Ride: Hearts Wild Series

by Allison Gatta

  "It's written all over your face," he said.

  "What is? That love is for chumps or… the last time I got laid?" She mumbled the last of the question, and he grunted a laugh.

  "Both," he said simply.

  Silence stretched between them again as she thought about her next move. She ought to apologize for overstepping or at least tell him that she knew it wasn't any of her business. But then she thought about what he'd said. That the last time she'd been laid was written all over her face. Was that because she looked so hungry for him? Or simply because she was so tense, so rigid?

  And what did he intend to do about that?

  She shivered, and he glanced at her.

  "Cold?" he asked.

  "A little." In saying it, she realized it was the truth. She glanced back at him as he stood from his seat and ducked into the house. In a matter of seconds, he returned with what looked like a homemade afghan then leaned over her and tucked it around her shoulders. In that single move, she could smell the smoke of the fire and the pine of the trees on his skin. His hand brushed against her bicep and goosebumps rose instantly along her flesh, begging her to pay attention to him.

  She tilted her head up, meeting his eyes for what felt like an eternity, but then he pulled back again and settled into his seat.

  "Thanks," she murmured.

  "No problem."

  "Homemade?" she asked.

  "My grandmother made it for me before I went to college." He nodded.

  "That's really sweet. Your whole family seems really sweet."

  "They are what they seem." He nodded. "So…"

  The crickets hummed in the distance, and she settled back, waiting for words that didn't come.

  "Do you promise you're not in love with Quinn?" she forced herself to ask him, and when her gaze met his, she knew the next words he spoke would be the truth.

  Eyes soft, he said, "I promise. Quinn isn't my type. She’s too free spirited for me. I like women who are down to earth and driven and…strong.”

  His gaze searched her for a long minute, and suddenly she felt herself leaning forward as if all the forces of the universe had been leading to this moment. She breathed a shaky breath, and then he was coming closer, too, gazing down his nose at her waiting lips.

  The second his warm, full lips met her own, it was sheer, unadulterated light. Electricity snapped through the air, and she moved closer, stroking his jaw as his tongue swept out to meet hers. Every minute of every day since the wedding had been leading to this moment, and still, as her tongue slid against his, the gentleness and energy of it seemed to take her by surprise.

  Moaning slightly, she pushed and pulled along with him. Internally, she begged for his hands to explore her breasts and then the strong, aching need that was building between her thighs at his every touch.

  In the history of her life—maybe in the history of the world—there had never been a kiss this good, this deep and passionate, He pulled back and looked deep into her eyes, like he was searching for something deep and profound.

  "Zoe," he started, but there was a metal jingling, and she shot bolt upright and wheeled around to face the front door.

  It was almost sounded like...

  Keys?

  Like someone was working the lock, trying to come inside and join them.

  Her heart leaped into her throat and she sprinted for the doorway, heedless of everything that had happened in the seconds before.

  Quinn was here.

  Quinn was finally here.

  Seven

  Zoe burst through the sliding glass doors, and Ian followed along behind her, his heart in his throat.

  It was impossible—beyond impossible—that Quinn would have come back here. But as he got closer to the front door, there was no denying the way the knob twisted and turned like someone was opening it with a key from the outside. Zoe stood at the edge of the door, waiting for it to open. At last, the lock hitched and the door creaked, and there, with the glow of the moon in her hair, stood his mother.

  "Mom," he said, and the grin on Zoe's face faltered for a moment before she affixed it again.

  "Hey," Zoe said. "So nice to see you again."

  His mother grinned. "Oh, I'm not staying. Just dropping off Ian's phone. You left it at the house." She dug in the pocket of her faded jeans and held the tiny square out to him.

  Grateful, he took it and thanked her.

  "All right, well, I'll let you kids get back to your night." She nodded and showed herself out. Ian stared after her, looking from the now-closed door to Zoe's crestfallen expression.

  The charged energy that had snapped in the air between them like electricity was gone now, and he would have done anything to get it back, to distract her from the pain and disappointment she must have been feeling now.

  "Listen, Zoe—" he started, but she shook her head.

  "I, um, I need to go shower." Her hair was obviously still wet from her last one, but he didn't argue. Instead, he watched as she climbed the stairs, and when she disappeared into her room, he trudged back to the patio and considered his options.

  There was no doubting something had happened here tonight. He could still feel the heat of her lips on his skin, could still imagine her long limbs winding around his body and pulling him closer, begging him for more.

  He could go up there, knock on her door, and see if she still felt the way he did. If she felt the change… and liked it.

  Swallowing hard, he thumbed his phone, wishing he could have called Quinn to get her advice. Instead, he found himself staring at a bright screen with the words "One Voicemail" emblazoned across the screen.

  Heart heavy, he slid his thumb across the glass and held the phone to his ear.

  A breathy, familiar sound floated over the line, and his heart really did stop beating.

