Chapter Eleven
Lark managed to make it through the entire day without kissing her boss, talking dirty to her boss, or receiving an orgasm from her boss. Considering her recent track record with him, that was no mean feat.
When she walked back into her house and breathed in deep and smelled dinner cooking, she felt absolutely no shame.
Well, no new shame, which was pretty good, all things considered.
She felt light. Free. Free of the tyranny of her ridiculous desire for Quinn. Well, not so much free as . . . on parole. It was still there; it was just that she’d made her case clear, and she’d taken a stand instead of letting it all just happen. She’d told him no more, and he’d said he would respect it.
And she’d cried like a baby, but hey, this was big stuff. Her first time doing any of this with a man on the physical plane. Her first time really wanting a man. It was like Lark’s Sexual Awakening, Part II: This Time, It’s Not on the Computer.
So of course it had had impact. New was scary. And wanting someone made you feel vulnerable. And wanting a man so far beyond her in years and experience hadn’t helped. And neither had the fact that he was the man her brother hated more than anything in the entire world.
So yeah, complicated. Emotional. Tears were merited, and not embarrassing, really.
And now she was going to skip that amazing-smelling dinner, grab a gallon of ice cream for her room and bawl her eyes out because she felt like someone had hollowed out her chest with a pumpkin scoop. Which she was sure was also merited and not embarrassing at all.
She hung her purse and coat up on the rack and walked into the kitchen, stopping right outside the door when she heard Cole’s voice. She would have walked in or walked away if she hadn’t her name. But she did hear it, said in a low hushed, tone. The kind you used when you didn’t want people listening, and since she was the object of the sentence—at least, she thought she was—she thought she would pause and listen for a second.
And since her conscience was already seared, what the hell was a little more scarring?
“She’s not home yet.”
“Good.” Cade’s was the other voice. And they were whispering like a couple of gossiping women in the general store. “So, when did she call?”
A different “she,” Lark was assuming.
“This morning. I’ve never actually talked to her before, so that was weird.”
“What’s up?”
“Nothing, she just . . . she was thinking about coming out here.”
“Shit.” Cade breathed the word like a prayer.
“I know, but what am I supposed to tell her?”
“Tell her to stay the hell away.”
“Oh what grounds?” Cole asked. “This is . . . dammit, Cade, this is hers too.”
Lark’s mind scrolled through a litany of potential “hers.” Cole’s ex-wife? A woman Cole had secretly fathered a baby with? But no, that was too many accidental pregnancies for one man, especially one as responsible as Cole. A woman Cade had knocked up, maybe?
“It isn’t hers. Do you know what’s hers? That house in Portland.”
“The one that got repossessed because dad was a dick who overspent and gambled too much?”
She sucked in a sharp breath, feeling like she’d been punched in the stomach.
“I don’t see why she’s owed anything of ours. Dad didn’t leave anything to her or to her mother. Dad clearly didn’t want her involved in our family.”
“She is our family, Cade, whether we like or not. She’s our . . . she’s our sister.”
“Nicole Peterson isn’t our sister. She’s a stranger, and I don’t care if we do have the same father, it doesn’t make her a sister. Lark is our sister. Our real sister—and we have to protect her from this.”
The world tilted under Lark’s feet, and she pitched forward, one hand on the wall, the other on her stomach.
“I agree with you there. That’s why I haven’t told her.”
“If Nicole comes here, there won’t be anymore protecting her.”
Protecting her. They were protecting her. From something huge. From the truth. Except now she’d overheard pieces of it and she knew. She knew that a huge chunk of her life wasn’t true. She knew her brothers had let her believe lies.
She took a step into the kitchen without realizing she’d done it, took another step and another.
“What?” She heard herself ask the question, but it sounded like it was from far away.
“When did you get home?” Cade asked.
“I’ve been standing there long enough to hear you say I’m not home. And also something about having a . . . a sister.”
“She’s not our sister,” Cade said.
“Cole?” Lark asked.
Cole lowered his head, dragging his hand over the back of his neck. “It’s a long story, little girl.”
“I am not a little girl!” She practically screamed the words. “I am an adult. And I do not deserve to believe lies.”
“Lark . . .” Cade’s voice was rough, shadows under his eyes. “You deserve to have good memories of dad.”
“I don’t deserve to have memories that are lies, Cade. I don’t deserve to believe things that aren’t true. That’s not fair. You’re making an ass out of me.”
