This time was different. Their second time. Gone were Quinn’s nerves, and instead of shivering from the unknown, they trembled with anticipation. Clothes were obstacles to overcome, and Rafe had a gut feeling Quinn’s boxers would be useless for anything other than buffing wax off of the Chevelle after he felt them rip in his hands.
He took his time with Quinn, finding all the secret places on his lover’s body. Rafe marveled at the sleek skin along Quinn’s ribs, then the velvet-rough texture of his balls, their rich, musky scent a perfect complement to the sweet-smelling soap. Soft, delicate hair ghosted over Quinn’s thighs, sparse and fine, a contrast to the thick, silken trail around and under his navel.
Rafe found Quinn was ticklish, mostly on the bottoms of his feet, his big toes stiffening, then curling under when Rafe playfully raked his teeth over the meat above his arch. Quinn made some noises about the spot being connected to the chest or heart in reflexology, and Rafe dove back into his explorations, not giving Quinn any more space in his brain to think.
There was a single, simple moment when Rafe knew Quinn’d gone over the edge of his mind and sank down into the animal hidden deep inside of him.
It was a sigh, a murmuring, mouthwatering sigh, and Rafe knew Quinn’s focus snapped in on him. Nothing outside of their joining bodies would intrude, and Rafe could savor every moment he had with his quixotic lover.
He couldn’t imagine his life without having a green-eyed, curious Morgan poking at the edges of the universe, unraveling things like the twist of thread or why some people thought cilantro tasted like soap. He’d never been bothered by the hummingbird scramble of Quinn’s mind. It fascinated Rafe—intrigued him beyond all measure—because he simply couldn’t imagine having that much of everything pouring down on him at the same time. Being Quinn meant bailing out the flooded rowboat of his brain with little more than a thimble. Rafe knew that feeling—knew it well.
After all, he’d had his own bailing to do.
With a kiss, Rafe dampened the torrential gush of sensations, leaving Quinn to experience the pleasure their bodies could give. One touch at a time.
His mouth found every inch of Quinn’s body, laving and teasing with teeth, tongue, and fingers. Quinn’s nipples were pink, roughened to a peak, and he clutched at the sheets when Rafe’s mouth closed over the head of his cock.
Quinn, master of languages and ponderer of the vast universe, dissolved into the filthiest string of Gaelic Rafe’d ever had the problem of parsing out.
He understood fuck and possibly dick, although Rafe wasn’t quite sure. He sank the barest of bites into the ridge of Quinn’s cock head, and he got another smattering of hot Irish. Yes, he thought, licking at the spot. That definitely was dick, arse, and now in the dirty stew Quinn spat out.
“See, I’m not understanding you exactly, babe. I’m definitely going to have to become fluent in that tongue of yours, Q.” Rafe got to his knees, parting Quinn’s thighs on either side of him with a nudge of his hands. “The one in your mouth too.”
“Is fearr Gaeilge briste, na Bearla cliste,” Quinn growled, grinding his ass against Rafe’s hands as he was lifted up.
Their joining came hard. Quinn demanded it. Fiery and insistent, his hands clutched at Rafe’s shoulders, then his hips. When Rafe put one oil-slick finger to Quinn’s hole, he was met with a round of begging, cloaked verdant and steamy.
“Please, Rafe.” Quinn strained to pull more of Rafe’s touch inside of him. He twisted his fingers, drawing them out of Quinn in a leisurely pull, catching the rim ever so slightly. “God in heaven, Rafe… please.”
“Anything you want, magpie.” Rafe slid more lube over his sheathed cock, then pressed its head up against Quinn’s hole. Bending forward, he captured Quinn’s mouth in a fierce kiss, whispering through Quinn’s slightly swollen lips as he slowly pushed in. “We’ll take this slow, Q. I want this to be good for you. So fucking good.”
He eased in, holding back despite Quinn’s impatient urging. It was the right thing to do, especially when Rafe felt Quinn’s body resisting him at first. Stroking Quinn’s sides, he calmed his lover down, reminding him to breathe.
“Relax, baby. Let me in. Take your time. We’ve got forever,” Rafe reminded him. Quinn inhaled sharply, and their eyes met, a kindling of evergreen and cognac. Then Rafe slid in, seated up to the root of his cock with a simple push of Quinn’s hips.
It was like heaven folding over them.
Rafe didn’t want to move. No, he’d planned to remain engulfed in Quinn’s hot clench for as long as possible—maybe even forever if he could figure out a way to get the cat to call for takeout—but Quinn moved, a small shiver of a rocking motion, and Rafe lost his mind.