by Kane, Jessa
With a growl, Desmond reaches into the open V of his pants and withdraws his erection—and I can do nothing but stare, my jaw in the vicinity of my lap. Honestly, it could pass for a forearm if it wasn’t so beautifully curved. “Oh my God,” I whisper, not sure if I’m speaking in my head or out loud. “It’s as big as the rest of you.”
Desmond’s chuckle sounds pained. “You’re making it that way, sweetheart.” He grips his girth so tightly, his knuckles bleed of color. “Goddamn, you’re gorgeous, sitting there with your legs spread, those innocent panties stretched over your little fuck hole. Christ.”
His coarse words send a ripple of excitement through me. “You sound like you’re in pain,” I whisper, inching my knees a touch wider.
“You have no idea,” he pushes through clenched teeth. “Quinn, I have to touch you. Just a little, sweetheart. I won’t fuck you yet, but I gotta take this edge off.”
It might be crazy to trust Desmond so much, so soon, but I don’t question the impulse. I simply nod—and a split second later, I find myself flattened on the bed. Desmond’s big body presses down on mine, his hand between us, sliding his arousal upward through the thigh opening of my panties. My back arches on a moan when his shaft grinds down on my mound and he starts to pump his hips, snarling into my neck. He’s…humping me. Furiously. His hot breath creates condensation on my neck and shoulder, one of his hands holding my hips steady, the other rifling through my hair.
I’m a prisoner.
I couldn’t escape if I tried.
I’m his…piece. He’s dry rutting me to satisfy his male urges and I should be scandalized, right? Yes, perhaps. But I find my thighs wrapped around his thrusting hips, my toes digging into his flexing buttocks. The heavy steel of his inches gather a little more of my wetness with every frantic movement of his hips and the squelching sound fills the room, along with the increasing volume of his grunts.
“Fuck, Quinn. I’m sorry, I can’t stop. I can’t stop.” His hips piston so fast now, I have to clench my back teeth together to keep them from clacking. “Your pussy is too pretty. Gotta ride it. Gotta get my come on it.”
Something swells inside me. Is it feminine pride?
Yes, I think it is.
Look at me! I’m turned this big, brave hero into a servant to his own needs. He can’t seem to resist me—and that is thrilling. This morning, when I got dressed in this room, I was worried about having flyaway hairs on camera. Those fears seem distant and silly now when I’m a woman who can turn a man on to the point of a frenzy.
It’s working.
My confidence is growing.
With that realization in mind, I slide my hands under them hem of Desmond’s shirt, lightly dragging my fingernails up the flexing breadth of his muscles, then scoring his skin on the way back down. “Oh fuck!” Desmond growls, his hand leaving my hair to wrap around my throat. “You want to be bad, little girl?”
“Yes,” I push through my swollen lips. Halfway through croaking my answer, Desmond leans back and flips me over onto my stomach. I’m still gasping into the bedding when Desmond yanks my panties down to my knees and cracks his palm against my right buttock. Once, twice, a third time, before switching to the left cheek and giving it the same treatment, eliciting the delicious sting I didn’t know I was missing. “Oh my God, Desmond, more,” I moan, pushing my backside up like a beggar.
“Ah, Quinn. If only you could see what I see. That pussy got so wet, it soaked your virgin asshole, too. That makes me jealous. You want me jealous, sweetheart?”
“No,” I manage, rubbing my breasts on the mattress, the rough friction delivering a bolt of lightning to my clit. “No, I don’t want that.”
Desmond works the head of his shaft between my bottom cheeks, without gentleness. “Then you better let me wet up that asshole, too, huh?”
“Yes,” I sob, barely aware of what I’m agreeing to, only knowing I want Desmond to keep touching me. For hours. Days. Maybe forever. “Please!”
“Good girl. Reach down between your legs and play with your clit. I’m not coming without you.” When I can only lie there sucking wind, he falls forward onto my back, his teeth sinking into my shoulder. “I said, finger fuck yourself while I beat off into your tight ass. Do as you’re told, little girl.”
