by Maisey Yates
Lark felt like she was going to rattle apart. Her teeth were chattering, and it had nothing to do with the ice cream she’d been clinging to.
She was scared. She was excited. The whole world was dropping away beneath her feet, piece by piece, and she had no idea what she would stand on when it all dissolved.
Tonight, she could cling to Quinn. And later she would have to figure out a way to stand on her own, but for tonight . . . for tonight she could have him. She could live.
It was Cade who had told her she had to get out there and experience life. But he’d been all talk. He hadn’t really meant it. He’d been shielding her. Lying to her. And maybe his intentions had been good, but in the end it just showed how little they thought of her ability to cope.
And it showed that she was living for things that didn’t really exist. Being good to meet the ideal of a family that wasn’t real. A father who hadn’t been who she’d thought. A life that wasn’t what she’d thought.
But tonight . . . tonight, it wouldn’t matter. Because tonight, nothing but what she wanted mattered. And Quinn was what she wanted. Even if she was scared as hell.
He was a lot of man, with a lot more experience than her. Although, that was probably a plus. She was sure he knew all the right things to do. Well, she knew for a fact he did, because she’d already been on the receiving end of his skill. If he could make her feel as good as he had that night in his truck, just think how good he could make her feel with actual sex.
Sex was supposed to be the best thing since sliced bread, as evidenced by the fact that people were always acting dumb to get it, and even destroying marriages to have it when they really craved it. People would destroy a lot in the name of sexual satisfaction. And it apparently ran in her family, so her acting a little idiotic to get laid really wasn’t all that surprising.
Quinn extended his hand, touched her cheek. It was a gesture that had almost become familiar. But even though it had an air of familiarity to it, it sent a shiver of excitement straight down to her stomach.
“Ready to go to bed, baby?” he asked, his eyes dark, almost black, glittering in the light from the kitchen.
“Yes,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.
“You’re sure?”
She nodded. “I’m sure. I made the decision. For me. It’s what I want.” She crossed her arms beneath her breasts. “And you don’t have the right to question me.”
“I like it when you talk like that.”
“Do you?”
“Yep. That’s fine when we’re out here. But when we get into the bedroom, I’m in charge.”
Excitement pulsed through her, increasing her heart rate, making her breasts ache, her nipples tightening. The idea of taking orders—naked orders—from Quinn was a lot more thrilling than she ever would have imagined.
She could only nod. Her throat was too tight for her to get a word through. And her heart was pounding so hard in her head that everything sounded fuzzy. Distant.
She tried to breathe deep and easy, slow and steady, to keep from hyperventilating—or worse, from forgetting to breathe altogether.
“This way,” he said, tilting his head to the side, toward the staircase. He didn’t touch her. He just turned and started up the stairs. She wondered why.
Maybe this was his way of being sure. Being certain he wasn’t leading her. Because without him grabbing her hand, she had to be the one to propel herself forward. Had to make the journey entirely on her own steam.
He sure made a girl have to be actually proactive, rather than just saying she wanted to be, only to be picked up by big strong arms that confirmed her decision.
She was sort of hoping for the big strong arms. But then, she imagined this was really what she needed.
For a second, her feet seemed rooted to the spot, but then they started moving, started moving her toward Quinn, toward Quinn’s bedroom.
She followed him down the long hall to a large, closed door. It was dark wood, natural, with imperfections and dents. Heavy looking. She had no idea why she was musing about the door, except it seemed a lot safe than musing about what was behind the door. Or musing about the man who was standing at her side, his hand on the knob, ready to open said door.
He pushed it open, revealing a big bed. There was other stuff too, but she was mainly focused on the bed. It had a big wooden frame, but much more importantly, a huge mattress covered in a deep brown, suede-looking comforter, with a massive stack of pillows partially concealing the headboard.
“Nice. Nice stuff . . .”
He turned then and tugged her into his arms, pulling her hard against his chest. Then he was still, studying her face, making no further movements. It was simply a paused motion, not a rest, like he was a big cat, ready to make a move, to pounce at any moment.
Then he lifted his hand, slowly, tracing the line of her lip with with his thumb, from the center to the edge and back in again, all the way to the other corner of her mouth. Something about that soft touch over her lip, the way it echoed through her body, made her want to melt into him.
So she did, because she couldn’t resist anymore. Not for a second.
She pressed her face against his chest and inhaled his scent. Like hay, dust and sweat. A familiar combination of smells to her; but somehow, on Quinn’s skin, it seemed different. New. Masculine and enticing. On other guys, she would have called it horse stink, but not on this one.
She inhaled again. No. On him it was sweet and musky. But she wasn’t close enough to him. She didn’t want his shirt between them. She didn’t want her shirt between them. Suddenly, the nerves were fizzling out, overcome by the crackle of attraction as it overwhelmed them, replaced them.
