by Tamara Sneed
“There is no way you can be awful in this bed with me. We can either have a lot of fun or just plain ol’ fun.”
She sent him another full-watt smile, and her body relaxed another degree. “How do we have a lot of fun, instead of just plain ol’ fun?”
“It’s real simple. You tell me when I’m doing something you don’t like, and you tell me when I’m doing something you like.”
She sent him another full-watt smile. “You’ll tell me the same thing?”
He choked out, “Count on it.”
This time, Quinn made the first move. She reached up and pressed her lips to his. Wyatt groaned as her soft lips pressed against his. Kissing this woman was his new addiction. Her mouth opened under his, and he used the invitation to sweep his tongue inside of her mouth. He wanted to take things slowly. He wanted her swimming with so much honey that she wouldn’t have time to get nervous or apprehensive. Instead, he became ravenous. The taste of her, the feel of her body welcoming him. Everything was working together to drive him insane.
His tongue dragged through her mouth, trying to inhale and taste every inch of her. And she matched his desire kiss by kiss. Her hands strained to break free, but he refused to release them, mostly to control his own actions. If he didn’t hold her down, he would be touching her and moving things entirely too fast. Her hips pressed into his and he instantly grew hard, especially when he saw her hard nipples. He groaned again and took her mouth harder, squelching the urge to take that nipple into his mouth.
Quinn turned her head to break her mouth free. He buried his mouth against her neck. Their heavy breathing filled the room.
“I like this Wyatt. I really like this,” she begged in a hoarse voice.
Wyatt considered himself a decent person, but he was not a saint. He trailed his hands down her soft arms then over her breasts. She was perfect. Soft. He moved his hands down her bare thighs and legs, then reached the strap of her stilettos. She watched him with heated eyes as he slowly and carefully released one strap, then the other. He dropped her shoes on the ground, then moved back up her body until he was between her thighs and once more mere inches from her lips.
Their eyes held for a moment, and Wyatt felt a lump grow in his throat. He had been deluding himself into thinking that he could forget about her and move on with his life. How could he do that to himself, or to any other woman? He would think about and obsess about Quinn for the rest of his life.
Quinn smiled and caressed his face. “Why so serious?”
Instead of answering, Wyatt kissed her as if his life depended on it—because it did. And the best part was she responded with the same passion. Wyatt broke free of her lips and headed straight for that straining nipple. He took the whole nipple in his mouth and she whispered his name and placed her hand on the back of his head, urging him closer.
Wyatt tugged on the nipple with his lips, then licked it. Her breast was shaped perfectly, soft. He squeezed and molded the other breast as he continued to pay lavish oral worship to her left breast. She arched underneath him and made little mewling sounds that drove him crazy.
Wyatt finally moved to the other breast. He wanted to move slow, he wanted to be the world’s best lover for her, but his mind was urging him to move lower, his body was urging him to just move and Quinn was arching and bucking beneath him. His head was buzzing and screaming. Wyatt tried to stop, but he couldn’t. His hands moved down her stomach to lace and satin panties. He forced himself to stop sucking long enough to stare at her. Still no fear. That was all the authorization he needed.
Quinn didn’t have time to freeze up or remember that this had never worked in the past because she was too busy trying not to scream down the house with the feelings that Wyatt evoked in her. He was so slow. So deliberate. So utterly delicious. Her body was on fire. Her soul was on fire.
Wyatt’s hands were setting her body on fire. His tongue was swirling in her belly button, and his teeth nipped at her stomach. She wanted him inside of her. In fact, she had a feeling that if he didn’t get inside of her soon, she would scream or yell or something.
He poised at the entrance of her entire being and she could feel the heat emanating from her. Wanting him.
His eyes glittered with desire and another emotion that she only hoped meant what she wanted it to mean. She dug her fingernails into his shoulders, wanting him inside her more than she ever wanted anything in her life. She arched against him, and his hardness brushed against her center. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out.
“Please,” she urged in a hoarse whisper. She didn’t even recognize her own voice.
