by L. M. Reid
The thing about Quinn is – she makes you do stupid things. And I don’t do stupid things. I pride myself on being a good guy, a stand-up guy. Quinn is trouble and not the kind that I need to be getting into.
Yet, I can’t seem to take my eyes off her. She’s sitting alone at a table, her eyes focused on the phone before her. It looks like she’s waiting for someone. But who? What the hell is going on with her?
As I continue to stare, some guy covered in tattoos approaches her. She smiles politely, but even from where I’m sitting it’s obvious that she isn’t interested. Tattoo guy doesn’t seem to care though. He just keeps pressing and pushing. I let it go until I see his hand on her arm. She tries to tug it away, but it doesn’t work.
I stand, the alcohol hitting me a little harder than I thought it would. I shake of the unsteady feeling and head in their direction just in time to hear Quinn tell the man she isn’t interested.
“I believe the lady said no,” I say.
The guy looks up and laughs. “Fuck off.”
“Can’t do that. Not until you let her go,” I tell him.
He shoves Quinn to the side. “And who the fuck do you think you are?”
I’m a guy looking for a fight. And Quinn – yep, she’s definitely the kind of woman that makes you do stupid things. Like cock your arm back and punch the tattooed asshole in the face. When he falls to the ground, Quinn rushes to my side.
“Jesus, Hunter, are you okay?” she asks.
I shake off the sting from my hand. “I’m fine.”
The bartender comes up next to us, security following closely behind.
He lets out a small laugh as he rests his hand on my shoulder, “Like I said.”
I look down at Quinn, her mouth having fallen lax and her eyes wide as she stares up at me. “What?”
“I didn’t think you had it in you,” she says, a smile appearing on her face.
I shake my head. “I don’t know why I bother.”
I head back over to the bar and take my seat. And a drink.
“Thank you,” a soft voice next to me says. While I know it’s hers, I can’t help but be confused by it. The gentle sound is unfamiliar to me when usually her voice is filled with anger or contempt or anything but kindness when it’s directed at me. There is a vulnerability there that pulls me in when it shouldn’t.
“Have a seat,” I say. “Drinks are on me.”
“You want me to join you?”
I shrug.
Do I? I mean, Quinn and I, we’ve never spent a minute alone together. Hell, that one sentence without a dig or her yelling is probably the longest bout of civility we’ve ever had. But this being alone thing isn’t helping. Maybe bartender guy over here is right, maybe listening to her ramble, or yell, or give me shit will help. Whatever she says can’t be worse than the ache I feel in my chest.
“What are you doing here?” Quinn asks as she slides into the seat next to me.
I let out a groan when her leg brushes against mine. The sensation the feeling of her against me gives is almost too good.
“What’s going on? Why are you sitting in a hotel bar, completely wasted?” she pries again.
“I’m not that drunk.” The slur of my words and the several empty glasses in front of me say otherwise. I’m not sure if it’s the alcohol, or just having someone familiar here to vent to but despite not wanting to talk to Quinn I blurt out that Layla and I broke up.
She doesn’t seem fazed by my admission. There is no pity or sadness in her eyes. I shouldn’t be surprised, the two of them don’t exactly get along. And God knows I am not Quinn’s favorite person. All the more reason that I question her motives, and her continued interest in my dilemma. “Okay… but why are you hiding out here?”
“Because we broke up while she was fucking some guy in my apartment, so I don’t quite feel like being there. Happy?”
“Hunter, I’m so sorry.” Her hand rests on my arm and it takes everything in me not to yank it away. For whatever reason, her touch, the nearness of her, it’s having a strange effect on me. Maybe it’s the alcohol or my jumbled-up feelings about Layla, but Christ her touch feels way too damn good right now.
“Thanks. What about you? What are you doing here?”
“I was supposed to meet someone, but it looks like they’re not going to show.”
“Shane?” I ask recalling the name from her phone the other night.
She nods.
“Does he have something to do with why you left Columbia?” I ask curiosity getting the best of me.
“We were doing so well, too,” she says as she shifts in her chair and looks away from me. Her tone, her body language, it all changes at my intrusion into her personal life.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry. I’m just trying to make conversation.” That, and, I’m curious. So damn curious and I don’t have a clue why.
She rolls her eyes, nothing that I didn’t expect. “It’s complicated.”
“Isn’t it always,” I chuckle. Visions of Layla and the guy she was with still too clear in my mind. The alcohol isn’t helping. Not yet at least.
My hand grips my refilled glass and I hold it up in a toast. “Fuck relationships.”
“Fuck relationships,” she repeats as she clinks her glass against mine. We drink. Then she blows my mind. “For what it’s worth, I think you can do better.”
Laughter bubbles over. “Oh, really?”
She grabs the drink the bartender just set in front of her and brings it to her lips. My eyes focus on her lips as she takes a sip of the amber liquid. Gorgeous red lips that look so damn good I want to taste them. Christ, the bartender was right. She could make me forget all my damn problems.
“Layla is way too stuck up for you. You need someone who will…”
“Will what?” I ask. As I lean in closer, her scent wafts over me. Fuck she smells delicious. Good enough to eat. The thought instantly has me wanting to bury my head between her thighs and do just that.