“Lark, that is not it,” Cade bit out, “and you damn well know it. We’ve spent our whole lives protecting you—”
“And I’ve spent my whole life trying not to be a bother to you. Trying to make things easy on you. But I guess all I did with that was teach you that you didn’t have to respect me as a human being.”
“We respect you,” Cade said. “Don’t you dare turn it around like we don’t. It’s because we respect you that . . .”
“That you lied to me.”
“We didn’t lie to you,” Cole said. “We didn’t tell you.”
“Tell me. Now. Everything. All of it.”
“It’s better if you don’t know,” Cade said.
“Really? After I just heard half of it, that’s what you’re going with? Screw you, Cade, honestly. Don’t treat me like a child. Do I ever treat you like a cripple? Have I ever coddled you? Or did I treat you like a human?”
“This isn’t not treating you like a human,” Cole said. “This . . . this shit? It tore me up, Lark. I didn’t exactly want to pass it on to you.”
“Because you still think it’s your job to protect me. Because you don’t think I’m a whole person, you think I’m a child.”
“You are a kid, Lark,” Cole said, his voice gruff. “When you get to be my age—”
“Bullshit!” she shouted. “You’ll treat me like a kid then too.” She thought of Quinn, who pretty much was Cole’s age and who hadn’t, in any way, treated her like a child. Who had treated her more like a thinking human than either of her brothers ever had.
“You have no idea what this was like for us.”
“And I have no idea what it would have been like for me,” she said. “I have no idea what it would have been like to find out in a normal way. As normal of a way as I could. Dad has another child?”
“Lark—”
“You still don’t want to tell me about it?” They looked at each other, then back down. “F*cking cowards,” she spat, then turned to the fridge, grabbed a gallon of ice cream and stalked to her room. She was halfway up the stairs when she realized she’d forgotten a spoon.
She shook her head and laughed, pushing her bedroom door open and slamming it closed again, then throwing herself on her bed, her ice cream clutched against her chest, a block of frozen awful against her skin.
But it wasn’t as bad as the pain inside of her chest. And maybe it would freeze it out. Numb her. She didn’t know what to think. How to process. She was sick. Sick over this idea that her dad had a secret life. Sick over the fact that Cade and Cole had kept it from her. That they’d been content to let her believe lies.
My dad was the best.
She’d said that to Quinn just a few days ago.
And now she’d heard about secret children. Gambling. Houses being repossessed.
How old was Nicole? Was she a child? A cold feeling trickled through her veins. Was she older? Old enough that it meant her father had cheated on her mother?
She curled up into a ball with the ice cream at the center and gave in to her misery. All of it. This new revelation, the anger at her brothers and the loss of Quinn.
She didn’t know how long she lay there. A ball of soggy sadness, clutching melting ice cream. Cole and Cade didn’t come knocking on her door, and it was a good thing too. She would have thrown said ice cream at their heads.
She pushed into a sitting position and set the ice cream on her nightstand, then looked down at her phone and picked it up, her fingers numb from the cold. She scrolled through her recent calls, then tapped on Quinn’s number, pulling up the window for a new text message.
Do you at least know how to text, you dumbass?
She hit send before she could think better of it.
It only took a second to get the response.
A little bit.
Know how to sext?
His response came quick. I didn’t think we were doing this.
Maybe I changed my mind. What are you wearing, big boy?
There was a pause, and then Quinn’s next message came in. Been drinking?
Nope.
Calling.
No.
And then her phone rang.
She punched the green button and lifted it to her ear. “Hello?”
“What are you doing?”
“I don’t know,” she said, sitting up. “I don’t know. I . . . I . . .”
“Come here.”
“It’s late.”
“Now,” he said, the command impossible to deny.
“I’m on my way.”
***
Quinn was awake now. He’d been ready to fall asleep after a long day of work, and trying not to think about Lark and the fact that he’d determined never to touch her again.
Sure, it was early, but it was tiring walking around with a hard-on that could cut glass. And he’d been ready to work out his frustrations with his right hand. He hadn’t had to help himself this much since he’d been a teenager. But damn, Lark Mitchell made him feel like a horny sixteen-year-old.
Then she’d texted him. And offered to sext with him. Well, that was something he’d never done before.
He wasn’t about to start now either. If he was going to have her, he wasn’t doing it with this kind of distance between them again. He wasn’t coming on his sheets again, or going unsatisfied again. If she wanted him, she was going to have to have him, in the flesh.