I’m so turned on I don’t know if I can survive it. This is not how I imagined physical intimacy would be. This is dirty and desperate and messy—and I love it. I don’t know how I’ll go another minute without craving it for the rest of my life. Pressing my open mouth to the bed, I reach down between my thighs and wiggle my middle fingers against my clit, crying out when a hot shudder of lust tightens up every muscle I own.
Desmond’s fist starts to move, meeting the split of my backside with every stroke of his manhood, his guttural groans filling my bedroom. I writhe beneath him, the pressure building in my belly, lower, my thighs starting to tremble. Oh my God, I’ve never orgasmed like this. It’s going to be like a bomb going off and nothing will ever be the same. I’m rocking my hips now, riding my two stiff fingers while Desmond grows thicker and thicker between my cheeks.
“Ah fuck, I’m going to blow.” He kisses the side of my neck hard, raking the spot with his teeth. “You with me?”
Am I ever.
His teeth graze the sensitive spot beneath my ear and I bear down, my thigh and stomach muscles seizing. A scream winds up my throat and I muffle the sound against the mattress, exhilaration and pleasure wracking every inch of me. Desmond grunts loud and long, his strokes going so fast and hard, I’m going to have bruises on my butt later, but I know it’ll be worth it. That belief turns even more solid when he presses the wide head of his erection right up against my back entrance and roars, hot, syrupy liquid filling the split of my bottom. It drips down and coats my femininity, my thighs, the bedding, and still he continues to climax.
At some point, he ceases fondling himself and all-out humps my buttocks again, cursing and moaning into my hair. “Jesus Christ. World’s sweetest little fuck toy right here,” he grates, his thrusts turning uneven and slowing, before he drops down on top of me, laboring the breath. “You ruined me. You ruined me.”
I want to ask what he means, but just as I open my mouth to speak, there’s a knock at my apartment door. “Quinn, darling? Open up. I want to hear all about the quaint little reality show you filmed this morning. Do I need to pay anyone to edit your speaking parts?”
My throat fills with pressure and I scramble out from beneath Desmond. “It’s my mother. Oh my God.”
His eyes heat as they look me over and I realize my panties are still around my knees and my skirt is rucked up around my waist. Not only that, but there is a significant amount of Desmond’s spend dripping down my inner thighs. Did that all just really happen? Did I really just masturbate myself while a burly fireman from Queens pleasured himself with my bottom?
Desmond’s grin tells me it did, indeed, happen.
As do the fluttering wings in my stomach.
There’s another knock at the door. “Quinn? I know you’re in there. You’re always home. No matter how many times I’ve tried to fill your social calendar.”
Desmond’s amusement fades, his dark brows drawing together. “Don’t answer.”
“I have to,” I whisper back, wringing my hands. “She won’t give up.”
He stands, zipping himself back into his pants. “It sounds like she just wants to be let in so she can make you feel shitty about yourself.”
“You’re not wrong.”
I’m cemented to the spot as he makes his way toward me, his hand lifting to cup my cheek. “How did you feel when we were on the bed together?”
“Confident,” I whisper.
He nods, his attention dipping to my mouth. “And now?”
“Not.”
Irritation ripples across his expression, though I know it’s not directed at me. No, he’s vexed on my behalf and that feels…wonderful. To have an ally. “Pack,” Desmond says, leanin
g down to kiss my forehead. “Whatever makes you feel sexy. Preferably something I can take off fast.” With that, he turns on a heel and starts to leave my bedroom. Before he walks out, he turns with a hand on the doorjamb. “You trust me, sweetheart?”
I only hesitate a second. “Yes.”
But I never could have imagined what happens next. I watch through a crack as Desmond opens my front door, shocking my mother so handily, she literally clutches her pearls. “Who, might I ask, are you?”
“Desmond,” he says, a grin in his voice. “You must be Quinn’s mother.”
“Yes, I am.”
“Nice to meet you.” Briefly, he looks back at me over his shoulder, as if trying to determine whether or not I’m listening. Then he turns back to my mother, saying quietly, “About Quinn’s social calendar? Consider it full. Permanently.”
The door closes on her stunned face.
By the time Desmond reenters the bedroom, I’ve hidden my blooming smile and started packing. I know Desmond didn’t necessarily mean he would be taking up my social calendar for the foreseeable future. After all, he readily agreed to give me lessons so I could attract other men, didn’t he?