Whoa where did that come from? I really must be more drunk than I realize if I’m that’s even a thought in my head.
“Teach you how to have a little fun.”
I grab a strand of her hair and play with it. “Believe me Quinn, I know how to have… fun.”
Quinn’s eyes widen at the words and the suggestion behind them. Holy shit, did I just flirt with her?
She looks at me with an amused smile on her face. Before she can speak though, before she fucks up this moment with a snarky comment, I kiss her. I press my lips softly against hers because drunk or not, I’m not the guy that takes what isn’t returned. Her hand grips my arm a little harder, those lips I wanted to taste returning the favor.
Christ do they ever know how to kiss.
The hurt and anger I feel toward Layla mixed with the new and insatiable desire I seem to be experiencing for Quinn has me in a damn tailspin.
I pull back and look into her eyes. The permission I need is granted in the way she’s looking at me. Any other night, I would walk away. I would respect my friendship with Mason, honor my feelings for Layla. But not tonight.
Tonight, I just want to feel something good. Quinn sure as fuck feels good.
I slam some money on the counter and grab her hand. “Let’s get out of here.”
“What? Where are we going?” She might be questioning what the hell is happening, but she is still following.
Chapter 5
Quinn
I’m pretty sure I know where Hunter’s going and where this whole evening is leading. The thing I don’t understand is why in the world I am following so willingly.
Maybe it has something to do with the fact that Shane didn’t show. That despite my nonchalance about everything, I liked him. And finding out he was married hurt me. Then tonight, he convinced me to meet him and against my better judgment I agreed. Like a damn fool, I allowed him to hurt me yet again.
Hunter rests his hand on the small of my back as we stand before the elevator,
the insignificant touch searing me. His intentions are clear. To finish what he started with that kiss. And God do I want him to. I want this man that I have spent most of my life hating more than I want my next breath.
I press my back to his front, the hardness of his cock presses against me and causes me to moan. “Impressive.”
“You haven’t seen anything yet,” he whispers into my ear. The sound sends a shiver down my body.
The elevator chimes. I enter and turn to face Hunter. He’s standing there, hands holding the doors open, eyes filled with uncertainty as he stares at me. Then something changes. As though a flip switches in him, Hunter takes two strides and joins me in the elevator his body pressing against mine, backing me up against the wall.
“Fuck it,” he murmurs just before his lips crash against mine.
I part my lips allowing him further access to explore, taste, and take whatever it is he wants from me. For the first time in my life I truly feel alive. Everything about Hunter Adams consumes me.
The elevator dings and the doors open when we arrive at his floor. This is my last chance to walk away and end whatever the hell this is that we’re doing. Something that is obviously so wrong but feels so right.
Hunter doesn’t press. In fact, he doesn’t even speak. He just stands there, looking at me with these amazing blue eyes, waiting for me to make the decision. Somehow it doesn’t really feel like a decision I can make, but rather one that’s already been made for me. Because without so much as an ounce of hesitation, I step off the elevator with him, walk to his room and step inside.
“What are we doing?” I ask when I turn to face him.
I hate Hunter and I’m pretty sure the feeling is mutual. Right now, though, he’s somehow healing everything inside of me.
He looks as confused as I do. “Hell, if I know.”
That uncertainty doesn’t stop him though. In an instant he is on me again, lips moving with mine, hands exploring every inch of me. Christ the man is amazing. My legs wrap around him, his hardness pressing into my core. He grinds against me and I lose whatever restraint I have left.
“Now, Hunter. I need you now.” Desperation fills my voice and the sound of it must be the last bit of fuel that was needed to ignite this fire.
He carries me to the bed, dropping me onto the plush padding. Standing over me, he tears his shirt over his head and discards it onto the floor.
There is something primal in the way he’s looking at me. Something so dangerous and sexy and when he’s fully unclothed, he maneuvers his body over my still clothed one. With the skirt of my dress shoved up around my waist, he runs a finger over my entrance. He growls out my name before claiming my lips again.
I can feel the latex wrapped head of his cock at my already soaked entrance. I cry out when he pushes into me. The length, the girth, every inch of him stretching me beyond comprehension. My eyes go hazy as the sting of pain turns to pleasure.
We move in sync, a natural, almost instinctual knowledge of what the other wants and how they want it taking over.
There’s no more ache in my heart, sheer pleasure consumes me. Hunter consumes me. When breaks the kiss and looks into my eyes, I become undone. There in that look is something I’ve never seen before, never experienced in my life. Adoration. As though, whatever this is, means something to him. Like I am more than just a means to an orgasmic end. He cares.
I shudder at the thought. This is Hunter. This is just sex.
Fucking out of this world sex, but nothing more.
It’s just then that he hits me somewhere internally, the holy grail of all g spots and sends and explosion through me. Our eyes are locked, damn emotions fueling the orgasm that makes my body tremble and my core tighten around him.
And when my body relaxes against the bed, I see him smile. “Looks like I’m not so bad after all.”