He sent her a grin that made her arch in pure desire. “I like having you at my mercy.”
“Please, Wyatt,” she whispered, unable to laugh or joke at this moment.
His expression became serious once more, as his hands caressed her thighs. He seemed incapable of not touching her, not caressing her. “If you want me to stop, just tell me. One word—”
“I don’t want you to stop,” she groaned. “Please, Wyatt. Stop being so damn nice. Just do it already.”
“Do what?” he asked, lifting one side of his mouth in a sardonic smile.
“Kiss me, touch me, do something. Anything.”
Wyatt grinned again. “Remember you asked for this,” he said, then sank lower and touched his tongue to her.
Quinn screamed louder than she had before as pure desire shot through her body and ended directly in her brain. She didn’t know if it was because it was a tongue on her, or because it was Wyatt, but she was in another plane of ecstasy. His tongue began to dally against her, soft, long, slow. She wanted to crawl away, she wanted to move closer. She just wanted it to never stop.
Wyatt grabbed her hips and pinned her down, even though she hadn’t known that she had been moving. He began to kiss her in earnest, running his tongue over her, inside of her, around her. Quinn undulated against his tongue, squeezed the sheets trapped in her hands, screamed for mercy. She squeezed her eyelids shut, unable to handle the feelings and seeing at the same time. It was as if she could only concentrate on one sensation at a time.
“I want to finish you off, but I can’t…I have to be inside of you,” he moaned, giving her some relief, as he stopped to hover above her.
She tried to reply, but there was nothing she could do, except wordlessly moan. He pushed inside of her, filled her to capacity, and it was a momentary relief as she hugged him to her. He groaned her name through clenched teeth, then moved his mouth over hers as he began to pump. Firecrackers sparked throughout her body and flooded into a tight ball at the base of her. It overwhelmed her. Quinn screeched under his open mouth and dug her fingernails into his sweat-slickened back. She squeezed her eyes closed and matched his rhythm. Loved his rhythm. Wanted his rhythm.
It was as if they were the same person. Moving together as one. She opened her mouth to scream, but then she could only place a kiss on his shoulder and suck his skin. He tasted salty, delicious, like he was hers.
And then it started. It spiraled and moved into one force and then exploded inside the center of her. She arched and screamed his name, glorying in the feelings. Wyatt pumped faster, quicker, moaning her name, his arms quivering as he hovered above her. Then he shuddered and rushed into her.
And as if a storm blew by, Wyatt lowered himself next to her and became still. His chest moved up and down. Quinn was motionless, unmoving.
Wyatt moved toward her and she flinched. He didn’t appear to notice, because he wrapped his arms around her, pressed a kiss on her shoulder and promptly fell asleep. Quinn told herself to move. But she was so warm and satisfied. She would just rest her eyes for a moment. Just sleep and bask in the glow of fabulous sex.
Chapter 12
Quinn opened her eyes at the sound of a telephone ringing. The sound abruptly ended and she snuggled back into the plump pillows surrounding her. There was a pleasant buzz in her bones, as if she had just eaten a really good, high-calor
ie meal…with dessert. She smiled and stretched her arms over her head, purring like a cat, and then Wyatt’s clean, fresh scent stirred from the sheets.
She cursed, feeling a combination of renewed desire and utter fear. She had slept with Wyatt. Not just slept with him, but made love to him. Laughed with him. And shared her secrets. And he had told her his secrets, too. He had treated her like she had imagined men treated their girlfriends, not their trophies, as she usually was.
She glanced towards his side of the bed. It was empty. She looked out the window at the moon high in the sky, then at the clock radio on the nightstand. It was almost eleven o’clock. She had been at Wyatt’s almost four hours. She cursed again and covered her face with her hands. She had to get home as soon as possible. She didn’t want to face her sisters’ knowing grins, but she also couldn’t exactly face Wyatt. What was she supposed to say to him? She had never completely released herself in bed with anyone. She didn’t know how to deal with the repercussions.
