“I don’t know.”
We get a few stares checking into the hotel. I’m still in full bridal gear, after all. I can feel Quentin’s tensions rising as we ride up in the elevator. Once we reach the room he chases me inside and slams the door, and I’m on the bed on my stomach in seconds.
Quentin yanks the zipper down the back of my dress and spreads it open, slipping it over my shoulders. I wriggle out of it and it pools on the floor. I sigh a breath of relief, as I didn’t hear any ripping fabric or popping seams.
I crawl up onto the bed and turn over. Quentin looks me over and licks his lips. White stockings and gloves, a white thong, and a white lacy bra that doesn’t give me much coverage greet him.
He slips off my shoes and starts to undress. I watch hungrily, shaking with anticipation. His jacket comes off first; he tosses it on a side chair and peels off his shirt next. I wince when I see the fresh scars from the wounds he took fighting Santiago, cutting jagged marks across his tattoos.
I slip back onto the bed and he pushes out of his pants and moves over me on his hands and knees. He wasn’t wearing anything else. He shudders when I wrap my gloved fingers around his cock, but grabs my wrist and pulls my hand away. He pins both wrists to the bed and kisses me, hard.
He lets go of my arms and puts his hands on my shoulders then slips them under me and squeezes me against him, unhooking my bra in the process.
For a long time he just lies there, breathing on my throat, and then I feel his lips and a hint of teeth that makes me quiver with excitement. I slip my fingers into his hair and scratch at his scalp. It makes his legs jerk.
“You like that,” I whisper.
He rises up and pulls my bra away then ducks down and touches his lips to my collarbone, hugging his arms tightly around me. I rest my hands on his back and relax, closing my eyes to savor the sensations.
Quentin shifts and pins my arms to my sides, squeezing my breasts together. His stubble tickles me as he works his way down, his lips and tongue leaving a hot trail on my skin. I wrap my legs around him and squeeze as he rests his head on my chest.
“Your breath tickles.”
He looks up at me and takes my nipple in his mouth, and I gasp and scratch at his scalp, tracing my nails over his shoulder with my other hand. I wince when I feel a scar rough under my nails. He sucks hard and my whole body jerks as I let out a squeak.
Quentin draws back and kneels, tugging on my underwear. I lean back into the bed, lift my legs, and watch the way his eyes roam hungrily over my curves as he tugs my panties down and pulls them free of my feet. I bend my legs and stretch them out on the bed, and Quentin lunges at me, kissing me hard as his finger slips inside me.
“Somebody’s horny,” he says, stroking inside me. “You’re sopping wet.”
I take his cock in my hand and feel the heat soaking through my glove. I start to pull the other glove off with my teeth.
“Leave those on,” he says, tugging it back into place. “I like them.”
He slides his finger out of my body and rolls on top of me, pinning me down. His cock throbs against my stomach, hot and hard. I run my hands up his sides, feeling the ridged scars.
I kiss his neck. “My poor baby. You got hurt.”
I slip my legs around him. Quentin shifts, thrusts, and enters me. I gasp as his hardness fills me.
“You can make some noise,” he growls in my ear. “Moan for me.”
As he fills me to the root, I let out a long, low sound of pleasure, pushed out of my body by his cock as he drives against me, hard, shuddering. I hug him with my legs and slide my hands on his back as he thrusts, feeling the muscles of his body flex as he drives inside me.
All at once he rolls over, pulling me on top of him. I lie on him and wriggle my hips, watching his face as his body tenses from the sensation. Quentin slips his hands under my arms and pushes me until I’m sitting up. I grab his hands and lace his fingers through mine and lean on him, my head hanging as I roll my hips forward and back, faster and faster as my pleasure builds. Quentin moves in time with my rhythm, rising up from the bed to meet me as I ride him.
I lean back and let go of his hands, lift my legs, and turn on top of him, slowly working my way around. The noise he makes is inhuman as my body turns around him. I stop, shuddering, overwhelmed by the unusual sensation.
Turned around, I get my knees under me and lean forward, resting my hands on his legs, and ride. When I find just the right angle I start shaking. I can barely stand it.