She lifted her chin and pressed a kiss to the hollow of his throat, nuzzling him with her nose, before moving a little lower, kissing him again, where the collar of his shirt gapped, just above the first button.
Then she slowly lifted her hands and worked the button through the hole in the faded red fabric. She kissed him again, where she’d just revealed more of his skin. Then she went to the next button and repeated the action. And again. And again.
Until her lips were hovering just above his belt buckle. Until she was on her knees in front of him, painfully aware of the bulge in his jeans, just in front of her. Aware of the fact that she was in the position to return the favor of what he’d done for her in his truck.
She’d actually fantasized about doing that before. Because in her mind it had seemed like a very powerful thing. To have a man at your mercy like that. To be the one to make him lose his mind, just with your mouth, with your skill.
But now that she was there, she realized she had no skills. But it didn’t stop her from wanting him. From wanting to try it.
And she owed him.
She kissed his stomach, his belt buckle cold against her chin, his skin hot beneath her lips. His muscles jumped at the contact, his breath a sharp hiss.
Then the pulled the buckle from hole in the leather and worked the belt through the other side, leaving it hanging open while she pulled at the snap on his jeans, then pulled the zipper down slowly.
He had on a dark pair of underwear, stretched tight over the ridge of his erection. She took a breath and moved her hand over his length, feeling the weight and thickness of him. Even with a layer of fabric over his skin, he was hot.
She looked up and her eyes met his. He was watching her, the lines in his face more pronounced than usual, his jaw clenched tight.
“Do you like this?” she asked.
He was either angry at her or he was trying to hang on to his control. She really couldn’t tell which, though she assumed, and hoped, it was the second one.
“I can’t talk right now,” he said through clenched teeth. “I’m trying to keep the top of my head from blowing off.”
“I’m assuming that’s go
od.”
“If you stop I’m gonna have to run outside and throw myself in a water trough”
“Okay then,” she said. She bit her lip and pulled the waistband of his underwear out, doing her best to make sure she didn’t hang it up on any of his body parts, and down. She just had to make sure she liked it. She’d never seen a naked man in person.
And then there he was. All of him. Thick and much larger than she’d anticipated. And much, much more enticing than she could have possibly imagined.
She almost wept with relief. It wasn’t strange, or off-putting, or unattractive. Quite the contrary. He was perfection. Sexy, large, perfection.
She curled her fingers around him, struck by how soft his skin was. By hard he was. How hot. This was what she’d been missing during their phone call. She squeezed him gently, marveling at how her touch made him respond. How every muscle, from his abs to his pecs, shifted as she gave his shaft attention.
This part of it, of having a man, this man, at her mercy, was just like she’d fantasized about. And it made her wonder about, crave, the rest of her fantasy. She leaned in and flicked her tongue over the head of his erection. A quick taste. A test.
She held him tight while she angled her head forward, taking him as deeply into her mouth as she could.
His hands came up to her head, fingers sifting deep in her hair, tugging hard, holding her to him. He curled his fingers tighter, the motion sending a shock of pain through her, but she didn’t mind. This was her fantasy. He was losing it. Because of her.
She lifted her head and slide her tongue down his length, until the fabric of his jeans impeded her progress.
“These are in the way,” he said, his voice a growl. He shrugged his shirt off, then pushed his pants to the floor.
And finally, he was the one who was naked, while she was fully clothed.
Good Lord. She couldn’t have imagined him any more beautifully and wonderfully made than he was. Sculpted body, a male member that was, frankly, one of the most impressive she’d seen, even with sketchy Internet searches in her past. Tan skin, the perfect amount of body hair. And the tattoo, the horse moving with each shift of his arm muscle, the physical representation of Quinn’s wildness. His rage.
He moved to the bed, sat on the edge of it, his dark eyes trained on her. “Take your clothes off.”
“Now?”
He looked down, then back up. “Seems appropriate to dis-attire for the occasion, don’t you think?”
“Yeah.” She’d been basically naked in front of him before. So there was no reason to be nervous now. None at all.
She gripped the hem of her shirt and tugged it up over her head, knowing her hair would look insane after she did it. She threw her top on the ground and then quickly dispensed with her pants, leaving her bra and underwear on.
“Come here,” Quinn said.
She obeyed. Because she could do that at least. She felt hideously out of her element, but if he gave orders, she could follow them.
He put his hand on her stomach and curved his other arm around her back, his palm over her butt. He pulled her gently to him, his eyes fixed on her breasts. “You’re so beautiful,” he said, the hand that had been resting on her stomach drifting upward, cupping her breast, still covered by her bra. “I’m not even going to pretend to try and look at your face right now. Not because your face isn’t beautiful; it is. But because I spend so many hours of the day trying not to think about your breasts. Trying to keep my eyes on your eyes and not let them drift down. So right now, I’m going to indulge myself. I hope you aren’t offended.”
She shook her head.
