Something Like Love

by Monica James

  “You’ve never been in love?” I ask in case I’ve misconstrued what he’s just confessed.

  “No,” he replies, and I don’t miss the touch of sadness behind his response.

  “But someone has loved you, right?” I ask, because I want to believe that we’re all loved by at least one person in this world—even me.

  However, when Quinn remains quiet, I feel my heart breaking. We all need love, whether we crave it or not, because it’s nice to know that someone cares enough to keep us in their thoughts. It’s human nature to want to be cherished. But to feel unloved, I can tell you now, there’s nothing more heartbreaking than feeling unworthy of being loved.

  I don’t know whether to be insulted or not, so I remain quiet, my heavy breathing the only thing sounding in the room as I attempt to process his confession. I may be a virgin when it comes to sex, but my feelings for Quinn, there is absolutely no doubt in my mind that I love him.

  But now the question is: what does he feel for me? Is it something like love? Or at least, like? I need to know.

  “Do you think you could?”

  “Could what?” he mumbles against my chin.

  “Fall in love,” I bravely reply.

  He doesn’t respond and only continues kissing down my neck and over my chest, resting over my fluttering heart.

  “You make anything possible,” he finally whispers, the metal of his hoop tickling my heated skin. “God knows I don’t deserve your love, but I want it…so very much,” he professes as he slowly lowers me onto my back, his body hovering over mine.

  Just as I’m about to tell him that he has it, that he has me, he whispers, “Let me love you the only way I know how.” He licks down my body, his barbell leaving an impassioned trail as he descends further down my torso.

  He twirls his tongue inside my bellybutton, and I arch off the bed in preparation for what’s to come. The moment he reaches the apex of my thighs I buck upward, and Quinn’s hot breath warms my soaked core.

  “I love how you smell,” Quinn says, shifting closer to my sex and breathing in deeply.

  I freeze because this is the first time he has used that word to express how he feels.

  Before I can process another thought however, he whispers, “And I love how you taste.” He laps at my dripping entrance in one hot lick.

  My back bows and my eyes roll to the back of my head as this sensation, mixed with his words, is going to have me coming in a matter of seconds.

  But he’s relentless as he continues. “I love how much you want me,” he whispers against my clit, and quickly flicks his barbell across my engorged flesh.

  “I…I love how much you want me,” I parrot breathlessly, surprised I’m able to construct a coherent sentence as he propels his tongue into my aching opening.

  “I love how I make your heart race,” he hoarsely says, sliding his hand up between my breasts and resting it over my heart.

  I mewl the moment he begins playing with my nipples, keeping in time with his tongue, which is devouring me down below.

  “I love the little sounds you make when you’re close to coming,” he says, kissing over my clit, and as if on cue, I purr in response to his touch.

  He slides his hand back down my body, and his finger now joins his mouth as he opens me up to him, and invades my body like never before. His fingers, mouth and tongue are driving me over the edge, and I can’t help the passionate moan which rips from my throat because this feels beyond incredible.

  Quinn is wrong when he says he doesn’t know how to love, because this right here, this is driven by unadulterated love. This selfless act is one guided by love, and although he doesn’t know it, I feel adored by Quinn, every single moment of every single day. I have from the first moment I met him, and I’ll make sure I show him that from now on.

  But now, now I wanna come.

  “Oh fuck.” I groan a little louder than expected as it echoes off the small cabin walls.

  “Sshh,” Quinn chuckles from between my legs, his warm breath sending tiny goose bumps over my entire body.

  But I’m anything but quiet as I scream, “Holy fuck!” at an ear splitting level when he twirls his barbell around my center.

  Quinn chuckles once again, and before another string of profanities can come tearing from my throat, his hand softly covers my mouth, muffling my screams.

  I can smell my arousal on his fingers and that has me shamefully riding his face, but suddenly, I realize there’s another way I can mute my impassioned screams, a way which benefits us both. I open my mouth, silently demanding what I want, and Quinn obeys, slowly inserting two fingers, the two fingers which sat snugly inside of me moments ago. They taste like me and as I moan around him, Quinn growls, burying his head deeper into my valley. But his fingers are not what I want in my mouth.