The bedroom door abruptly opened. Wyatt walked into the room, carrying a tray loaded down with food. He flipped on the lights with an elbow, then walked across the room towards her. She gulped at the sight of his muscled chest. He had pulled on a pair of dingy sweats that only made him look more adorable because he looked so at home and relaxed.
Quinn quickly sat up in bed, keeping the sheet tightly clutched between her breasts. She smoothed down her tangled hair, refusing to even picture what it might like. She tucked hair behind her ears because Wyatt truly didn’t seem to care about her huge ears.
He grinned at her, noticing her movement, then placed the tray on the bed between them. He leaned over and traced the shape of one of her ears. Without a word, he pressed a quick kiss against her lips. He stared at her for a moment, then returned for another longer kiss. Then another one, until she opened her mouth. His tongue worked its way through her mouth, feeling foreign and familiar and erotic. She almost dropped the sheet to wrap her arms around him. Almost.
Wyatt pulled away from her with an even bigger grin, then pointed to the tray. “We missed dinner.” She stared at the tray. He had made scrambled eggs, bacon, fried potatoes, biscuits and diced fresh fruit. There was enough food on the plate to feed a small army. “I’m not much of a cook, but I make a pretty mean breakfast.”
“It looks delicious,” she said and realized that she actually meant it.
He handed her a fork and she reached for the bowl of fruit, but then grabbed bacon. She hadn’t had bacon in almost two years.
Wyatt grabbed another piece of bacon and laid across the bed on his side to stare at her.
“Did I hear the phone ring?” she asked as she swallowed a mouthful of eggs.
“It was Graham.”
She nearly choked on the eggs and drained the glass of orange juice on the tray. “Graham called here? Please tell me that you didn’t let him know I was here.”
“Of course I did,” Wyatt said, with a shrug. “He called to see if I knew where you were. He said no one had heard from you since you left four hours ago.”
Quinn set down the glass and hung her head in shame. “I am never going to hear the end of this.”
“The end of what?”
“This,” she retorted, motioning wildly towards the bed and him. “As soon as Graham tells Charlie, which we both know he will because he can’t keep anything from her, she’ll tell Kendra and then I’ll get a phone call.” As if on cue, the sound of a cell phone ringing came from the living room. Quinn shook her head. “I knew it.”
“Sisters,” Wyatt said sympathetically. He took the other fork on the tray and dug into the eggs.
Quinn stared at him for a moment, annoyed with his cavalier attitude. Then her stomach growled. She started on the fried potatoes.
“How’s the party going?” Quinn asked.
“Graham says that half the town is there.”
Quinn pretended to focus on the plate as she murmured, “You’re missing a chance to score points with Dorrie. If you hurry, you can still catch her.”
Wyatt froze, and anger flashed in his eyes as he stared at her. His voice was deep with barely concealed rage, “I don’t know what type of men you’ve dated in the past, but I don’t sleep with a woman and then pursue another woman the same night or the next day.”
“She is your dream woman, remember? The mother of your future children?”
“Stop while you’re ahead, Quinn,” he said through clenched teeth.
“I’m just reminding us where we both stand. We slept together, but it doesn’t change anything. You still want Dorrie, and I still want my movie filmed here. We just had a truce, like I said when I walked in.”
“We just made love and you bring up Dorrie? Nice, Quinn. Very nice.” With a look of disgust, he stormed out the room.
She heard the front door of the apartment slam closed. She quickly slipped from the bed, grabbed her clothes and sprinted across the hall to the bathroom, slamming the door. After she had relieved herself, thrown water on her face and wiggled into her clothes, she cautiously opened the bathroom door. The apartment was completely silent. Wyatt still hadn’t come back.
Quinn grabbed her heels from the bedroom, then hurried through the apartment and grabbed her handbag. She opened the front door and glanced down the stairs. The driveway was still empty, except for Graham’s prized Porsche. The funeral home was still dark since Beatrice probably was at Charlie and Graham’s party. The coast was clear.