I hate him. I hate everything about him. But he’s right. He isn’t so bad after all. Especially not when he starts to move again, my nerve endings still on fire I swear I’m going die from the pleasure.
His hips move, his cock pushing into me in a punishing fashion, each and every thrust feels deeper and more pleasurable than the last. My hands fist the sheets while strangled cries falling from me.
“Oh fuck,” he says.
Something in the sound of his voice sends me spiraling over the edge.
“Hunter,” I cry out.
A moment later, he collapses on the bed next to me. He’s exhausted and pleased. I am too. Except I’m the one laying here smiling like a fool with him next to me. His eyes are closed but I can still tell there is a myriad of shit running through his head right now. Like, I just had sex with my best friends’ sister, I just had sex with someone that’s not Layla. And regret. I can smell the regret oozing from his pores.
“I’m sorry,” I say. And I really am. I let my aching heart, my need to somehow get back at Shane for not showing tonight, fuel my decision when deep down I knew this was right – for so many reasons.
Hunter chuckles. “I’m not.” He rolls onto his side and looks at me. “We might not get along outside of a bed, but we are damn perfect in one.”
It’s a point that I can’t argue.
The phone on the floor rings. A message dings. The phone rings again.
I reach for it, my eyes landing on the message from Shane. I’m here. I’m sorry I’m late. Where are you?
“Someone looking for you?” Hunter asks as he traces a finger up my inner thigh.
I glance back at him. He’s still drunk. His eyes are glazed over and filled with amusement. When his fingers reach my center and part me, the amusement fades and is replaced with desire. Then heat when he reaches my entrance.
“Nope. No one.”
He slides his finger inside of me and any thoughts of Shane disappear.
***
Three rounds of sex, numerous orgasms and me still lying here wondering what in the hell I should do.
Do I stay and risk an awkward conversation, or do I bolt?
A nervousness settles in my belly, a fear that when Hunter wakes and is sober, he’s going to regret what happened. While I might not like the man, I sure as hell don’t regret last night. And, frankly, I’m not sure if I can handle the “I’m sorry’s” and “This shouldn’t have happened’s”.
It’s that reason alone I’m on my feet and heading to the door. I can’t take the regret. The words from yet another man that it was fun, but no. Even if it is a man that I have no interest in.
I turn around at look back at him one last time.
We found solace in each other. That’s all. That’s all this was. And now, we go back to hating each other.
Chapter 6
Hunter
I take a pull of the beer in my hands pissed at myself for letting Mason convince me to come here. I should have known better.
It’ll be good for you, he said. You need to quit hiding, he said.
Yet, that’s all I wanted to do. Hide. From Layla and the embarrassment her betrayal made me feel. From the tabloids that labeled me a scorned lover who got in a bar fight. My pristine reputation ruined all because of Layla. The same woman that’s currently hanging all over her new boyfriend, Maddox Prescott, first baseman for the Remington Rovers. Also known as the guy she was fucking in my bed.
As soon as we got here, Mason disappeared.
Now, here I am standing in the corner by myself watching the scene before me. Watching Quinn and the dozen other half-naked girls dancing all over drunk guys who are acting like they’ve never touched a woman before. Every one of those men are professional athletes that currently look more like damn frat boys just trying to get their dicks wet.
I hate seeing their hands on her, knowing they’re touching where mine have been – where they belong. Then I hate myself even more for thinking like that. Quinn is Mason’s sister. She’s off limits. As I watch her dance, she catches my eye.
There’s a smirk on her face as she heads my way.
“This is pathetic. You know that, right?” Quinn asks when she makes her way to me.
“What is?” I ask. I don’t know why I take the bait because if there is one thing that I am certain of it’s that this is going to result in an argument. She may have slept with me, but she sure as hell still doesn’t like me.
“You, standing here, staring at her, pinning away for what once was.”
“I’m not pinning. Nor am I staring,” I reply as I take a drink of my beer.
“Sure, you’re not,” she says with a roll of her eyes.
I shove off the wall and face her. One look into those eyes, at that sinful body of hers and I lose my breath – and my head. I stare at her, taking her in. Her hair is pulled up on top of her head. The wild blue streaks poking out in a fashion that would normally look like a mess, but on her looks put together. The dress she is wearing, well shit, I’ve seen people in bathing suits with more fabric on. And just like that night in the hotel bar, and every day since, the sight of her does something to my body.
“You want to talk? Then let’s talk. How long after I fell asleep did you run?”
“I didn’t run, I walked. Right out the damn door.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s how hook-ups work, Hunter. I know you…”
“You don’t know shit about me,” I reply. She’s always done this, thinks that she knows me, knows everything about me when she doesn’t have a fucking clue. She never took the time or gave me the chance. “I know exactly how ‘hook-ups‘ work. I just don’t usually partake in them.”
“Pity. You’re not that bad at them… except for the whole clingy thing after.”
“Not that bad?” I ask pressing forward until her back hits the wall. I set my hand next to her face and lean in close. “Based on the way you were screaming and moaning, I would say I am pretty damn good.”
“And a mistake.”
“Are you sure about that? Maybe I’m not the mistake. Maybe whoever didn’t show on you that night was.”
