by Monica James
“Could be… fun,” I reply on a breath, as his closeness is making me feel weak at the knees.
“Might see you there then,” he replies, his lips still fanning over my cheek, the hoop in his lip adding to the velvety sensation.
But then he’s gone, casually placing the rest of our things into the shopping cart, oblivious to the fact he just sent my pulse racing a million miles per hour.
Shaking my head and struggling to clear it, I notice a few girls eyeballing me, but I ignore them as I catch up to Quinn and we make our way to the truck silently. As we begin placing our bags into the back, I look down at the bumper, cringing.
“We gotta ditch these plates,” I say with repulsion when my eyes pass over the disgusting words.
Quinn nods, and a dimpled smirk suddenly makes a sinful appearance. “You’re right. They are definitely too distinguishable. And besides, I’m an ass man.”
I know he’s joking, but I still can’t help my blush, which is ridiculous. Quinn has seen me naked, well, my bottom half, but it was dim, and it was sadly only once.
Quinn has given me two amazing orgasms, but I’m greedy and I want more. But how do I tell him that? I can’t, as he’ll think I’m some sex fiend, or slut, which I’m neither. It’s just with Quinn, I’m consumed by him, and what he does to my body is something I’ve never experienced before. And now, I’m addicted.
“I wish I was in your head right now.”
I spin around quickly, totally unaware I’m standing vacantly, one lone shopping bag hanging limply by my side.
“Huh?” I ask, staring at Quinn’s mouth, which is tugging on his hoop, which doesn’t help my train of thought.
“Never mind,” he says, chuckling, reaching for the shopping bag I’m still holding and placing it alongside the others.
“Do you want to find a place to crash?” he asks, jumping into the truck while I follow.
“Sure. Let’s find someplace where we can park the car so it’s out of sight.”
“Good thinking, Red. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’d done this before,” he says, reversing the truck.
I give him a small smile because sadly, it’s true.
***
After finding a motel with a parking lot round back, Quinn checks us in, while I wait outside, not able to set a foot inside. I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to enter a motel office ever again without becoming a drooling basket case.
There are just too many memories, and with those memories comes my rolling wave of regret, something that will eat at me for eternity.
“All set,” Quinn says, snapping me out of my slump. He jingles the keys in my face.
I nod, trying to fake a smile, but Quinn sees right through my bullshit.
“You okay?” he softly asks, wrapping an arm around my waist and drawing me into his side.
“Yeah, I will be,” I reply honestly, giving him a small smile. “I just miss him, ya know?”
Quinn nods, kissing my temple softly. “I do too,” he sighs, and we’re still for a few moments, both lost in Hank memories.
“C’mon,” he says, latching onto my hand. “I know exactly what you need.”
Lucky follows behind us, wagging his tail. I’m glad he’s able to stay inside with us.
As I look at the rundown motel, I can’t help but compare it to Night Cats. Before all this shit happened, Quinn, Tristan, Tabitha, and I were working day and night to restore Night Cats, hoping to transform it into the immaculate condition it once was. And it was getting there. Hank was getting busier and busier, and day by day, he was digging his way out of his financial troubles. Now, I can’t help but wonder what’s happened to it.
My eyes well with tears but I sniff them away as Quinn reaches our room, opening the door with the rusty key. He reaches behind the door and places the DO NOT DISTURB sign onto the handle before ushering me inside.
He drops our bags onto the dirty red carpet, kicking off his boots.
“I’ll be right back,” he announces before heading into the bathroom, mysteriously shutting the door behind him.
I look down at Lucky for answers. But he only looks up at me, just as baffled as I.
I switch on the tiny TV for some background noise, as I’m extremely tempted to press my ear against the bathroom door. Instead, I go through my shopping bags, looking at the new garments I purchased. As my fingers pass over the inky blue silk of my bra, my heart races at the thought of Quinn seeing me in it.
Stop being an idiot, I berate myself, you have more important things to deal with than underwear.