  As hard as it is to pry myself away from him, I wiggle out of his hold, and before he has time to protest, I push him onto his back and turn around, so I’m positioned up near his head. We’re instantly on the same page as he scoots me backward and yanks my legs over each side of his head, and just like that, I’m straddling his face.

  The moment his tongue makes contact with my needy core, I lean forward, shove his boxers all the way down, and take him into my mouth, sucking with a desperate need to consume him whole.

  “Holy fuck,” Quinn mumbles, and as his words vibrate throughout my entire body, my release is so close I can taste it.

  I suck harder, taking as much as I can into my mouth, and at this angle, I can appreciate how thick and large he is. I swallow as deep as I can go, and as he hits the back of my throat, I try not to gag.

  The sensation has Quinn swelling in my mouth, so I do it again as I want him to explode in an earth shattering release. Licking him from root to tip, I reach down and stroke his swollen flesh as my mouth encloses around his head, tasting his delicious arousal.

  As he flicks over my clit, the barbell feels like a cold, hot spank, and that’s my undoing. I come so loudly with my hips pounding against his face, but I don’t let him go and continue sucking, and seconds later, he’s joining me, coming at full volume, his breath punching against my sensitive core.

  It takes me minutes before I’m able to unwrap myself from around his body, and when I do, I feel pleasurably numb. I curl myself into his side as he throws the blanket over our naked bodies, cuddling me into his heat.

  I am finally on the cusp of sleep, but Quinn’s heavy words have me opening my eyes, giving him my full attention.

  “With you, Red…this feels like it.”

  “Like what?” I whisper so softly, I’m afraid he may not have heard me.

  But his reply lets me know that he’s heard me, loud and clear. “Like love. Because this…with you, it feels…something like love.”

  I can’t stop the smile which spreads from cheek to cheek, because it’s nice to know that the one person who loves me is…Quinn.

  Chapter 20

  You Can’t Handle the Truth

  I wake before Lucky and Quinn, but don’t have the heart to wake either of them.

  Quinn’s confession last night near broke me, and it makes me even more determined to find out about his past. If we’re to move forward, then I need him to trust me with his secrets, because once they are revealed, they’ll no longer be secrets, but form a part of his past.

  Silently slipping out of bed, I dress in my jeans and Quinn’s sweater, and just before I open the door, I stop and inhale the collar, loving his scent.

  As I mutely close the door behind me, I look out into the long hallway and realize I have no idea where to go. There is an old wooden staircase to my right, so I decide to venture downstairs in hopes of stumbling across some well needed coffee.

  Downstairs is small, but cozy, and it’s everything I would expect a holiday home to look like. A low fire is crackling away, warming the floorboards, and my cold feet instantly thaw out with the heat. I take a quick look around the living area and see a few family photos
sitting on the mantel. Curiously walking over, I pick up a dainty silver frame and see the face of a juvenile Polly, a happy Cynthia, and a handsome man, who I presume is Chandler. They are standing in front of the cabin, smiling broadly while holding onto a fish, looking mighty proud of their catch. They look so normal, but I can’t help but wonder, behind Cynthia’s smile does there lay an unhappy, broken soul, with a shitload of baggage, just like me?

  After the events of last night, I decide to go easy on her, as she’s the only family I have. She and Polly came through for me, and if it weren’t for Cynthia looking for me, and Polly waking up Quinn, I hate to think where Tristan and I would be.

  Every time I envision Tristan beaten, bruised, and begging for my life, an anger so fierce overtakes my senses, I need a minute to calm down. But I’m not here to dwell on the past. I’m here to focus on the future, and be pleased about how I showed Thomas and Phil that I’m a different girl than the one they once knew.

  The smell of coffee reaches my nostrils, and I realize the aroma has floated in on the light wind, which drifts in through the open backdoor. I gently replace the frame on the mantel, and almost break out into a victory dance when I enter the kitchen and see a coffeepot brewing fresh, liquid gold.

