by Aubrey Irons
“Besides, Reagan told me you could use a night out.”
I whip my head to glare at my other sister as she shakes her head side-to-side; “I didn’t say a word about that!” she whispers quickly as I frown at her.
“Yeah, Chels, she needs it,” She says louder for our sister to hear.
“See? Come on, Quinn, come have some fun.”
If there’s one thing I’ve learned about our youngest sister, it’s that she is deceivingly hard to say no to; “Are you coming to this debacle too?” I say sarcastically to Reagan.
“I’m pregnant, Quinn. No, I won’t be coming to the frat party.”
“Guys, it’s not a frat party!” Chelsea huffs over the line; “Quinn, please? I promise you’re going to have fun.”
Reagan is nodding at me with a big shit-eating grin on her face and I already know I’ve lost this battle; “Fine, but if I see one keg-stand or a single Greek letter, I’m out, got it?”
“Ok, I’m officially way too old to be here.”
Alright, it’s not like I’m the oldest person in the room or anything, it’s just that the general vibe is a far cry from the occasional one drink with coworkers or the more typical wine and Netflix that usually occupies my free Friday nights.
My sister rolls her eyes; “You are not.”
“Chelsea, I could have babysat some of these kids.”
“Well, you babysat me!” She says, grinning at me.
“Not helping, but thanks,” I grumble as she laughs and drags us into the crowd.
To her credit, the party is definitely a step above anything I remember from my own college experience. It’s at some nice off-campus house instead of a dorm-room, and we’re wearing name tags for crying out loud; name tags. Parties I went to in college involved yelling your name to someone over loud music. But at Chelsea’s graduate program soirée, they’ve got sticker name tags and light jazz. The party even has an actual bartender pouring drinks instead of the “help yourself” style kegs and punch bowls I remember from school. OK, so he's pouring crappy drinks, but hey, it’s a step in the right direction.
“You may notice a lack of keg, if you can see that far down from your tower, Quinn,” Chelsea says, smirking at me. Suddenly she arches a brow and lowers her voice; “Uh, and speaking of ‘noticing’, there’s a tall dark and handsome over there noticing you right now.” I turn to see a clean-cut, good-looking older guy with a beer in his hand quickly look away. Chelsea is wagging her eyebrows at me when I turn back, and she winks at me conspiratorially; “I’m going to go, uh, find my friends.”
“No, Chels-!”
“Try to have some fun, OK, Quinn?” She grins at me before peeling away and pushing her way through the crowd.
Great, I grumble to myself; thanks, sis. I mean, granted, the whole point of tonight was a little distraction and to clear my head of Logan, but it’s not like I came here looking for that kind of attention anywa-
“Please tell me you're not a student here.”
I turn, started by the richly English-tinted accent behind me, and immediately blush at the steely-grey eyes looking intently into my own.
“Because I'm pretty sure I can't buy you a drink or try and get your number at some point if you are.” He winks at me, and I can't help but feel a little thrill at it.
Uh, Whoa.
He’s attractive, in that sort of chemistry teacher way, and that accent is certainly hitting all the right points with me.”Uh, no, actually” I stammer awkwardly; “Definitely not a student.”
“Oh thank God,” He says with that charmingly English accent and an even more charming smile; “I suppose that means I can buy you that drink then.”
I can't help but grin back at him, feeling my cheeks burn; “I suppose it does, thanks-” I look down at the name-tag sticker on the lapel of his jacket; “Ryan.”
He chuckles and holds his hand out; “I’ve been getting ‘Professor Smalls’ all night, but Ryan sure works too. Quinn is it?” He says, peering at my own name tag as I shake his hand.
“A Professor at a student party, huh?” I smile as I raise a brow at him.
He glances quickly around with a mock seriousness; “Yeah, just don’t let the faculty find out, OK?” I raise my eyebrows before he stops and grins at me; “It’s a graduate student thing; I’m totally fine to be here.” He smiles at me; “Plus now I’ve got someone else over the age of twelve to talk to.”