Fifteen minutes later Quinn is still in the bathroom, and I wonder what he’s doing. Judging by the size of this room, I can’t imagine the bathroom being any bigger than a shoebox.
It remains unspoken between Quinn and me that we’re to stay at derelict hotels, as I’m unable to justify unnecessary spending, especially when we crash for a few hours at a time, and are out before the sun rises.
I slump onto the end of the bed, toeing off my Chucks, and sit cross-legged, facing the bathroom, waiting for Quinn to emerge. I am near biting my nails to the quick when Quinn finally surfaces, the sleeves of his green plaid shirt rolled up to his elbows.
“C’mon,” he says, poking his head round the bathroom door, and then disappears once again.
I hesitate for a second, wondering what I’m about to walk into. But I trust him, so I know it’ll only be good.
I pad over to the bathroom, which is only a few feet away, and as I step inside, my socks chilling on the cool tiles, my mouth drops open. I see that the small, but comfy pink bathtub is overflowing with bubbles, some floating over the tub. There is a single candle, which I’m pretty certain is a citronella candle, burning brightly on the cracked basin, but it does the job.
“Quinn,” I gasp, looking at him quickly. “What’s all this?”
He shrugs, scratching his scruffy jaw as he leans awkwardly against the white wall. “I thought you could do with a bath.”
Looking at the bath and then back to Quinn, I slowly walk to the tub and sit on the edge, skimming the tips of my fingers through the boiling water.
“Are you saying I stink?” I joke, giving him a small smile.
He returns my smile, and the only sound permeating the air is the water swishing back and forth through my fingers.
“You know you smell unbelievable,” he replies after a minute of silence.
I don’t say anything because I’m speechless, and Quinn mistakes my silence for something else.
“I just thought baths relax chicks and… shit. It was a dumb idea,” he says, reaching forward quickly, attempting to pull out the plug.
“No!” I yell, latching onto his arm to stop him. “This is amazing. I’m sorry if I sounded ungrateful. What I should have said was thank you. This is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me,” I confess, looking up at him, and I do something which feels natural.
I yank on his collar and smash his lips to mine, kissing him passionately. As I deepen the kiss, because his mouth feels too amazing not to, I grip onto the edge of the bathtub, afraid of slipping off. But Quinn supports my nape softly, his large palm angling my head to give him better access to my lips. And we kiss this way until I am breathless.
When he pulls away softly, his eyes are almost black as he teases, “I’d offer to wash your back, but I don’t think that’s a good idea.” He smirks, a dimple hugging his handsome face.
“I won’t be long,” I whisper, trying to catch my breath after making out with him so fervently.
“Take as long as you like. I’m not going anywhere,” he replies, kissing my lips gently before he closes the door behind him.
Looking at the bath and smiling like the Cheshire Cat, I eagerly strip off and lower myself into the steaming water, it feeling like heaven. I reach for a beige towel on the basin and roll it up, using it as a pillow behind my head.
The water smells like sandalwood, and instantly I submerge under, falling
into oblivion.
***
I awake, feeling like a floppy doll. I don’t want to rouse, but I know I’m not alone.
“Hey,” I croak, slowly opening my eyes, adjusting to the soft lighting.
Quinn is sitting on the floor, his broad back flush up against the wall, and his bare feet are pressed up against the bathtub with a sketchpad resting in his lap.
“Hey,” he replies, his fingers working across the piece of paper, sketching madly.
With his head bowed, his silky hair is shrouding his eyes, but I can see them move over the paper in deep concentration. His mouth is pressed into a thin line, and every so often, he nibbles on his hoop, which drives me insane.
“Whatcha doing?” I ask, making sure I stay submerged, as the bubbles are thankfully covering my nakedness.
“Sketching,” he plainly replies, his fingers dancing over the paper.
“Sketching what?” I ask, craning my neck in attempts to see what he is drawing.
“You,” he replies, his head finally lifting to meet my wide eyes.
“Oh,” I say on a breath, suddenly dipping further into the water.
