Kiss My Boots (Coming Home #2)

“Quinn, whatever you’re thinkin’, put it outta your head right now.” I try to sound firm, but she’s got me right where she wants me and we both know it. The painful erection I’m sporting now is screaming that yes, yes she will get me to beg before her, at the same time my mind is telling me it would be the best fucking defeat in the world. Can’t look at it as losing when either way I end up with my cock in the stranglehold of her pussy.

“I’m not doin’ anything at all, handsome,” she says innocently with a wicked smirk, a fucking sexy-as-hell smirk that almost has me dropping to the floor to do the begging right now.

“That’s what I’m worried about,” I mumble under my breath.

She giggles softly and reaches out to pat my cheek. Why that’s something that makes my cock twitch in my pants, I’ll never know.

“Take me home, Tate,” she all but sings. “I need to take Daisy out for a ride and you should probably head out for some kneepads.”

“Kneepads?”

There’s that twinkle again, fucking hell.

“For when you’re on your knees beggin’.” She hums, breaching the gap between us and rolling up to her toes to press a kiss against my slack jaw. “Wouldn’t want your knees to get sore while you’re down there. If memory serves, you happened to like spendin’ a lot of time down on your knees.” She moves her head, mouth hovering right against my ear, and whispers, “Don’t you wonder if I still taste like sugar?”

God. Damn. I reach between us and cup myself, feeling like I’m seconds away from coming in my pajama pants.

Yeah, I’m fucked. So beyond fucked I can’t wait.





19


QUINN


“Fast” by Luke Bryan

- -

“Are you sure there isn’t anything I can do for this weekend?” I ask Leigh. Her flip-flop-covered feet shuffle across the shop floor as she moves toward the F1 to peer into the open door to watch me work.

“What are you doing?” she puzzles, watching my hands as they move under the dash.

“Workin’ on the last of the wirin’. Answer me. Do you need help?”

“No. Nope. No help.”

I sit up and lean back against the seat I installed earlier this week, enjoying the feeling of the soft leather, and study her. She showed up about ten minutes ago looking weird as hell, but remained silent while I finished up the last of the electrical I needed to do before Homer would be officially ready to fire up. With her wedding just a few days away, I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s just nerves.

“What is it?”

Her eyes flit around the room, a gesture I would normally assume means she was keeping something from me, but I have a feeling it’s more to make sure there isn’t anyone else around to hear her. Well, there goes the chance of this being wedding-related.

“You’ve been home all week.”

Confused, I struggle to keep up with her distracting verbal train of thought. “Yeah,” I confirm with a frown, having not the slightest clue where this is going.

“You’ve been home alone all week,” she continues, her eyes getting wonky.

“No, I haven’t. Clay’s been there most of the time.”

“God, you’re so infuriating sometimes!” she yelps, slapping her hands against her denim-covered thighs.

“Unless we developed some sort of ability to read each other’s minds that I wasn’t aware of, you’re going to have to do better than that. Spit it out, Leigh! You’re makin’ no damn sense.”

She pouts—full-out pouts with her lip out and everything. “I can’t.”

“You can’t what?” I ask sharply.

“I can’t just ‘spit it out,’ because a certain tall, dark, and handsome cowboy made me swear I wouldn’t just ‘spit it out’ and that I’d let you come to me if you needed anything. But, Q, serious as all get-out, I’m this close to breakin’ that promise,” she huffs, holding up her fingers to show a tiny gap between them. “I need you to not have me breakin’ any promises to the man I’m marryin’ this weekend and get a freakin’ clue and pick up what I’m puttin’ down!”

A lightbulb flickers on. “Are you tryin’ to ask me what’s goin’ on with Tate and me?” I ask, getting a kick out of her frustration when she stomps her foot and growls at me. “Jesus Jones, Leigh. Calm yourself, girlfriend. You can stop your frettin’, because Tate and I are great.”

“You been home alone all week.” She repeats her earlier words through her teeth, glaring at me.

“I sure have.” I grin.

“You didn’t have any other plans? Nothing going on since the last time I saw you days ago?”

“I don’t know, Leigh, what other plans could I possibly have durin’ the week when I’ve gotta be at work nice and early?” I hedge, fighting to keep my laughter in check.

“You’re such a pain in the ass,” she finally says after a long silence spent blatantly killing me with her eyes.

“God, you’re wound tight.” I laugh, tossing the empty water bottle I had sitting next to me inside the cab of the F1. “In an effort to save your sanity and help you remain an honest-ish woman before you get hitched to my brother, I can assure you that everything is fine, perfect even, with Tate and me. We’ve had dinner together twice since I spent the night at his place Saturday night. We’ve got plans to get together tonight, too. I’ve been home alone each night because that’s my house, Leigh, and it’s pretty damn normal to end up at my house to sleep.”

“Oh.” She sighs. “I’m so glad you brought Tate up, Quinn. So, you’ve only seen him twice since Sunday mornin’?”

I roll my eyes at her crazy ass. “Yes, Leigh, how smart of me to bring him up so we can have a girl-talk session. I have nothin’ else that I should be doin’ or anything. Say, you wanna run over to the corner store and get some nail polish and face masks?”

She ignores my smart-ass comment and forges on. Now that she’s in the clear of not breaking any promises to Maverick on a technicality, she’s not going to give up. “No more sleepovers at his house or anything? Just dinner?”

Well, I guess I might as well play this game since it’s clear she isn’t going to shut the hell up.

“No more sleepovers, you crazy woman. He’s still gettin’ to know his way around his new job, I guess is the best way to put it, so he needs his sleep. He went from a busy hospital doin’ deliveries and surgeries left and right to small-town lady doctor who’s suddenly booked solid with appointments. Even if the actual practice isn’t a huge hospital, he’s seein’ patients constantly, doin’ the face-to-vag consultations and stuff.” I wave my hand, not really sure how to explain it. He was part of a huge hospital in Georgia, and while he didn’t lack patients, the smaller-practice thing is a lot more personal than what he was doing and seems to require quite a bit more time.

“How is the small practice more exhausting? All he has to do now is make some small talk, fondle some boobies, and fiddle with some crotches.”

“It’s a little more demanding than that.” I laugh, going to my workbench and grabbing the tools I need to finish this baby up.

“It doesn’t bother you at all? That he’s seeing women naked all day?”

“Why would it?” I ask, genuinely confused by the thought.

“Uh, I don’t know, maybe because of all those boobies he’s touchin’ and the fondlin’ or, more specifically, the fact that he has his hands around and in different vaginas all day.”