We talk, and I’m listening to him, but I’m also stuck inside my own head trying very hard not to think about how this man is everything Logan isn’t. Logan Dempsey is cocky, and arrogant, and inappropriate, and vulgar. The man buying me a glass of wine and chatting me up here tonight is sweet, and kind, and charming - and not in that cocksure way Logan is. Sure, he’s a little fumbling, but at least he’s not giving me that look that Logan gives me when he flashes that grin at me.
Of course, it’s that exact cocky grin that gets me so heated around Logan; it’s that look that has me hot and wet and wanting him more than I’ve ever wanted anything before. The thought sticks with me, and I quickly take a sip of wine, nodding at whatever Ryan is saying. Is that the reason I can’t seem to cut Logan loose from my thoughts? Is the fact that he talks to me in ways no man ever has, or the fact that he’s rough and dominant with me that has me practically begging on my knees for him; sometimes quite literally? I mean, God, here I am in a place I belong making quiet, intellectual conversation with a kind, much more appropriate man like Ryan, and all I can think about is Logan. Ryan Smalls is here in his nice, quiet, proper tweed jacket with conversation about literature and current politics, but all I can think about is a shirtless Logan Dempsey with the ink of his bare skin glistening with sweat as he jabs and hooks around a circle of jeering onlookers. The man across from me is smiling at me and asking me pleasant questions about my job, but all I can imagine is Logan’s chiseled body, and that arrogant, sexy mouth opening wide to tell me exactly what he wants to do to me.
What is wrong with me?
“So then I said, ‘Hey, if we keep talking about Charlotte Bronte, and I’m gonna need some Erye’!”
I force a laugh out as Ryan doubles over at his own pun, and I’m just starting to think that maybe if I have enough wine, I can start to get Logan out of my head when the voice behind me drags me right back into reality.
“Oh hey, there you are, babe!”
I gasp and whirl at the sound of Logan Dempsey’s voice, and my jaw practically hits the floor as I see him, in the flesh, sauntering through the crowd towards me; “Hey, sorry I’m late, just got caught up at the hospital.” I’m standing there in absolute shock as he drapes an arm casually over my shoulder before kissing me on the cheek; “Hey bud,” He sticks his hand abruptly into Ryan’s face; “Dr. Jack Hoff, how’s it going?”
Ryan looks completely startled before he quickly and awkwardly shakes Logan’s hand; “Oh, uh, yes, hello.” He looks quickly between my face and Logan’s before smiling awkwardly at me; “I’m- uh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize-”
“Yeah, she gets that a lot, don’t you, honey?” Logan kisses my cheek again in this thoroughly un-Logan way before turning that shark-like grin back on Ryan; “I mean she just doesn’t look like an engaged woman, does she?”
I’m going to kill him, I think as my face turns dark red; I’m actually going to kill him.
“Well, I should- Uh, I should go find myself another drink!” Ryan smiles awkwardly at me again before he excuses himself.
“What the fuck is wrong with you!” I hiss, turning to Logan and shoving him away from me. I squint and shake my head at the sophomoric ‘Dr. Jack Hoff’ scrawled across the sticker on his chest; “Jack Hoff? Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Yeah I thought ‘Seymour Butts’ would be a little too overt.” He grins; “Hey, it scared that guy away, so I guess it worked.”
“That guy was nice, Logan; you should try ‘nice’ sometime yourself.”
He looks thoroughly amused and totally pl
eased with himself; “Oh, comon, that guy was a creep!”
He grins at me, and I narrow my eyes at him; “How the hell did you know I was here?”
He chuckles to himself; “Money buys all sorts of things, Quinn.”
I open my mouth and stare at him; “What, like tracking devices! Are you fucking following me, Logan?!”
He spreads his hands like anything I’m saying is some sort of false accusation; “Do I look like a psychopath, Quinn? No, I mean money buys all sorts of things like the pint of mint chocolate chip ice-cream I used to bribe Reagan into spilling where you were tonight.”
I make a mental note to give my sister a serious piece of my mind for selling me out for some fucking ice cream. Way to completely live up to that ‘crazy pregnant lady’ stereotype, Reagan, I grumble to myself; “Why the hell are you here?”