“Yeah. I hope that doesn’t creep you out,” he says, sitting up. He places his pencil down. “I came in here to make sure you hadn’t drowned.” He smiles. “You’d fallen asleep looking like… well, a Siren,” he confesses, and I can tell he’s a little embarrassed.
“A Siren? Didn’t they lure sailors to their deaths?” I ask, feeling a little insulted.
Quinn smiles, brushing back his hair. “Yes. But those sailors happily went to their watery graves, having heard and seen the beautiful water Goddesses. You see, they looked innocent and sounded angelic, but underneath all that beauty, lay a powerful, misunderstood woman, kinda like you. And if I was to die… I would be just like those sailors,” he whispers, his mind in a faraway place.
I gasp and my heart begins pounding against my ribcage powerfully. What is he talking about? Would he happily die because he has seen… me?
“Do you believe in life after death?” I softly ask, not wanting to analyze his comment because it’s just too much.
Quinn shrugs, lowering his eyes. “I’d like to think there’s more to life than this,” he says, his hands spread out wide.
“Me too,” I confess softly.
There has to be more. For Hank’s sake—there just has to be.
“Can I see?” I ask, straining my neck to see his handiwork, hoping to break the sudden silence.
“It’s not done,” he replies, holding the pad to his chest with a smile.
I pout, slumping back down. “How will you finish it off? Don’t you need me to pose or something?” I say shyly, as there is no way I would be able to sit still, knowing Quinn’s eyes are raking over every inch of my body.
Quinn chuckles as he stands up. “It’s all up here,” he smirks, tapping his temple. “Trust me, it’s a sight I won’t forget any time soon,” he adds as his eyes drop to my concealed body.
My body heats under his piercing gaze, and I shift my legs nervously. After a moment of silence, he clears his throat.
“I’ll give you some privacy while you change. I grabbed your stuff, but I didn’t know what you wanted to wear, so I brought everything in,” he says, pointing to my backpack and three shopping bags which sit near the door.
“Thank you, Quinn,” I smile, touched by his kindness.
He gives me one final heated look, and only when he closes the door behind him, do I begin to breathe again.
Chapter 9
Slippery Nipple
Quinn is always hungry.
Looking at his burly frame and trying not to drool, I guess he needs to fuel all that muscle.
I’m stuffed after our massive Southern dinner, which was amazing. But Quinn is looking for something else to munch on as we’re walking the streets, in no real hurry.
The night is chilly, so I am bundled up in my jeans, boots, and a fleecy sweater. I’m so thankful we stopped to get some heavier clothes; otherwise, I would be freezing my butt off right about now.
“Hey, there’s that bar the grabby clerk was talking about,” I say, looking up at the sign ahead, which flashes in fluoro green.
Quinn chuckles. “Grabby clerk?” he questions, raising his brow.
I nod, and my newly conditioned hair bounces with the momentum.
“Oh please, don’t play dumb. You saw her falling all over herself to get your attention,” I say huffily, attempting to keep the annoyance out of my voice.
Quinn laughs confidently. “I saw nothing of the sort. You’re just seeing things.”
“Oh yeah. I just love seeing other girls drop their panties the moment you enter a room,” I scoff, but shut my mouth, quickly realizing what I just said.
Quinn, however, latches onto my wrist as I blindly walk ahead, desperate to escape this awkward conversation. As I spin around to face him, he slips his hands under my tight tank and encircles my waist.
I instantly shiver with the skin to skin contact as he begins brushing his thumbs over my hip bones. “I don’t care what other girls do,” he says, leaning forward, nuzzling my neck.
“Why?” I manage to reply without choking, as his hands and lips are caressing me softly.
“Because it’s only you and your panties I’m interested in,” he answers, kissing my pounding pulse. “So, any time you want to drop them… feel free.” He sucks on my neck with a long, wet pull.
I whimper, not caring that an elderly couple just walked past us, walking their Pomeranian. Leaning my head back to offer him better access to my neck, I almost forget to breathe when he bites just under my chin. But then… he’s gone.