He paced the length of his living room, in front of the windows. It was dark outside, the lights from inside creating a reflection that obscured the view and only let him see himself. Pacing. Like a man who was thoroughly hooked by a woman. Like a man who was caught by the balls.
Basically, he was acting like what he was.
How had this happened? How had he gone from intending to seduce this geeky, awkward girl to feeling like he was the one who would die if he didn’t have the woman? It was ridiculous.
Headlights pierced through his reflection in the window, aiming straight for his heart, which jolted like it had been hit.
She was here. And he was shaking inside.
What the hell was his problem?
She was. She was his problem. And he was about to solve it.
The knock on the door was hardly that of the bold, brazen woman who filled his imagination. It was hesitant. Soft. If he hadn’t been expecting it, he might not have heard it.
He went to the door and saw Lark standing there, clutching a tub of ice cream. Her eyes were red, her nose was red, her hair hanging loose and tangled around her face. She was in the same clothes she’d worn at work today. The only difference between then and now was how thoroughly rumpled she looked. How miserable.
She took a deep breath, her shoulders rising and falling with the action. Her breasts probably did too, and he would have been more interested in that. But he breasts were covered by the ice cream.
“Can I come in?”
“Of course.” He moved back from the door and she walked in slowly, dark eyes wide, searching the room.
“There are no ninjas hiding behind my furniture and preparing to ambush you, so stop looking so nervous.”
She looked at him, a crease between her eyebrows. “I was more afraid you were going to ambush me. And a little afraid you wouldn’t, considering our talk earlier.”
“What’s going on? A meaner man might call you a tease, you know?”
“I’m not meaning to be. I’m not teasing. I’m confused.”
“There’s nothing confusing about sexual attraction. If you’re attracted, you want sex. It’s that simple. The complication comes with emotions.”
“I agree.”
“That’s why I don’t deal in emotion.” A disclaimer, because, true to at least one of his words, he didn’t want to hurt her. He was about to be, he had a feeling, steadfastly untrue to some of his other words. Especially of the “I won’t touch her” variety.
He would make a note to keep sharp objects away from Jill next time he saw her. Or to keep tonight from her for as long as possible. Maybe forever. There was really no need for her to be in his business, after all.
“Right. Well. Can I put this . . . Is there a place for it?” She held out her ice cream.
“The freezer? Unless you want to eat it.”
“Could we?”
“Gimme the tub, and tell me what’s going on.”
He took the bucket from her and headed into the kitchen, setting it on the counter and opening the lid. It was chocolate dairy soup.
“How long has this been out?” he asked.
She looked a little dazed. “What time is it?”
“Eight.”
“Two hours?”
He turned and shoved it into the freezer and slammed the door closed, then turned back to Lark, his hands planted on the island countertop. “What’s going on, Lark?”
“I’ve spent my whole life being good, Quinn. Not causing any trouble because my sainted”—she laughed bitterly—“brothers were doing their best to raise me and that was trouble enough on its own without me being rebellious. So I’ve been good. I’ve been trying to honor memories that might not even be real. I’ve been trying to be something I thought I was supposed to be, but now . . . who am I supposed to be?”
“Whoever you want,” he said.
Silence hung between them, thick and heavy. Then she lifted her head. “I want to make a mistake, Quinn.” She started pacing, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. “A big one. I want to do something that’s bad for me, without caring. I want to do it because I want to. Because they’re allowed to. They’re allowed to do whatever they want, and I’ve always just tried to be . . . good. I’m tired of it. I thought . . . I thought honor and family was what the Mitchells were, but I don’t even know the Mitchells.”
Quinn knew there was something deep happening with Lark right now. Something bigger than the two of them. Something that had broken a fragile, tenuous thing deep inside of her.
And he would be a bastard to do anything to her under the circumstances.
Too bad he was a bastard. Too bad for her, anyway. Because she might regret it. He sure as hell would not.
“I want you to be my mistake,” she said, meeting his eyes, licking her lips. “I know you’ll be one. But . . . but I never thought . . . a man like you . . . I’ll get to look back and say, ‘I made that mistake.’ Because . . . damn, Quinn.” She sucked in a breath and looked him over. “You’re going to be the most fun a girl ever had screwing up.”
He chuckled, the sound strangled even to his own ears. “That’s pretty flattering.”
“I’m not trying to insult you, but . . . but you said that you just wanted to . . . to . . .”