Logan crabs a glass of wine off a passing tray and shrugs before taking a big sip; “To save you from douchebags like that guy!”
“He’s a Professor here, actually.” I say primly.
“Quinn, he’s a teacher at a fuckin student party.”
“So? He-”
“So, that’s got predator written all over it. Ten bucks says he wanted you to wear a school- girl outfit and call him ‘Teach’ later.
I roll my eyes; “You’re disgusting.”
He grins wickedly at me; “Says the girl about to go suck ‘Teach’s’ D for an A.”
“Don’t be crude.” I say, wrinkling my face in disgust.
“Oh, you love it.”
I’m gritting my teeth and turning away from him when I realize Chelsea is standing right across the room chatting with some friends of her. I whirl back to Logan; “You need to get out of here!” I hiss.
He shakes his head; “No way, I just got here. Plus I promised some football-player guys out front that I’d take ‘em for a spin in the Maybach later.”
I give him a look; “You drove a four-hundred-thousand dollar car to a college party?” I roll my eyes; “Not a big fan of subtlety, are you?”
I gasp as his hand openly grabs my ass through my skirt, giving me a lingering and firm squeeze that has me shivering; “Nope.” He says, smirking at me.
“Logan!” I hiss, darting my eyes around the crowded room; “Chelsea’s here!”
His hand stays right where it is though, firmly cupping my butt; “Well, you should probably get your ass away from my hand then, Archer.”
I can feel my pulse start to jump as I stand there with Logan’s hand on me. On the one side, part of me is actually so ok with him touching me like that, but the other part of me is glancing wildly around the party just waiting for my sister to walk up to see Logan Dempsey at this party with his hand on my ass and put two and two together.
I start to squirm away from him, but I suddenly gasp as Logan’s other hand comes right around the front of me and cups me right over my pussy.
“Are you fucking for real?!” I hiss at him, squirming against his firm hands holding me in the front and the back right in the middle of this crowded room of strangers. There’s a horrible feeling of arousal actually start to tingle inside of me at his touch.
Thanks, body; who’s fucking side are you on, anyways?
“Quinn, jeez, quit touching me already,” He grins at me, keeping his face a mask of neutral concern as his fingers begin to stroke me through my skirt and my panties, over the crack of my ass and over the front of my sex, making me roll my hips almost unconsciously against him.
“Seriously,” I hiss; “Stop it!”
I’m biting my lip, trying not to actually fucking moan in this crowd of strangers, when I look up and just about jump out of my skin. Chelsea is right in the other room, her back to me, but still only about twenty-five feet away.
“Ok, enough, Logan!”
I can see her saying goodbye to a friend, and I know she’s going to turn and look for me any second now and see me tangled up in the arms - and fingers - of Logan.
But he just shrugs innocently like the cocky prick that he is; “Quinn, I don’t know what you’re-”
“Oh my God, fuck this.” I grab his hands and shove them away from me before I’m pushing my way through the crowd away from him, turning only once to see his eyes glare at me as I slip away. I manage to come up to Chelsea at a different angle, mumbling out something about having an early work meeting before I give her a quick hug and skip out of the party as fast as I can.
It’s not until I’m in a cab that I feel like I’ve been holding my breath, and finally exhale in a sort of pent-up release. And I’m mad at myself, but I can’t actually pinpoint why. Is because I let Logan rile me up and tease me like that?
Or is it that more than anything, I wanted to stay and see where that went, and I’m mad at myself for chickening out and running away like I always do.
But the silence of the back of the cab has no answers, and the neon city roaring past the windows only leaves traces across my eyes.
21
Quinn
I’ve barely gotten home when I hear the rough pounding on my front door.
Ignore it; just ignore-
The pounding comes again; as strong, insistent and un-ignorable as the man I know it belongs to.
