by Monica James
We have started from scratch, gutting everything and giving the place a totally different feel. It’s still old school (like Hank), but we’ve modernized it so it will suit all patrons, from business men to families to honeymooners. And I must say, it’s coming along fantastically.
The colors we’ve chosen to paint the rooms are brighter, warmer, and welcoming. And once we’re done buying new amenities, you won’t recognize the place.
So, that’s what leads Quinn and I to the linen aisle of a department store in the mall, picking out the necessities.
I needed to get away from both Berkeley boys being in the same room as one another, as the tension could be cut with a knife. Quinn still hasn’t told Tristan we’re seeing one another, and it’s just plain awkward being anywhere near Tristan when Quinn is around, and vice versa.
When Tristan pulls me in for a hug, I can feel Quinn eyeballing us, and when Tristan isn’t looking, Quinn will pull me away for covert kisses and hugs. I don’t know how much longer I can take this sneaking around, but I’m too afraid to stop because it feels so good.
When I ask Quinn why he won’t tell Tristan, his reply is always the same: ‘It’s complicated, Red.’ And my response is always the same: ‘Then make it uncomplicated.’
“How about these?” Quinn asks, holding up a packet of fire engine red curtains, distracting my thoughts.
“Yeah, that would be great if we were running a brothel,” I say with a smile, snatching the packet and placing it back on the shelf.
Quinn laughs, smacking me on the ass.
“Don’t be a smartass. This isn’t really my forte, and I’m only tagging along for the view,” he says as I am mid-bend, reaching for a packet of white pillowslips off the bottom shelf.
I quickly snap back up, embarrassed, while he chuckles, pulling me in for a one armed hug.
“You smell so good,” he says, which comes out muffled, as his cheek is pressed against the top of my head.
“That’s kinda creepy, you know that, right?” I tease, while snuggling into his warm body.
His deep chuckle resonates in his chest, and the sound heats my insides in an instant.
Things between us have become quite intense, and we’ve made out—a lot. But our kisses are usually stolen moments when Tristan isn’t looking, or before work. I’m not complaining, but it’d be nice to just spend an evening together without having to hide who we are.
I pull away before we get no shopping done, because time with Quinn is like a time warp, and I often wonder how many hours can pass by when it only feels like minutes. I guess it helps that I am very attracted to him, I mean what female wouldn’t be? Even standing in a paint splattered t-shirt and ripped jeans, he looks gorgeous.
“You’re so checking me out,” he laughs, crossing his arms over his broad chest, cocking a smug eyebrow.
I instantly blush at being caught, and busy myself by placing big, fluffy green bath towels into my hand basket.
Quinn’s confident chuckle is not helping the situation, and I turn around, pretending to look at a stand of sheets on sale.
He slips both hands around my waist and presses his chiseled front to my back, his nipple ring pushing in between my shoulder blades.
“It’s okay, Red. I like you looking at me. Especially when you give me those sexy, bedroom eyes.”
“Bedroom eyes? What? I do not!” I screech on the verge of hiding my head in shame.
As I hear him chuckle, I know he’s only teasing me as per usual—the ass.
“Oh, isn’t this just sweet.”
Quinn turns, and I turn with him as I’m still wrapped in his arms. I feel his body stiffen as we’re faced with a sight that turns my stomach.
Brad and Stacey.
Stacey is playing the part of blonde bimbo fabulously tonight, sporting tight jeans and a hot pink tank, with her shiny hair piled high on her head. Her makeup is so thick, I’m actually surprised she can display any facial expressions under the impenetrable layers of gunk.
Brad, on the other hand, looks as if he could use a coat of her makeup, as there is no mistaking the yellowing bruises marring his face. The bruises Quinn put there. And my pulse begins to quicken at the memory of that night.
I involuntarily shrink into Quinn, who tightens his hold around my waist, protectively shielding my body with his.
“Well, as the saying goes, freaks of a feather flock together,” Stacey says, staring at me icily while pursing her lips.
That’s not how the saying goes, you dumbass, but I only shake my head, looking away.