“To f*ck you.”
“Yes, you said that. Which . . . let’s face it, most people would say I was making a mistake taking you up on that. But right now . . . it’s what I want. I don’t really care if you were the one who put the spike under Cade’s saddle”—she tilted her chin up, her eyes glittering—“because this has nothing to do with him. Nothing to do with anyone but . . . but us. I want you. I think that’s pretty clear. I think it’s been clear from the moment we met. I wasn’t resisting for me. I wasn’t resisting because I was afraid of getting hurt. Or because I was afraid at all. I was resisting because I didn’t want to betray him. It had nothing to do with me. And I’m so tired of that.”
Lark felt like she was going to rattle apart. Her teeth were chattering, and it had nothing to do with the ice cream she’d been clinging to.
She was scared. She was excited. The whole world was dropping away beneath her feet, piece by piece, and she had no idea what she would stand on when it all dissolved.
Tonight, she could cling to Quinn. And later she would have to figure out a way to stand on her own, but for tonight . . . for tonight she could have him. She could live.
It was Cade who had told her she had to get out there and experience life. But he’d been all talk. He hadn’t really meant it. He’d been shielding her. Lying to her. And maybe his intentions had been good, but in the end it just showed how little they thought of her ability to cope.
And it showed that she was living for things that didn’t really exist. Being good to meet the ideal of a family that wasn’t real. A father who hadn’t been who she’d thought. A life that wasn’t what she’d thought.
But tonight . . . tonight, it wouldn’t matter. Because tonight, nothing but what she wanted mattered. And Quinn was what she wanted. Even if she was scared as hell.
He was a lot of man, with a lot more experience than her. Although, that was probably a plus. She was sure he knew all the right things to do. Well, she knew for a fact he did, because she’d already been on the receiving end of his skill. If he could make her feel as good as he had that night in his truck, just think how good he could make her feel with actual sex.
Sex was supposed to be the best thing since sliced bread, as evidenced by the fact that people were always acting dumb to get it, and even destroying marriages to have it when they really craved it. People would destroy a lot in the name of sexual satisfaction. And it apparently ran in her family, so her acting a little idiotic to get laid really wasn’t all that surprising.
Quinn extended his hand, touched her cheek. It was a gesture that had almost become familiar. But even though it had an air of familiarity to it, it sent a shiver of excitement straight down to her stomach.
“Ready to go to bed, baby?” he asked, his eyes dark, almost black, glittering in the light from the kitchen.
“Yes,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.
“You’re sure?”
She nodded. “I’m sure. I made the decision. For me. It’s what I want.” She crossed her arms beneath her breasts. “And you don’t have the right to question me.”
“I like it when you talk like that.”
“Do you?”
“Yep. That’s fine when we’re out here. But when we get into the bedroom, I’m in charge.”
Excitement pulsed through her, increasing her heart rate, making her breasts ache, her nipples tightening. The idea of taking orders—naked orders—from Quinn was a lot more thrilling than she ever would have imagined.
She could only nod. Her throat was too tight for her to get a word through. And her heart was pounding so hard in her head that everything sounded fuzzy. Distant.
She tried to breathe deep and easy, slow and steady, to keep from hyperventilating—or worse, from forgetting to breathe altogether.
“This way,” he said, tilting his head to the side, toward the staircase. He didn’t touch her. He just turned and started up the stairs. She wondered why.
Maybe this was his way of being sure. Being certain he wasn’t leading her. Because without him grabbing her hand, she had to be the one to propel herself forward. Had to make the journey entirely on her own steam.
He sure made a girl have to be actually proactive, rather than just saying she wanted to be, only to be picked up by big strong arms that confirmed her decision.
She was sort of hoping for the big strong arms. But then, she imagined this was really what she needed.
For a second, her feet seemed rooted to the spot, but then they started moving, started moving her toward Quinn, toward Quinn’s bedroom.
She followed him down the long hall to a large, closed door. It was dark wood, natural, with imperfections and dents. Heavy looking. She had no idea why she was musing about the door, except it seemed a lot safe than musing about what was behind the door. Or musing about the man who was standing at her side, his hand on the knob, ready to open said door.
He pushed it open, revealing a big bed. There was other stuff too, but she was mainly focused on the bed. It had a big wooden frame, but much more importantly, a huge mattress covered in a deep brown, suede-looking comforter, with a massive stack of pillows partially concealing the headboard.
