pointed out, not in a while.
Two years? Fuck, I could only hope.
It was like a dream—the kind that had been waking me up with morning wood—until I opened my mouth.
“Fuck, little bird, I’ve missed you.”
What the heck was I thinking?
I wasn’t. That was it. I wasn’t thinking at all. I was all caught up in his smell and the way his hands felt. Waking up like that was enough to keep my brain from switching on temporarily.
When it did, I realized what an idiot I was being.
“Stop,” I spoke firmly.
He did, immediately. His hands pulled away from my body, leaving me cold. Cold was good. I internalized it, let it turn my body into ice as I moved away and sat up with my back to him.
“Quinn,” he said in that tone of regret that bordered on anguish. I was getting so sick of hearing that from him.
“You need to leave.” Even my voice had become ice.
There was a deafening silence as we stayed that way, me seated with my back to him. He was still and quiet, and I could feel the pain of the reality we’d found ourselves in trying to cause fissures in the fragile armor I’d erected.
Then, he was moving. He didn’t touch me, but I felt the bed shift and heard the rustle of him getting up. More soft noises as he dressed, but still not a word. His booted, heavy footsteps moved across the room, and I was certain he was going to walk out the door without saying a thing. The thought devastated me even though I knew it was for the best.
But that wasn’t what he did.
Jack came to stand right in front of me, then crouched down so even my lowered eyes couldn’t avoid him. I swear, I could hear the shifting cracks move through my very body as that ice layer I’d drawn up broke apart.
“I’ll leave, Quinn,” Jack said softly. “Though it fucking kills me to do it, I’ll give you that. But we need to talk. You try to leave town, I’ll follow you.” His voice never rose, but he managed to make the threat firm enough for me to know he was very serious.
As he said all this, I gave him nothing. He’d forced himself into my line of sight, but I did not meet his eyes. My strength was all bravado I would lose in an instant if I did.
“Tomorrow, we’ll meet at Nancy’s Diner, just down the street. We’ll talk. Yeah?”
I wasn’t ready to make the decision of whether I would meet him, so I didn’t answer. His jaw tensed at my lack of response, but he didn’t force the issue.
“Three o’clock. You aren’t there, I’ll come looking for you.” Another soft warning that got him nothing from me.
His voice became surprisingly softer, sending a dangerous warmth through me as he said, “Don’t want to leave you like this, baby, but I get that I bought this shit.” His hand smoothed along my calf. He needed to stop touching me. He needed to get out. “I’m going to fix that.”
If I had the strength to open my mouth without losing it, I would have laughed. You fixed broken things. We weren’t broken—not anymore. We were nothing.
He watched his hand caress my leg once more, and it was obvious he was telling himself it was time to leave. Eventually, he managed to do that, rising from the ground and moving to the door. I heard it open, saw the light shining in from the hallway. It stayed open for several moments as I felt the weight of his stare on me.
“Tomorrow,” he said so quietly, I wasn’t sure whether it was a reminder to me or himself.
Then, finally, he left.
I stayed where I was for a long time. In part, to make sure he was well and truly gone. However, it was mostly because I wasn’t steady enough to move even a muscle. That ice wall was barely more than a thin sheet, cracked so perilously, it was a wonder it held up at all.
It felt like an eternity before I dragged myself across the room and got my phone. My hands were trembling as I booted the stupid thing up. It started pinging right away with the texts Max had been sending. I didn’t bother reading them, just went to my call log and redialed.
“About time! I’ve been texting you,” Max snapped after answering on the second ring.
“Why are you up?” It was late…wasn’t it?
“Babe, it’s like eleven-thirty.”
Oh. Why was I so tired?
I supposed there was an obvious answer to that.
“Whatever,” I dismissed that train of thought.