“As interesting as this conversation is,” Quinn says over my shoulder, “we have someplace better to be.”
“Oh yeah? Where’s that? Misty’s?” Stacey replies, and I don’t get it.
Quinn, however, does. “The only whore around here is you, Stacey,” he sneers, his hands never leaving my waist.
Okay, safe to say Misty’s is a brothel.
As Quinn and Stacey go back and forth with their banter, I can’t help but notice the way Brad is eyeballing me. And not in a ‘fuck you’ kind of way. It’s more of a sordid, undressing me kind of way.
I feel sick.
I shuffle my Chucks uncomfortably, and instantly my eyes drop to the floor. Quinn picks up on my discomfort, and squeezes my waist comfortingly.
“You keep looking at her and she’ll be the last thing you see,” Quinn spits out, and I believe every single word.
“Ha! That’s rich!” snarls Stacey, taking a step towards us, cheeks blazing a blistering red.
I’m wielding the hand basket like a weapon, and if she takes a step closer, I’ll smack her in the face with it.
“She’s the one who came onto my boyfriend, and you’re the one who got all jealous and took it out on Brad. You’re the one with the reputation of being a psycho, not Brad.”
Quinn chuckles, which enrages Stacey further.
“Sweetheart, if your boyfriend is so innocent, why didn’t he run to Daddy and press charges?”
Stacey stops her rant and takes a step back, realizing the truth behind Quinn’s words. Brad grabs her arm and pulls her toward him.
“Come on, babe, they’re just lowlife losers. Don’t waste your breath.”
My eyes are still glued to the floor, but I can feel my body begin to shake in rage as soon as I hear his voice. I need to get out of here.
“This is an all time low, even for you, getting a girl to fight your battles. When you man up, come see me,” Quinn mocks and thankfully turns, never letting me go.
Only when we’re a few feet away does he release me, but he ensnares my hand in his and we begin walking.
“Don’t worry, this is only the beginning,” I hear Brad call after us, and my skin instantly pricks, not liking the determination behind his words.
We leave empty handed, but I don’t care, as I need to get as far away from the store as possible. Quinn opens the truck door for me, and I all but dive into the seat, curling in on myself. I have a premonition that there will be severe repercussions with what happened to Brad. And I have no one to blame but myself.
We drive silently, Quinn not smothering me or asking if I’m okay, because I’m not. Not paying attention to where we are going, it isn’t until Quinn parks the truck do I realize where we are.
“We’re not going back to Night Cats?” I ask, looking at his humble home through the windshield.
Quinn shakes his head and gives me a secretive smile.
“Nope, I’m giving you the night off,” he says, jumping out of the cab.
I follow suit and trail behind him as he opens the front door. We are instantly greeted by Lucky, who seems to have become the third member of the Berkeley household.
“Hey, boy,” I coo, crouching down, rubbing his head affectionately.
He looks so much healthier than when I first got him, and I know he has Quinn and Tristan wrapped around his little finger, or paw.
Quinn silently strolls into the kitchen, leaving me i
n the hallway with Lucky, and both of us follow his movements, wondering what he’s up to. He returns a second later with two beers and a doggy treat, which has Lucky turning his head toward Quinn, instantly following him as he takes the stairs, two at a time. I’m left crouching in the hallway, wondering what’s going on.
I follow behind and am filled with curiosity as to what Quinn is up to. His bedroom door is left open, and I duck my head in, trying not to think about the last time I was at his bedroom door.
Lucky is chewing happily on his treat, settled in a wicker basket near Quinn’s bed, while Quinn is slipping out of his Chucks.
I casually look around his room, and even though the only time I really had a chance to look around was when I was lying on the floor, it’s still amazing.
It oozes Quinn.
“That’s beautiful,” I say as my eyes land on a charcoal sketch, pinned to the wall above his desk.