“Nice. Nice stuff . . .”
He turned then and tugged her into his arms, pulling her hard against his chest. Then he was still, studying her face, making no further movements. It was simply a paused motion, not a rest, like he was a big cat, ready to make a move, to pounce at any moment.
Then he lifted his hand, slowly, tracing the line of her lip with with his thumb, from the center to the edge and back in again, all the way to the other corner of her mouth. Something about that soft touch over her lip, the way it echoed through her body, made her want to melt into him.
So she did, because she couldn’t resist anymore. Not for a second.
She pressed her face against his chest and inhaled his scent. Like hay, dust and sweat. A familiar combination of smells to her; but somehow, on Quinn’s skin, it seemed different. New. Masculine and enticing. On other guys, she would have called it horse stink, but not on this one.
She inhaled again. No. On him it was sweet and musky. But she wasn’t close enough to him. She didn’t want his shirt between them. She didn’t want her shirt between them. Suddenly, the nerves were fizzling out, overcome by the crackle of attraction as it overwhelmed them, replaced them.
She lifted her chin and pressed a kiss to the hollow of his throat, nuzzling him with her nose, before moving a little lower, kissing him again, where the collar of his shirt gapped, just above the first button.
Then she slowly lifted her hands and worked the button through the hole in the faded red fabric. She kissed him again, where she’d just revealed more of his skin. Then she went to the next button and repeated the action. And again. And again.
Until her lips were hovering just above his belt buckle. Until she was on her knees in front of him, painfully aware of the bulge in his jeans, just in front of her. Aware of the fact that she was in the position to return the favor of what he’d done for her in his truck.
She’d actually fantasized about doing that before. Because in her mind it had seemed like a very powerful thing. To have a man at your mercy like that. To be the one to make him lose his mind, just with your mouth, with your skill.
But now that she was there, she realized she had no skills. But it didn’t stop her from wanting him. From wanting to try it.
And she owed him.
She kissed his stomach, his belt buckle cold against her chin, his skin hot beneath her lips. His muscles jumped at the contact, his breath a sharp hiss.
Then the pulled the buckle from hole in the leather and worked the belt through the other side, leaving it hanging open while she pulled at the snap on his jeans, then pulled the zipper down slowly.
He had on a dark pair of underwear, stretched tight over the ridge of his erection. She took a breath and moved her hand over his length, feeling the weight and thickness of him. Even with a layer of fabric over his skin, he was hot.
She looked up and her eyes met his. He was watching her, the lines in his face more pronounced than usual, his jaw clenched tight.
“Do you like this?” she asked.
He was either angry at her or he was trying to hang on to his control. She really couldn’t tell which, though she assumed, and hoped, it was the second one.
“I can’t talk right now,” he said through clenched teeth. “I’m trying to keep the top of my head from blowing off.”
“I’m assuming that’s good.”
“If you stop I’m gonna have to run outside and throw myself in a water trough”
“Okay then,” she said. She bit her lip and pulled the waistband of his underwear out, doing her best to make sure she didn’t hang it up on any of his body parts, and down. She just had to make sure she liked it. She’d never seen a naked man in person.
And then there he was. All of him. Thick and much larger than she’d anticipated. And much, much more enticing than she could have possibly imagined.
She almost wept with relief. It wasn’t strange, or off-putting, or unattractive. Quite the contrary. He was perfection. Sexy, large, perfection.
She curled her fingers around him, struck by how soft his skin was. By hard he was. How hot. This was what she’d been missing during their phone call. She squeezed him gently, marveling at how her touch made him respond. How every muscle, from his abs to his pecs, shifted as she gave his shaft attention.
This part of it, of having a man, this man, at her mercy, was just like she’d fantasized about. And it made her wonder about, crave, the rest of her fantasy. She leaned in and flicked her tongue over the head of his erection. A quick taste. A test.
She held him tight while she angled her head forward, taking him as deeply into her mouth as she could.
His hands came up to her head, fingers sifting deep in her hair, tugging hard, holding her to him. He curled his fingers tighter, the motion sending a shock of pain through her, but she didn’t mind. This was her fantasy. He was losing it. Because of her.
She lifted her head and slide her tongue down his length, until the fabric of his jeans impeded her progress.
“These are in the way,” he said, his voice a growl. He shrugged his shirt off, then pushed his pants to the floor.
And finally, he was the one who was naked, while she was fully clothed.