Jerk.
Taking a moment to compose myself, I try to appear unaffected as I toss my hair over my shoulder and stroll past Quinn, walking up the three steps to Captain Frank’s. He follows closely behind, and I can hear him chuckling, relishing in the fact he’s made me all hot under the collar.
So, he wants to play dirty? So can I.
Quinn offers to pay for the door charge, but I wave him off and pay my eight dollars. I confidently march in while he lags behind, attempting to keep up with me as he puts the change into his back pocket. But I’m on a mission.
Pushing through the doors, a hundred sets of eyes fall onto me and I smile, as this is going to be a lot easier than I thought. I slip off my sweater, as I only have a black tank on underneath, and the eyes of every male in the room follow the movement.
Back in L.A., I had to learn how to flirt my way out of some sticky situations, and I got pretty good at it. Men usually only think with one head, and it’s not the one on their shoulders.
This time is no exception.
“Put your sweater back on,” Quinn whispers into my ear, protectively wrapping an arm around my shoulders.
But I shrug him off and saunter toward the bar. “Put your sweater back on,” I throw back at him over my shoulder with a grin, taking a seat at the bar.
The venue is a quaint little spot with a simple layout. The bar is to the right, and the toilets are behind the stage, which sits to the back of the room with a dance floor close by. There are red leather loveseats scattered around at random, and a few tables and barstools are placed around the dance floor. The red decor, contrasted with the black walls, kind of reminds me of a brothel. The leery guy next to me, who just looked down my top, just adds to the brothel vibe.
“Can I get you a drink?” he murmurs, leaning in so close I almost smash foreheads with him.
This guy is about twenty years older than me, and by the bags under his eyes, I’d say he’s had a rough night.
Just as I’m about to tell him to save his money and buy himself some breath mints, Quinn fills in the tiny space between us, his huge frame dwarfing my tiny one.
“She doesn’t want a drink. Now move,” he says with confidence, gesturing with his head for the guy to give up his seat.
The guy stands quickly, as Quinn has made it
crystal clear he can either leave voluntarily, or Quinn will remove him. I’m sure there will be nothing voluntary if that happens.
“You’ve proven your point,” Quinn says, straddling the seat near me, while I flag down the male bartender with a killer mohawk.
“What point?” I ask sweetly, batting my eyelashes at him.
The bartender, who is an attractive looking guy with a blue mohawk and a face full of piercings, looks my way, flashing me a dazzling smile. “What can I get ya, pretty lady?” he asks with a long drawl.
The annoyance radiating off Quinn is almost suffocating, and I can’t help but chuckle. “I’ll have a—” I rear up to look over his huge mohawk at the drink menu board. “Slippery Nipple.” I smirk, holding back my laugh when I hear Quinn huff near me.
“No, she’ll have a Coke,” Quinn says, cutting me off quickly.
The bartender looks from me to Quinn, and then back to me with a sizzling smile.
“Slippery Nipple, thanks,” I say, ignoring Quinn, and the bartender gives me a wink before turning around to make my drink.
“Red, I’m warning you,” he says into my ear with caution.
“Warning me? What exactly are you warning me about?” I reply, brushing my hair over one shoulder.
He edges closer to me and I take a deep breath, as his close proximity has me salivating. “You know what you’re doing.”
“And what would that be?” I ask, breathlessly.
“Driving me crazy,” he confesses, nipping my earlobe sharply.
I jolt at the sensation and the bartender returns, sliding my drink toward me.
“That’ll be ten dollars, please,” Mohawk says, watching Quinn and I curiously.
As I reach for my money, Quinn smacks a twenty on the bar.
“Here’s a tip,” Quinn spits, and the bartender reaches for it happily.
But Quinn slaps his hand over the bill. “You get one of the other bartenders to serve her from now on,” and he removes his hand.
Mohawk nods uneasily, realizing Quinn’s ‘tip’ was not in the form of money, and he scampers off, serving a patron at the other end of the bar.