“Q, if you think your mom doesn’t love you, you’ve got more than just that one loose screw. She’d fucking kill for you.”
“I know she would, but a lot of times, I can’t… it’s hard to explain. It’s like my heart doesn’t… I can feel out, but I can’t feel in. I have to trust in what people tell me. Da, I can feel him… I can hear him inside of me. He’s like this bass drum, rumbling away behind my soul. Kane I get tingles from all the time… and Con. But—” Quinn stopped short, aware of Rafe’s piercing stare and how close he’d come to spilling out the secret he’d held inside of him for longer than he could remember. Feebly, he tried to recover, hoping to gather up what little shreds of his dignity he had left. “Never mind. I’m rambling because I’m tired and—”
“Yeah, I feel you too, magpie,” Rafe whispered, and Quinn’s darkness exploded in a rush of stars.
It was a perfect kiss, the taste of Rafe on his tongue bursting with maleness and heat. Quinn was aware of every inch of Rafe’s body, of his hands as they held his face and the flat of Rafe’s bare chest where Quinn placed his palm to steady himself as the room spun around them.
It was unlike any other kiss he’d had before. There was no wondering when it would end or listening to their teeth clinking. Instead Quinn fell into Rafe’s mouth, needing more—begging for more—and when Rafe pushed him back into the headboard, Quinn’s dick responded, growing hard and wanting beneath the tightness of his dream-sweaty jeans.
Their mouths broke apart, and Quinn heard himself mewl, a needy sound he’d dragged up from his balls to lay out before Rafe in the hopes for more. Rafe leaned forward, resting his forehead on Quinn’s temple so his breath washed warm over Quinn’s flushed face. His shorts bagged down, the heft of his cock pressing into Quinn’s hip, and Rafe ran one hand down Quinn’s side, stroking at him through the fabric.
Quinn didn’t know what to say or how to say it. Too many doubts crowded in—whispering smoky trails of reasons Rafe Andrade would plunder his mouth or push him hard against the heavy wood. He was there, his mind vomited back. Rafe was being nice because Quinn had a bad dream. Or even the deeply buried fear of Rafe Andrade teasing out a kiss just because he could.
“Rafe—” He needed to find some way to let Rafe go, anything he could find so Rafe could slide off of the bed and leave Quinn’s borrowed room without having any guilt or obligation. But for the life of him, Quinn found nothing but the fading stars Rafe left inside of him and the bruised promise of Rafe’s lips on his own.
Then Rafe sighed sweetly, and the emptiness inside of Quinn trembled, threatening to shatter into a million black specks, too tiny and impotent to gather up again.
“Fucking hell, Quinn,” Rafe whispered, skimming his mouth over Quinn’s, his tongue teasing the plumped flesh of Quinn’s lower lip. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that. Or how good you fucking taste.”
Chapter 13
Tearing down the road, Devil on my tail
Told you not to love me, Told you I’d bail
Kittens and daisies, Picnics and wine
Till the day I walk, and you’re no longer mine
—Devil on My Tail
“DON’T… DO this. Don’t play with me, Rafe.” Quinn’s anguished whisper tore through Rafe, shredding the pleasurable glow their kiss left in him. “I can’t—”
Rafe didn’t know what was funnier—the shock of Quinn believing he’d lead him on or his own arrogance in thinking Quinn would be all in solely because Rafe’d kissed him. The pain in Quinn’s eyes was real, the anguish in his voice a tear across Rafe’s soul.
“Hey, no, no, no.” Rafe brushed a kiss across Quinn’s cheek, then shifted his weight back onto his haunches, careful not to rest on Quinn’s legs. “Q, you’ve got to know, I’m not—babe, today when you called me, I was in the middle of playing with the Sinners’ guys, but I heard your voice, and all I could think about was getting the fuck out of there to be with you.”
“You should have stayed with them. You should have….” Quinn’s teeth worried at his lower lip, dimpling the swell Rafe’d just tasted. “You want that so badly—”
It was rough hearing his dreams spill from Quinn’s mouth. Harder still to understand that the passion he’d felt in his blood that morning in the studio was like the flaring rush of a drug in his veins instead of the simmering burn of Quinn’s body against his own. The burn stayed, Rafe realized, no matter where he was. The want for Quinn was there, and a part of him sighed with relief whenever Quinn was around.