Good Lord. She couldn’t have imagined him any more beautifully and wonderfully made than he was. Sculpted body, a male member that was, frankly, one of the most impressive she’d seen, even with sketchy Internet searches in her past. Tan skin, the perfect amount of body hair. And the tattoo, the horse moving with each shift of his arm muscle, the physical representation of Quinn’s wildness. His rage.
He moved to the bed, sat on the edge of it, his dark eyes trained on her. “Take your clothes off.”
“Now?”
He looked down, then back up. “Seems appropriate to dis-attire for the occasion, don’t you think?”
“Yeah.” She’d been basically naked in front of him before. So there was no reason to be nervous now. None at all.
She gripped the hem of her shirt and tugged it up over her head, knowing her hair would look insane after she did it. She threw her top on the ground and then quickly dispensed with her pants, leaving her bra and underwear on.
“Come here,” Quinn said.
She obeyed. Because she could do that at least. She felt hideously out of her element, but if he gave orders, she could follow them.
He put his hand on her stomach and curved his other arm around her back, his palm over her butt. He pulled her gently to him, his eyes fixed on her breasts. “You’re so beautiful,” he said, the hand that had been resting on her stomach drifting upward, cupping her breast, still covered by her bra. “I’m not even going to pretend to try and look at your face right now. Not because your face isn’t beautiful; it is. But because I spend so many hours of the day trying not to think about your breasts. Trying to keep my eyes on your eyes and not let them drift down. So right now, I’m going to indulge myself. I hope you aren’t offended.”
She shook her head.
“Good,” he said. He leaned in and kissed her skin where it met her bra cup, sliding his tongue along the line between flesh and fabric. “Take it off,” he said, his tone harsh.
She complied, her fingers unsteady as she worked the clasp and shrugged it off, letting it fall to the floor.
A low growl rumbled in his chest as he looked at her. “I’ve been dreaming about you like this. Since that night. Dreaming about seeing you in the light. You keep me up at night.”
“Me?” she asked, the word choked.
“Yes. You. You keep me awake, and hard. You make it impossible to sleep. Do you know what I’ve had to do to get any rest?”
“What?” she asked.
“Since you weren’t here, I had to fantasize about you.”
“You mean you . . . thought about me and . . . and . . .”
“Touched myself?”
Her face got hot. “Yes.”
“I did.”
“And you really thought about me? Because . . . because you know you could have thought about anyone. You could have put Gisele Bündchen in there if you wanted to.”
“I didn’t want to. I only wanted you.”
“That’s . . . especially flattering, since we’re talking fantasy, and that’s an endless pool.”
“Who have you been fantasizing about, Lark?”
“Bradley Cooper.”
He leaned in and bit her. Lightly, just a scrape of his teeth over her collarbone, but the warning was clear. “Lark,” he said, “tell the truth.”
“Richard Armitage.”
“Say it was me.”
“There’s this guy that works at the general store . . .”
“Say it was me, Lark Mitchell. Tell me I’m the only man you were thinking about. Tell me I’m all you’ve thought about since you met me.”
“That insecure?” she asked, her voice harsh.
“No, but I’ll feel like an ass. Because you’re sure as hell the only woman I’ve thought about. From the moment I met you.”
“It was you, Quinn.”
“Good girl.” He leaned forward again, this time rewarding her with the slow, leisurely slide of his tongue over her nipple. “Tell me you want me.” His lips brushed against the tightened bud, promised more pleasure.
But only if she obeyed.
“I want you,” she said.
He sucked her deep into his mouth, pleasure hitting her deep and hard, like an arrow.
“Now the rest,” he said, kissing the hollow between her breasts. “Take it all off.”
She gripped the sides of her panties while he kept doing wicked things with his mouth, and dragged them down her legs, kicking them to the side.
He put one hand between her thighs, his middle finger moving through her slick folds, then pushing deep inside her, before sliding out, working the slickness from inside of her over her *.
A short cry escaped her lips, and she braced herself on his shoulder while his lips teased her breasts and he continued toying with her with his hand, adding a second finger to the first, the slight stinging sensation that accompanied the pleasure keeping her from going over the edge completely.
He raised his head and wrapped his arm around her neck, tugging her down and kissing her, deep and desperate. “Later,” he said, breathing hard. “Later we’ll spend hours at this. But right now? Now I just need you. Need to come with you. Need to come in you.”
“Oh . . . I . . .”