When he raps on the door a third time, I finally stomp across the loft and yank it open; “Logan, what the fuck do you-”
I moan as the my words are muffled into his lips as he grabs me roughly and kisses me, and I’m suddenly lost. I lean into him before I can stop myself, kissing him back before suddenly reason hits me like a shock of ice water. I shove him back and pull away, gasping as I bring a hand up to run my fingers over my lips, as if feeling for the evidence of our heat.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I yell at him, my eyes flashing fire as I shake my head; “You can’t just insert yourself into my life you know! You can’t just waltz in here and-”
“I’ll insert myself wherever I damn well choose.” He growls, before he silences me with another heavy kiss, his hands holding me tightly against him as he slips his tongue between my lips.
It’s even harder than the first time, but I somehow find the strength to push him back again, glaring at him as I shake my head; “No! You fucking animal, you don’t get to just show up whenever you want and do whatever you want with me!”
His jaw tightens as he glares at me, but this time he stays where he is. Of course he’s still barely six inches away from me, and the sheer heat of his proximity is already weakening me even though I’m trying to keep my face hard and my resolve strong. I will not be Logan Dempsey’s little plaything whenever he wants.
His eyes narrow before he shakes his head and turns away.
“Look,” I jab my finger at his back; “I didn’t ask for this whole thing between us in the first-”
He whirls back to me in a flash; “And you think I fucking did?! You think I like the guilt of walking around every fucking day knowing how fucked up what keeps happening between us is?” He whirls again, pacing across my floor as he shakes his head. And there’s something disarming about seeing that conflict on his face; something about the bareness of his words that has me slowing my breath and cooling my temper. I let the pent up breath inside out in a thin stream through my lips as I take a step towards him, trying to soften my face.
He turns quickly, his face dark as he slowly shakes his head at me; “Quinn, stop.”
“Stop what?”
He exhales and looks down; “Just- that. You can’t look at me like that.”
I wrinkle my brow at him; “Like what, exactly?”
“Like, that!” The sharpness in his words takes me by surprise, and my breath catches; “Every fucking time, Quinn, you look at me like that and I kiss you, and it has to stop.”
I can feel the temper rising up inside of me again; “Oh fuck you, asshole; I’m hardly twisting your damn arm here!”
“That’s not what I mean, dammit!” He growls, taking a step towards me; “I mean me kissing you has to
stop,” He says, his voice deep and even; “Every fucking time this happens, I make the first move, and it’s fucking killing me inside because I know I shouldn’t be, and I know you're the last girl on the fucking planet I should be kissing or thinking about in that way.”
I can feel my heart racing in my ears as I stare into those deep, dark eyes; “So-”
“So that’s it, Quinn. I’m done kissing you.” He looks into my eyes, and I know what he means, and I want to so badly but I just don't know how; I just can’t make myself take that one step it would take.
“Yeah,” He says after five full, hanging seconds, a smirk on his face; “Yeah that’s what I thought.” He shakes his head and the voice inside my own is screaming at me. I know I should listen that voice that’s telling me to shut my damn mouth and just let him leave. But I silence that it; pushing that voice aside and burying it deep, and before I know it I’m grabbing Logan’s hand as he turns. Every fiber of my being is telling me not to, and I don’t even know what I’m doing here, but I just go for it.
I take that one step forward, and I kiss him.
Just like he said; I kiss him, and it’s like touching a match to a bomb.
He grabs me tight against his body, and I melt into him as he growls into my kiss. He’s bruising my lips and sending jolts of pain and pleasure through my whole body as his strong hands wrap around me. We’re tumbling back towards the kitchen area, and he’s grinding into my hips and pressing my ass back against the island counter as his lips crash against mine. I’m gasping as his hand slips into my hair, gripping it tightly and pulling it back sharply as his mouth drops to my neck, my collarbone, and then further down to the tops of my breasts. Hands tear at the front of my blouse, actually ripping the buttons off in his hunger to strip me.
He moves his mouth back to my lips, and I’m leaning towards him before he pulls back with a wicked glint in his eyes; “So, are you going to do what I fucking tell you to do now?”
I’m briefly shocked at the roughness and the power in his words before I realize I’m even more shocked at how turned on they have me. I’ve never been spoken to like this, and the fact that he’s so dominant has a fever heat spreading quickly between my legs.