  "Ian, hey. So, I'm guessing you know everything that happened by now. I was just… well, you know. You were right, I think. I was just calling to let you know that I'm safe, and that I stopped at your place on the way to my aunt's house. I'm gonna lay low there for a couple days, but I was hoping you could do me a favor." Quinn let out a little sigh. "Could you let Zoe know I'm all right? She's probably freaking out right now, and I feel pretty guilty, but I know if I called her, she'd just try to convince me to come home. Well, you understand. You've met her. Anyway, I just can't face that right now. So, you know, thank you. For everything. I owe you."

  The line clicked off, and Ian stared at the screen, waiting for Quinn's voice to magically return.

  When it didn't, he knew he had a choice to make. He could go upstairs and tell Zoe what Quinn had said, or he could keep it from her and let Quinn have the space she said she needed.

  An image of Zoe's stricken face flashed through his mind, and even now he wanted to pull her close and soothe her disappointment.

  After everything Zoe had been through, after everything she'd done for Quinn…

  Well, Quinn had had two days. Wasn't it about time that Zoe knew the truth?

  She wasn't sure what a panic attack felt like, but this was probably one of them.

  If her phone wasn't dead, she would have been able to check Web MD, and the weird, fluttering beat of her heart would be explained away by cancer or some other source of her inevitable death. Which, arguably, would be more comforting than the idea of having feelings for Ian Prescott.

  It felt like every five seconds she was walking to the door, on the edge of opening it, and then pacing back across the room, thinking over everything he'd said, the way his lips had felt against her skin, the way just that woodsy, manly scent of his could make her entire body sing.

  "Fuck," she murmured. "What's so bad? There are people starving. There are people with terrible diseases. What's so wrong with me? What so wrong about…?"

  About having the hots for her sister's best friend?

  After all, he was less of a player than she'd thought. He wasn't in love with Quinn, not like that anyway.

  He w
as impulsive, yes, but he was hardworking, too.

  So what's the problem here?

  Me.

  She knew in the core of her being that it was the truth. If he interviewed her and found her lacking like so many other women… well, what would that say about her? It might crush her.

  And being without him…

  Well, that was the safe, practical choice. The choice she'd always made when push came to shove.

  An image of her parents, smiling in their family photo, flashed through her mind, and then she thought again about what Ian had said about love—real, true love. It was a one-in-a-million chance, but it was still a chance worth taking. The only chance, really.

  And, okay, she wasn't in love with him. But maybe she could be. One day.

  If she took a leap.

  Stalking toward the door again, she steeled herself to opening it and finding Ian. But just as she took another step, a knock sounded on her door, and her heart jumped into her throat.

  It was now or never. And for once, she was sick of picking never.

  She swung the door open and grabbed his face, pulling him down to her until his lips collided with hers.

  He hushed her and then completely took away her ability to speak as his teeth caught her earlobe, sucking and teasing her until she was yanking down his jeans without a second thought. God, he felt good…

  “I’ve been thinking about you all day,” he whispered.

  He pushed her pants down easily and cupped her between the thighs, gently at first. Then he slid one probing finger between her lips, and she shivered at the touch.

  “Nice and wet.” He put the finger to his mouth and sucked it then led her back onto the mattress. She spread her legs apart, waiting for him to join her, but for a long moment he did nothing but stare at her. His gaze was so intense that she could practically feel the weight of it traveling over her breasts, the plane of her stomach, and finally settling on her waiting folds.

  After a while, he said, “I’m the luckiest man on earth.” And then he smiled and joined her, the heat of his body blocking out all the coldness in the room.

  Zoe squeezed her eyelids closed, trying to focus on the feel of his weight on her body, the heat of his skin, the hardness of his chest as her straining nipples pressed into him.

  But as soon as he was on top of her, he pulled away again. He dropped kisses from the column of her throat to her belly button before licking his way back to her mouth. This teasing would kill her. She writhed beneath him, gripping his biceps in a silent cry for him to meet her needs. But if he felt it, he ignored it. Apparently, he had other things on his mind, and for the life of her, she couldn’t decide whether that was frustrating or sexy beyond belief.

  He massaged her breasts, taking each of her nipples between thumb and forefinger and teasing them until she writhed more and dug her fingernail into his muscles. Still, he ignored her as he dragged his teeth along the sensitive swell of her breasts and then sucked her stiff cherry peaks again. He released one with a little pop then said, “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  His eyes were dark, as mischievous as ever, and he added, “Because we can stop right now if you’d like.”

  Her breath caught. She should have been second guessing herself—it was, after all, what she did best. But the second his skin was on hers, she’d had no intention of turning back. She’d only wanted more, wanted him.

  “Don’t you dare,” she warned, and with that, he continued his journey downward. One of his hands rested on the inside of her knee and then slid slowly upward, inch by inch, so close to the one place she needed him to go. "Please, fuck me." Raw desperation coated every syllable, and he sucked deeply on her nipple, as if rewarding her.

  Then his thumb traced her sex, and she nearly exploded. She rocked into his touch, hoping he would go on to tease her clit, to push a finger inside of her and relieve the rising ache. But he did none of that. Instead, he gripped his thick shaft and pushed into her so hard and deep that the world practically split apart in front of her eyes. When he was finally buried to the hilt, he let out a low groan.