“Condoms,” he said, shifting and leaning toward his nightstand, opening the drawer and producing a black box. It was unopened, which she found both unsurprising, considering what he’d said to her about not wanting other women, and immensely comforting.
He tore at the packaging and producing a little plastic packet, which he separated from a strip and handed to her. Oh. Right. She was supposed to know what to do with this. Because she wasn’t supposed to be all virginal and stuff.
She turned it in her hands and gripped the perforated tab, opening it easily enough and pulling the condom out of the package. She turned the condom over, making sure she had the right end up, then scooted toward Quinn, ignoring the tightness in her stomach, a ball of fear that had rolled in and steamrolled some of her desire.
She gripped his shaft and put the condom over the head of his penis, rolling it down over his length to the base, in a smoother motion than she’d imagined she might manage.
And Quinn was kissing her again, and the ball deflated a bit, warmth and languor taking its place. When he kissed her, things seemed so easy. And it made her want him so much.
He pushed her back onto the bed, onto all those plush pillows, every inch of his hot, hard-muscled body pressed against hers. She wrapped her arms around his neck, curled one leg over the back of his calf and held him to her, kissing him until she was dizzy from lack of oxygen.
His hands skimmed over her curves, over all of her exposed skin, not ignoring any part of her. He made her feel special. Made her feel like every bit of her was something to be savored, treasured.
And, stupidly, she felt tears prick her eyes. Emotion, intense and huge, swelled in her chest, crowding out her heart, making it feel like it was being squeezed tight.
He moved his hand to her butt and shifted his weight so that he was settled between her thighs, the blunt head of his arousal pressing against the entrance to her body.
And suddenly, all of the arousal scurried away and hid, leaving nothing more than a naked ball of panic. She tensed as he pushed into her, searing pain assaulting her, so much worse, so much more than she’d imagined.
“Owowowoshitshitshitow.” She curled her fingernails into his shoulders and held on tight, tensing every muscle in her body.
Quinn froze. The look on his face would have been funny if she weren’t dealing with a feeling of pain, a slug of emotion and a strong sense of being invaded.
“Lark . . .”
“I didn’t know it would hurt this bad,” she said, the last word wobbly and pathetic.
A million emotions flashed through Quinn’s dark eyes, but the most off-putting, and the most hysterical, had to be the pure terror she saw there. She hadn’t expected a little hymen could frighten such a big strong man, but it seemed that it did.
“Baby . . .” He leaned down and kissed her face. “Do you want to stop?” he asked, his voice ragged.
She shook her head. “No.” She shifted. “It’s not as bad now.”
“Well, damn, that’s about the least complimentary thing I’ve ever heard during sex. Not as bad now.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize to me,” he said. “Not now, anyway.”
He shifted and went in deeper, another flash of pain accompanying the motion. She held on to him, moved her hips up and took him inside the rest of the way. It still burned, her body stretching to accommodate him.
“Just hold still,” she said, closing her eyes, waiting for her body to get used to him. And while she did, he kissed her shoulder, her neck, her face, her lips. And her arousal started to build again.
Eventually, the pain passed. And it was replaced by need. For him. For release.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Are you hurt?” She shook her head. He withdrew from her slowly and she locked her legs around his, trying to hold herself to him.
“I’m fine,” she said.
“I’m not going anywhere.” He thrust back into her, and this time it didn’t hurt at all. This time she just felt full, in the very best way, and closer to him than she’d ever felt to anyone before. “Good?”
“Very.”
“That’s an improvement.”
He established a rhythm, slow and gentle at first, but one that picked up as they went further. A rhythm that started to falter and fray as Quinn’s breathing got harder, as his muscles tightened.
“You feel so good,” he said, his face buried in her neck, his hands holding tight to her hips.
“You too,” she said. And she wasn’t lying.
She was so close to the edge, each of his thrusts pushing her closer. She arched against him, her breasts rubbing against his chest, her * pushing against his pelvis, sending streaks of heat through her body.
“I can’t . . .” he said, “I can’t . . .”
“Don’t stop,” she said.
He lowered his head, sucking her nipple into his mouth as he thrust into her, pushing her over the edge, the tension that had been growing inside of her fraying, breaking. She was falling and she didn’t care. Surrounded by pleasure, drowning in it, in a wave so intense it overtook everything in her. Everything around.
The world had truly fallen away. But she was in Quinn’s arms. And nothing else mattered.