It’s of a woman nursing an infant at her breast, her head bowed as she looks lovingly at the child. I can tell by the attention paid to detail that Quinn would have sketched this while watching from afar. It is stunning, the strokes done with precision and care. I can imagine his emerald eyes watching closely, his shadowy hair slipping over his brow as he outlined his subject onto paper.
Quinn walks over to where I’m standing and looks at the drawing, sucking his lip ring, deep in thought. We haven’t discussed his drawings in great detail, but I know it’s something he loves doing, and something he’s exceptionally gifted at.
The charcoal under his fingernails is yet another thing I find attractive about him. The thought of his fingers, the fingers that have touched me with such care, working over a piece of paper with such artistic talent adds to the conundrum that is Quinn Berkeley, because I have seen those fingers also turn cruel, but never with me.
“It’s something I did the other day. I haven’t drawn in ages, but lately, I’ve just kinda been inspired,” he confesses, still gazing at the picture.
“You’re really good. I’d love to see some of your other stuff, if you wanted to show me,” I say, in hopes he says yes.
He turns to me with a smirk. “You really wanna see more?” he asks, as if he doesn’t believe me.
I nod enthusiastically. “I’d love to.”
Quinn’s eyes soften, and he hands me the beer he has loosely hanging from his fingers.
“You might need a beer for what I’m about to show you.”
He chuckles as he walks to his desk, opening up a drawer, while I plonk down onto the end of his bed, kicking off my shoes.
He returns with a tattered sketchbook he holds with care, and sits nears me.
“This is my most recent stuff,” he says, placing the book onto my lap, and reaches for the other beer on the bedside table.
I run my hands over the smooth black cover, and picture how many times it has been Quinn’s savior. Inside will give me an insight into Quinn’s mind, and suddenly, I’m a little nervous to see what’s inside.
Flipping open the cover, the first picture I see is that of a small boy. The boy in overalls is looking up into a cloud filled sky, watching a plane, and the smile on his young face is unmistakably happy. His chubby little finger is pointed toward the plane, and in the other hand he holds an ice cream, which is close to dragging along the grass. Again, the meticulousness paid to this drawing takes my breath away, as I feel like I’m there, watching this boy through Quinn’s eyes.
“It’s amazing,” I say after staring at it for a full minute, my eyes taking in every detail.
“Thanks,” Quinn replies, sipping his beer.
I turn the page and the next picture is of Night Cats. But not of Nights Cats the way it is now, it was Night Cats when Betty was alive. It is fresh, vibrant, and full of life. I skim over everything, my eyes not wanting to miss an inch of what he’s drawn. I think I’ve just found our blueprint to how we should model Night Cats.
The next drawing is of Grandpa. I can’t help the breath that leaves me, as it looks as if Grandpa has come alive on paper. I brush my finger inches away from his cheek, but never making contact, not wanting to smudge the picture.
“Have you shown Hank?” I ask, looking up to meet Quinn’s guarded eyes.
He shakes his head and smirks. “No way. Can you image what the old man would say?”
He does have a point.
I flip through page after page, viewing pictures of people I know, places I’ve been, and it isn’t until I get to the last page, do I get to my favorite picture of all.
“Quinn,” I gasp, looking at the picture before me, my mouth agape.
He bites his lip, and looks almost nervous as I run my fingers along the picture gently.
It is a drawing of me at the diner, elbows braced behind me, leaning on the counter, looking lost. My big eyes are staring vacantly ahead, and my mouth is dipping into a small frown. The diner is filled, and the tables around me are occupied with people none the wiser, that I am bleeding before their eyes.
My knee is bent and my sneaker is tucked behind me, resting on the wall under the counter for support. My hair is slipping free from my messy ponytail, and my slender frame looks dainty and petite. I can’t believe this is how Quinn sees me.
I look… beautiful.
“It’s beautiful,” I whisper, my eyes never leaving the drawing.
“It’s because you’re beautiful,” he replies, matching my tone.
This explains the conversation we had at the gym, when he pinpointed who I am, just by watching me when I let my guard down. I am so out of my element, and I don’t know how to respond. So I do the only thing that feels natural, I kiss Quinn.