Quinn ran down the stairs, then pulled on her heels. She walked on her toes to the car so her heels wouldn’t clack on the cement driveway. She was home free until she noticed the lights on in the greenhouse that stood about two hundred yards in the field behind the house. Quinn hesitated with her hand on the car door.
Wyatt obviously didn’t want to see her. She should just leave. Except Quinn released the door handle and headed toward the greenhouse. Maybe she was a glutton for punishment. Or maybe she just needed to see Wyatt one last time. To kiss him one last time. If he would let her.
She crossed the field on a stone walkway that had been placed into the manicured lawn. She opened the greenhouse door and was nearly overcome by the variety and colors of flowers and plants in the large building. It was like a fantasy, a tropical paradise. The air was slightly damp and warm, compared to the chill outside, and it smelled like wet dirt and fragrant flowers. Soft muted lights glowed on tracks on the ceiling. There were several aisles that led to each grouping of flowers. She took her time looking and oohing and aahing and gently touching delicate leaves.
Then she saw Wyatt. He stood at the back of the greenhouse at a large worktable that had a single, solitary lamp. He was potting bulbs of tulips into small clay pots. She stopped several feet from him, then saw him look up in the window at her reflection. She waited for him to acknowledge her, but he leaned back over and began to pack dirt in the pots.
“Wyatt,” Quinn said softly.
He stopped moving and leaned on the table. “I thought you’d be gone by now.”
“I wanted to say goodbye.”
“And thanks for the memories,” he muttered, dryly.
“Don’t put words in my mouth, Wyatt.” When he started working again, she sighed and walked to the table to stand next to him. He refused to look at her. “What do you want from me?” she asked desperately.
He turned to face her, and she stepped back at the hurt apparent in his eyes. “Just sex, Quinn. Isn’t that what you think of me?” he snarled. “I just want sex. I’ve gotten it, so you can leave.”
“I don’t like your tone.”
“Tough shit,” he snapped. Her eyes widened and, in a burst of fury, he slapped a small ceramic pot off the table. It crashed into a wall and fell to the ground in numerous pieces. He glared at her. “I’m sick of tiptoeing around you, around us. The question isn’t what I want. You know what I want. You’ve always known what I’ve wanted. The question is what do you want?”
“I don’t know what you w
ant, Wyatt,” she retorted, her voice rising until she was screaming at the top of her lungs. “You’ve been panting after me since we first met. You didn’t even know me. I was horrible to you, and the more awful I was to you, the more you seemed to want me. And when I finally talk to you like a human being, you tell me that you’re in love with some woman you barely know—who’s allergic to flowers, I might add—and that I’m not good enough for you. What am I supposed to think?”
Wyatt took several deep breaths, then said calmly, “I never said that you weren’t good enough for me.”
“Oh, please,” she snorted in disbelief. “That’s exactly what you were telling me when you said that I was not Sibleyville wife material. Because like every other man I’ve known, you only wanted the image. The fake breasts, the short dresses and the high heels. You didn’t want to get to know the real me and that’s why I treated you like dirt, Wyatt. Not because you’re a mortician, or because you’re from Sibleyville, but because I expected more from you.”
She cursed as tears blurred her vision. She turned her back to him and swiped at her tears. She did not cry over men, but that didn’t change the fact that here she was crying over a man.
“You’re right,” he said softly. “You’re exactly right.” He gently grabbed her arms and turned her to face him. “And I’m sorry, Quinn. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
She rolled her eyes in response and focused on a corner of the room to fight back more tears.
“That’s how I felt in the beginning, but after tonight, you have to know that I don’t feel like that anymore. I think you’re amazing and funny and smart. And that’s why I…that’s why I want you even more now than the first moment I saw you.”
She stared at him for a moment, not wanting to believe him. “It’s been a joke between us for so long.”
“Not anymore. I really care about you, Quinn.”
Sephora would have walked out the greenhouse, never to look back, while delivering a cutting monologue that would have left Wyatt a trembling mess. But, of course, Sephora had a team of award-winning writers to help her, and Quinn…Well, Quinn didn’t want Wyatt to be a trembling mess. She just wanted him.