“What?”
“Your panties. I keep them, you get this back.”
Oh, really. Two can play at this game. I stand up and slip out of my scrubs, crouch, and lower my panties, stand, and hand them to him. He snatches them and crushes them to his face, breathing deep while he flicks my bra at me. I pull on my clothes quickly.
“Do up my belt.”
“What? I’m not your servant.”
He seizes my arm and pulls me to him, and crack, spanks my ass hard, once. The jolt it sends through me only makes me crave his cock even more.
“Fine,” I grumble. I tug his jeans into place and do up the buckle.
“Let’s go, come on.”
I grab my tote and he takes me home.
7
Quentin
Rose sits on the bench seat of my Impala, legs folded, arms crossed over her chest, trying to hide inside herself and failing. There’s still a flush and a fine sheen of sweat on her cheeks, and she keeps looking at me, sometimes almost licking her lips before she catches it and stops herself. I love that look on a woman’s face, but this is different, she’s different. I don’t know why.
There’s something unreal about her, sitting there in my car, her body cocked so she’s facing me and leaning back against my seat.
“I need a shower,” she says absently.
“Want me to join you?”
“Quentin?”
“Yeah?”
“Not around my kids, okay?”
I sigh. “Fine.”
“I mean it.”
“I know.”
I pull into her driveway without thinking twice. She steps out and saunters into the house, almost strutting, but her whole demeanor changes when she crosses the threshold.
Karen is on the couch reading a book and scrawling in a notebook. Must be homework. The younger one is fooling around with an iPad. She gives me a sly glance.
“Hey, Mom,” Karen says.
“Girls, Mr. Mulqueen is going to stay with you while I’m in class tonight. I want you to go bed at the regular time.”
“Mom.” Karen looks up, an edge in her voice.
“I’ll tuck you in when I get home.”
She turns beet red, her gaze flashing from me to her mother.
“Um,” she says.
I can’t help it, I start laughing, and Karen turns redder and sinks into the couch, mortified.
“That was mean, Rose.”
Rose gives me a hard look, her lips twitching as she tries not to laugh. She hides a smile as she scampers up the stairs. I walk over and lean back on the other side of the couch.
“I don’t need to be tucked in,” Karen says idly. “I just want to—”
“See your mom before you go to sleep,” I cut her off. “I understand that.”
“Have you eaten dinner? We could make you something.”
My stomach twists in alarm.
“No! I mean… No, I haven’t eaten dinner. I’ll make something after I drop your mom off at school.”
“You will?” she says, a little edge to her voice.
“Yeah.”
“Okay.” She shrugs.
I hear the shower running upstairs.
“What’s that you’re working on?”
“Algebra Two. They put me in the advanced class,” she says, frowning.
“Isn’t that good?”
“I guess, but I’m not very good at math. I just got lucky on the test or something.”
“How do you get lucky on the test? Did you guess all the answers?”
“Well, no, but—”
“You must be pretty smart then. Mind if I turn on the TV?”
She gives me an odd look and tosses me the remote. I flick the TV on and turn it down low, and start flipping channels. Rose has the basic TV package, of course. She can probably barely afford to have cable at all.
I settle on a cooking show and watch an Italian chef very quietly make breakfast (keeping the sound low so as not to disturb Karen, who appears deep in concentration) until Rose descends the stairs.
I can’t help but lean over the back of the couch to watch her glide down the staircase. With her hair up she makes business casual look good. We have a new winner in the world’s most fuckable librarian contest. She gives me a soft smile and shoulders her schoolbag.
“Ready?”
“Yeah.”
“He’ll be back in a minute, kids,” she says, smiling.
Rose is quiet on the way to the college and I don’t break the silence. She looks a little sad somehow, and I can’t tell if she’s looking out the window or looking at her own reflection in the window.
We’re almost there. I can’t help it.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” she says wistfully.
“I don’t think you are.”
She gives me a glance. God, she’s pretty. She’s not even trying to look sexy. It just comes naturally. A sidelong glance makes me want to pin her up against the wall and fuck her brains out.
“He’s going to fire me,” she says, very softly. “I can feel it.”
A tear rolls down her cheek and she wipes it away, sniffs, and scrubs at her nose with a tissue.
Okay, Burt.
You and I need to have a conversation.