  I have no idea where anything is, and feel incredibly nosy going through the cupboards, but I strike it lucky when I find the mugs above the stove.

  I pour myself a huge cup of much-needed coffee, and the moment I take a small sip, my body instantly unwinds. I decide to take a look outside and peek out the window above the sink. Dark rainclouds imply it’s going to be another wet day, but as I look through the lace curtains, I see that a beautiful lake is our backyard, and the gloomy weather complements the murky, dark lagoon. It extends further than my eye can see, and it’s simply stunning.

  As I shift my eyes to the left, I see a dense, green forest is our backdrop, and suddenly emerging from the woodlands, casually jogging, is a bare-chested Tristan.

  I quickly avert my eyes as his track pants sit quite low on his narrow waist, revealing very impressive obliques, and a toned, hard chest. I feel wrong looking at him because he’s barely clothed. But without a choice, I find my gaze straying back. I watch him cool down by doing overhead stretches, which highlight the length of his muscled body and ripped abs.

  He’s far enough away that he can’t see me, but I still feel like I’m doing something wrong. Just as I’m about to pull away, a voice causes me to yelp and spill my coffee all over Quinn’s sweater.

  “Who are you spying on?” Polly asks on a yawn.

  “Spying? I’m not spying,” I quickly scoff, wiping the hot coffee from my top.

  “Sure,” Polly replies unconvinced, and as she peers over my shoulder, she licks her lips when she sees Tristan.

  “No wonder you were spying,” she says, lost in thought. “He’s gorgeous. Black eye and all,” she hums, but I don’t fail to hear the weariness in her tone.

  “Coffee?” I ask, jiggling my mug.

  “Sure,” Polly replies, taking one last look at Tristan before giving me a small smile.

  I pour her a cup and we both stand, silently staring out the window. Every so often my eyes drift to Tristan, who has thankfully thrown on his t-shirt, and as he sits, wincing when stretching out his hamstrings, I know that last night had an impact on us all.

  “I’m sorry about last night.”

  Polly sighs before slowly turning towards me, and it’s the first time I have really paid any attention to her appearance. The bags under her eyes rival mine, and her hairdo is the same as it was last night, just a little messier as silky wisps have come undone and are falling scruffily across her face.

  She’s in ripped sweats and an oversize black sweater, and I almost don’t recognize her as the girl in red from last night. That reality makes me unbelievably miserable, and again, I feel the need to apologize.

  “Polly, what you saw last night…I really am sorry you had to witness that. If I could take it back, I would. But I can’t, so all I can offer you is a shoulder to cry on or something,” I awkwardly say, clearing my throat as I’m so not good with this whole consoling crap.

  Polly gives me a stiff smile as she brushes her hair off her face. “It’s fine, I’m not going to cry,” she says, and I internally breathe a sigh of relief. “I know it wasn’t your fault. Shit happens.”

  “No, it’s not fine. That bullshit you saw, that’s my reality, not yours. I would never wish that upon anyone,” I add, looking away. “I wish you were never exposed to such filth and violence, because that shit—it changes a person. I mean, look at me.” I hate the truth behind my words.

  “I am looking at you, Mia, and all I see is a strong, powerful woman,” she confesses. I turn quickly to face her as she continues. “You didn’t waver once, and you weren’t at all scared, you were like a fucking superhero,” she says in admiration. “I can only dream of standing up to someone the way you did.”

  I resist the urge to clean out my ears because there’s no way I’m hearing what I am right now.

  “I was scared,” I confess. “But not for me, I was scared for you. I was scared for everyone in that room.”

  Polly nods, taking a small sip of her coffee as she turns to look out the window.

  “And that’s what makes you nothing like them,” she whispers, and I know who she’s referring to. “I’ve come to realize that you’re not the bad guy. I mean, I’ve met the villains in this story, and I now understand why you are the way you are.”

  Staring speechless, I can only nod, too afraid to speak, as I don’t know what to say.

  “So, truce?” she asks, turning to face me and timidly extending her hand.