  "Fuck," he ground out, and though she tried to respond, she couldn't find the words. It wasn’t the panting or the need or the earth-shattering feel of him, though all of those things played their part. The thing that took her breath away was Ian himself. He stared at her with so much lust that she could hardly concentrate on anything else. She could lose herself in those blue eyes as they stared at her, taking in the whole of her naked body with every slow, attentive thrust.

  She rolled into him, rocking her hips so insistently that she forgot about the creaking of the mattress beneath her and lost herself in the push and pull of their bodies.

  "You feel incredible." With one hand still on her hip, he used the other to cup her face before tracing downward, outlining the swell of her breasts, the curve of her stomach. She gasped. He stroked her clit gently, and her channel clenched around him in response, pushing her ever closer to the brink. He responded by speeding his thrusts, pushing and pulling in a steady rhythm with his fingers.

  "Your pussy is so tight and wet." He rubbed the aching bundle of nerves again, and she pushed him further still.

  She wanted—no, needed—him to move faster, to bury himself so deep inside her that her eyes crossed at the enormity of him. "Please," she begged. She reached out and pulled him close, gripping his biceps as he pushed into her exactly as she needed, meeting her pace as she set it while still holding her body so firmly, she had no doubt who was in control.

  Then he pulled away and pushed so hard and deep that the world itself split apart. There was only his hard cock filling her, sending tingles down her thighs. Her toes curled as she was swept into the ocean of her own desire, all the pressure building inside her, starting low in her belly then pushing out to the ends of the earth.

  The pleasure washed over her in huge, crashing waves. They tore through her like a current in a hurricane, overtaking everything in their path and filling her to the brim with a rippling sort of tingle that seemed to go on forever and ever. Just as her tremors began to subside, he joined her in climax, pushing into her with quick, greedy thrusts until he was just as spent and sated as she was.

  Until they were both lost in the abyss… together.

  Eight

  The next morning, Ian slipped out the door and went to grab coffee and bagels, half because there was no food in the house and half to clear his mind after everything that had happened the night before.

  Between Quinn calling and finally having Zoe in his bed, he wasn't sure how to feel about anything, and the more he thought about it, the more conflicted he became.

  It would be wrong of him to keep anything from Zoe, especially now that they'd been together. But he knew both Zoe and Quinn well enough to understand that they were women of their word. Zoe was genuinely concerned about Quinn, and Quinn genuinely did not want to be found.

  Briefly, he considered telling Zoe that he'd heard from Quinn, but not that she told him where she was. But what would happen if Zoe wanted to hear the message? Would it be odd for him to delete it? And what if she figured it out regardless?

  He took a deep breath then sipped his coffee and swished in his mouth, deciding.

  Of course, now that he and Zoe had been together last night, she might have changed her mind about Quinn, too. After everything they'd talked about in the last few days—and all the changes they'd made together—it seemed almost impossible that she'd be just as gung-ho as she'd been when they first started.

  Slipping back inside the house, he resolved to find Zoe and tell her what had happened last night with Quinn and the phone call. He heard her voice in the kitchen and followed the sound to find her sitting at the table, talking on her phone.

  "Paul," she mouthed to him. He gave her a little nod as he set her coffee on the table in front of her.

  "No, no, no," she was saying. "I'm sure she'll be back soon, and we can work everything out. Don't worry abou
t it. I'm sure she's fine."

  Ian blinked, watching as Zoe nodded at something he couldn't hear.

  What the hell did she mean "she'd come back and everything would be fine?" Didn't she know her sister at all? Hadn't she learned a single damn thing in the last few days?

  He toasted a bagel and sat it on the table in front of her just as she said her goodbyes, and when she rang off, he turned to her, trying to decide the most delicate way to phrase his utter confusion.

  He opted for "What was all that about?"

  She shrugged. "Paul wanted to talk about Quinn. He hasn't heard from her either, and he's worried."

  Ian's stomach twisted with a tinge of guilt. Paul wasn't a bad guy, and he didn't deserve to be strung along or left at the altar. He just wasn't right for Quinn. He'd thought after all of this, that was a point he and Zoe agreed on. But now…

  "So what did you tell him?"

  She sipped her coffee. "I told him I haven't heard from her and I'm trying to figure out where to go from here. I was thinking we could head back to Connecticut and hit the major cities on the way. You know, New York, Philadelphia. She might have gone there. She loves the city."

  "She does, but the odds of finding her in a place that big are astronomical." Ian wondered how to phrase his question, but decided there was no delicate way to put it. "So, are you still trying to convince Quinn that she should stay with Paul?"

  "Of course." She blinked, startled. "Absolutely."

  "Really?" He said the word flatly, and she glanced at him again.

  "What do you mean?"

  He shook his head. After all that, after everything that had happened last night, she still wasn't going to allow Quinn to take a leap.

  "Nothing. Forget it."

  He chewed on his bagel, and Zoe frowned up at him, her gaze distant. He knew she was formulating her newest plan, her next action that might trap Quinn into making the most logical choice possible. That look alone made Ian realize what he needed to do.