I put as much passion, as much appreciation into the kiss to show him the words I cannot speak. And he returns my passion, my appreciation, kiss for kiss.
Placing a warm palm on my cheek, he cradles my face closer to his, kissing me like I am his salvation and he’ll expire without me. I place the book beside me, not wanting to damage it, and I do something I have never done before—I take charge.
As I gently push into Quinn’s hardened chest, he watches me as he falls backwards, and I climb his body slowly. He looks up at me with wild, excited eyes as I straddle his waist, my denim skirt riding high up my legs. I don’t shy away because this feels instinctive, and I feel like a Goddess as his eyes worship every inch of me.
Leaning forward, my long hair shrouds us in a cloud of darkness as my lips meet his, and we devour one another. The kiss is filled with want and infatuation, and it’s messy, and it’s frantic, and it’s perfect. The tiny moans that slip past my lips as I kiss Quinn get louder and louder as he glides a hand up my thigh, my skin burning with his touch.
I’m rocking against him, and the harsh denim of his jeans is scratching me in just the right way, I think I might explode. I feel him harden beneath me with my movements, and I want to feel every inch of him, because I have elicited this response, and I am fucking proud.
Timidly, I walk my fingers down between us, and gently rub over the huge swell in his pants. Squeaking softly, surprised at how it feels, Quinn hisses while sucking down on his lip ring, eyes untamed. I gain a little more confidence and begin rubbing over his arousal quicker, wanting to touch him in the flesh. I bravely inch toward his belt buckle, but his hands still mine from moving any further.
I meet his eyes, confused, afraid I have done something wrong.
“Red, you’re not ready for that,” he whispers with a catch in his voice.
I can feel myself pout, but he’s right.
“Will you let me touch you?” he murmurs, eyes searching mine carefully.
Rising up, I feel like a total sex deity straddling him with wild hair and swollen lips. I nod and he smirks, while flipping me onto my back. Now that the roles are reversed and he’s looking down at me, I feel a little vulnerable, but I know he won’t hurt me.
He begins by kissing me, but softer this time. The passion is still there, but the urgency has simmered to a
slow, languid pace. I like it.
He dominates my mouth as he works his barbell over my lower lip, seeking refuge in my mouth and battling with my tongue. My body begins to tremble, and the pressure is building between my legs once again.
Quinn kisses down my throat, sucking my neck with a pressure that is pleasurable, with a hint of pain. He descends down my body, his mouth making contact with any bare piece of flesh he can find. But it’s not enough, so I push up and shyly slip my t-shirt off over my head, revealing my lacy black bra.
Quinn watches me, and as I lower myself back onto the bed, I bashfully cover my hands over my small breasts, suddenly embarrassed at my nakedness. But Quinn softly removes my hands, his eyes filled with need as he rakes his heated gaze across my chest.
My nipples instantly pebble under his examination, and his eyes follow the motion immediately. Holy shit, I am about to come apart.
He lowers his mouth, and latches onto my left breast through the silky material, pulling my nipple deliciously slow. I whimper, and as he circles his tongue over the bud, I arch into his mouth, wanting more.
His hand is rubbing lazily over my thigh, but I want it higher, so I shamelessly slide my hand over his and move his fingers, until he is brushing over my center.
Fuck.
My heart begins beating in time with the rhythm of his fingers as he starts rubbing me languorously, and I’m going to come from this sensation alone.
Quinn pulls his mouth away, eyes lidded and mouth parted, exhalations coming out in loud breaths.
“I really want to be between your legs,” he whispers, still working me over with his hands.
“You are,” I manage to choke out, my eyes meeting his.
“No… with my mouth,” he replies, pulling at his lip ring.
Just the thought of that is enough to leave me dripping wet. But I have never had someone do that to me before. And I’ve never wanted them to… until now. Does that make me a slut? I don’t think I am, but surely there’s some acceptable time frame which makes something like this non-slutty, right?
Quinn can see me mulling it over, and ceases his fingers from moving, but never removing them from between my legs.