  I stare down at her hand, mouth agape, not knowing if her peace offering is genuine or not. But going with my gut instinct, I slowly reach forward and slip my hand in hers. We shake limply, both uncomfortable with the sisterly moment, but a part of me wants to draw her closer and pull her in for a hug.

  Thankfully, the backdoor opening has us quickly dropping our hands, and we turn to look at a sweaty, flustered Tristan as he enters the kitchen. He pauses when he sees us both standing awkwardly, and goes to turn back the way he came.

  “Oh, shit, sorry,” he apologizes as he pushes open the screen door.

  “Tristan, don’t be silly,” I quickly say, reaching forward and latching onto his bicep. “We were just having a coffee—want one?”

  “Um, yeah sure,” he replies, giving me a dimpled smile when I nod my head, gesturing it’s okay to stay.

  Letting his arm go, I pour him a cup and try not to flinch when I look at his black eye as I pass him the coffee. He happily accepts, and jumping up, he sits on the edge of the counter, cradling the warm mug in his hands. Polly takes a seat at the kitchen table and swiftly fixes her hair by brushing it back off her face and fastening her long bangs with a bobby pin.

  “So,” Polly asks with a flirty smile. “Who are you?”

  The way she leeringly looks at Tristan makes me feel weird, and uncomfortable. I don’t know why, so I figure it’s just too much caffeine and too little sleep.

  “Hey, I’m Tristan,” he replies, giving her a small wave as he sips his coffee. “I’m Quinn’s brother.”

  Polly nods with a flirtatious smirk. “I’m Polly, Mia’s sister.”

  The fact she admitted she’s related to me without gagging surprises me, but I can’t seem to get over how Polly is candidly flirting with Tristan, and how that bothers me. As I watch their exchange, I can see without a doubt that Polly is attracted to him. But I can’t read Tristan’s body language, as he seems to be giving me subtle side glances when I remain quiet, deep in thought.

  “Mia, what do you think?” Polly asks. I have no idea what she’s just said as I have been miles away.

  “Sorry, what?” I ask, turning to guiltily look at her, while Tristan chuckles.

  “Should we have a Christmas dinner tonight?” Polly says, giving me a small nod.

 
“Sure, that sounds cool, because oh my god, it’s Christmas today,” I gush because I totally forgot what day it is. “Merry Christmas,” I add, feeling like a total scatterbrain.

  “Merry Christmas,” Polly says, quickly jumping up and giving Tristan a huge hug.

  Tristan hugs her back while throwing me a cheeky smile over her shoulder, as he knows she’s totally crushing on him. As she pulls away, she looks at me and we stand awkwardly, not knowing if hugging is moving too fast in our recent truce status.

  “Merry Christmas, Polly,” I say, giving her arm a light pat.

  Polly seems almost as relieved as I do, and nods, “Merry Christmas to you, too.”

  There’s an uncomfortable silence before Tristan jumps down from the counter, giving me a small grin. “Merry Christmas, Mia.”

  “Merry Christmas, Tristan,” I repeat nervously, because I know Tristan is about to pull me in for a hug.

  It’s just a hug, I tell myself, and this is just Tristan—what is the matter with me? I step forward and he opens his arms, wrapping them tightly around me, his cheek resting atop my head. Burying myself in his warm embrace feels nice, and I finally relax, scolding myself for being so silly, because this is Tristan, my friend, and hugging him is natural.

  “Kids,” a curt voice unexpectedly says which has me instantly pulling out of Tristan’s arms, and backing up guiltily against the counter.

  I blindly reach for my coffee mug, suddenly needing something to do with my hands as Quinn strolls into the kitchen, wearing nothing but black sweat pants which sit so low, they reveal his very impressive V. His disheveled hair is flicked up rebelliously and the brightness of his vivid green eyes, combined with his dark tresses, has me gasping for breath.

  A smug smile pulls at his full lips as he leisurely advances toward me. I freeze, about ready to pass out from lack of oxygen. I prepare for a kiss, but am rudely disappointed when he slowly reaches over my shoulder, making sure to skim my sweater as he reaches for the coffeepot.

  “Morning, Red,” Quinn huskily says, meeting my wide eyes.