“Good,” he said. He leaned in and kissed her skin where it met her bra cup, sliding his tongue along the line between flesh and fabric. “Take it off,” he said, his tone harsh.
She complied, her fingers unsteady as she worked the clasp and shrugged it off, letting it fall to the floor.
A low growl rumbled in his chest as he looked at her. “I’ve been dreaming about you like this. Since that night. Dreaming about seeing you in the light. You keep me up at night.”
“Me?” she asked, the word choked.
“Yes. You. You keep me awake, and hard. You make it impossible to sleep. Do you know what I’ve had to do to get any rest?”
“What?” she asked.
“Since you weren’t here, I had to fantasize about you.”
“You mean you . . . thought about me and . . . and . . .”
“Touched myself?”
Her face got hot. “Yes.”
“I did.”
“And you really thought about me? Because . . . because you know you could have thought about anyone. You could have put Gisele Bündchen in there if you wanted to.”
“I didn’t want to. I only wanted you.”
“That’s . . . especially flattering, since we’re talking fantasy, and that’s an endless pool.”
“Who have you been fantasizing about, Lark?”
“Bradley Cooper.”
He leaned in and bit her. Lightly, just a scrape of his teeth over her collarbone, but the warning was clear. “Lark,” he said, “tell the truth.”
“Richard Armitage.”
“Say it was me.”
“There’s this guy that works at the general store . . .”
“Say it was me, Lark Mitchell. Tell me I’m the only man you were thinking about. Tell me I’m all you’ve thought about since you met me.”
“That insecure?” she asked, her voice harsh.
“No, but I’ll feel like an ass. Because you’re sure as hell the only woman I’ve thought about. From the moment I met you.”
“It was you, Quinn.”
“Good girl.” He leaned forward again, this time rewarding her with the slow, leisurely slide of his tongue over her nipple. “Tell me you want me.” His lips brushed against the tightened bud, promised more pleasure.
But only if she obeyed.
“I want you,” she said.
He sucked her deep into his mouth, pleasure hitting her deep and hard, like an arrow.
“Now the rest,” he said, kissing the hollow between her breasts. “Take it all off.”
She gripped the sides of her panties while he kept doing wicked things with his mouth, and dragged them down her legs, kicking them to the side.
He put one hand between her thighs, his middle finger moving through her slick folds, then pushing deep inside her, before sliding out, working the slickness from inside of her over her clit.
A short cry escaped her lips, and she braced herself on his shoulder while his lips teased her breasts and he continued toying with her with his hand, adding a second finger to the first, the slight stinging sensation that accompanied the pleasure keeping her from going over the edge completely.
He raised his head and wrapped his arm around her neck, tugging her down and kissing her, deep and desperate. “Later,” he said, breathing hard. “Later we’ll spend hours at this. But right now? Now I just need you. Need to come with you. Need to come in you.”
“Oh . . . I . . .”
“Condoms,” he said, shifting and leaning toward his nightstand, opening the drawer and producing a black box. It was unopened, which she found both unsurprising, considering what he’d said to her about not wanting other women, and immensely comforting.
He tore at the packaging and producing a little plastic packet, which he separated from a strip and handed to her. Oh. Right. She was supposed to know what to do with this. Because she wasn’t supposed to be all virginal and stuff.
She turned it in her hands and gripped the perforated tab, opening it easily enough and pulling the condom out of the package. She turned the condom over, making sure she had the right end up, then scooted toward Quinn, ignoring the tightness in her stomach, a ball of fear that had rolled in and steamrolle
d some of her desire.
She gripped his shaft and put the condom over the head of his penis, rolling it down over his length to the base, in a smoother motion than she’d imagined she might manage.
And Quinn was kissing her again, and the ball deflated a bit, warmth and languor taking its place. When he kissed her, things seemed so easy. And it made her want him so much.
He pushed her back onto the bed, onto all those plush pillows, every inch of his hot, hard-muscled body pressed against hers. She wrapped her arms around his neck, curled one leg over the back of his calf and held him to her, kissing him until she was dizzy from lack of oxygen.
His hands skimmed over her curves, over all of her exposed skin, not ignoring any part of her. He made her feel special. Made her feel like every bit of her was something to be savored, treasured.
And, stupidly, she felt tears prick her eyes. Emotion, intense and huge, swelled in her chest, crowding out her heart, making it feel like it was being squeezed tight.
He moved his hand to her butt and shifted his weight so that he was settled between her thighs, the blunt head of his arousal pressing against the entrance to her body.
And suddenly, all of the arousal scurried away and hid, leaving nothing more than a naked ball of panic. She tensed as he pushed into her, searing pain assaulting her, so much worse, so much more than she’d imagined.
“Owowowoshitshitshitow.” She curled her fingernails into his shoulders and held on tight, tensing every muscle in her body.
Quinn froze. The look on his face would have been funny if she weren’t dealing with a feeling of pain, a slug of emotion and a strong sense of being invaded.
“Lark . . .”