A twinge catches me in the throat.
Either way, I will owe him forever for standing up for me.
And we still have tonight, don’t we?
Could it ever be enough?
5
Desmond
I’m in deep.
God help me if I can’t convince Quinn to love me, because I can’t imagine the world continuing to turn without her smile in my life, lighting it up. Her voice, her scent. Her vulnerable yet observant eyes.
That body.
We’re in the back of an Uber now, headed to Queens, and I have to bite my fist to keep from groaning out loud. Back in her bedroom, I really only meant to show Quinn how hard she makes me, but as soon as I saw that pussy, I turned into a fiend. There was one objective in my life—getting off before the lust she inspired made me black out.
I’m a firefighter. We’re supposed to be disciplined. We’re cool headed and possess a legendary self control, but I definitely just pulled down her lily white panties and humped her until I couldn’t see straight. I’m surprised she still agreed to come spend the night with me after the lack of control I showed her, but hell am I grateful.
I’ll go slow and do things right next time.
Thank God there’s a next time.
Out of the corner of my eye, I observe Quinn, trying to get a read on her. But I can’t. Is this really just a lesson to her? Or is she experiencing even an ounce of the attraction I’ve had going on since the beginning?
Just thinking of the possibility that she’s really only using me as a stepping stone makes my chest tighten up and I have to breathe through my nose.
Don’t mess this up.
She might be too upper crust for a man like me, but if she gives me a shot, I’ll treat her better than any prick in a monkey suit could. I’ll worship her with every breath.
It’s getting dark now and with the city lights in our rearview, Queens spreads out before us, lively in its own right, but less frenetic than Manhattan. Judging we’re about five minutes from my house, I reach over and thread our fingers together on the seat and she glances down, startled. “This okay?”
She ducks her head a little and nods, pressing her lips together to hide a smile. “Sure.” A thought seems to occur to her and she sucks in a breath. “What about your sisters? Did we leave them behind?”
“Don’t worry, I texted them to let them know we’re headed to Bayside. They’ll take the train home when the shoe stores kick them out.”
Quinn settles back once more against the seat. “So why did they nominate you for the baking show?” Her eyes sparkle. “Are you a mean brother?”
I act wounded. “Do I seem mean?”
“No,” she murmurs. “The opposite. I think the best part of the show was watching you and your sisters tease each other.”
“Then you’d love Sunday dinner at my mother’s house.”
Her attention flashes to mine and I clear my throat hard. Too far, moron. Suggesting she’d enjoy meeting your mother? Why don’t you just propose and really freak her out?
“Um.” She shifts and crosses her legs, revealing a mouthwatering view of her thigh. “What does your mother cook for Sunday dinner?”
“Roast chicken, usually. Potatoes.”
Her sigh is drawn out. “I bet it’s amazing.”
“We fight over every last bite.” Reminding myself of her profession, I shake my head. “It might not be what you’re used to—”
“It might be better.” Does she realize she’s rubbing the pad of her thumb against my hand? I don’t know, but I’d die before calling attention to it, in case she stops. When she speaks again, her voice is kind of dreamlike. “Sometimes, I wish the chefs I review would stop trying to outdo each other and strip back to the basics. I don’t need food to be scientific, just good.”
“If it’s not broken, don’t fix it.”
Her smile brightens the back of the dark car. “Exactly.”
Christ. My mom would eat her up.
She’d give me her wedding ring and beg me to propose to Quinn with it.
And I would. I’d be on my knee a second later.
“So…” I realize I’ve been staring at her too long when she bites her lip, the moonlight highlighting her flushed cheeks. “You’re not a mean brother, then?”
“I’m a protective one. Though it might be hard for Melissa and Steph to tell the difference sometimes.” I push my free hand through my hair. “They date these assholes, you know? It’s as if they forget men can’t be trusted—and it’s my job to remind them.”
Quinn’s eyebrows are near her hairline, a smile playing around her beautiful lips. “Does that mean you can’t be trusted?”
“No.” Before I can second guess myself, I unbuckle my seatbelt and move closer, tickling her ribs gently. “That’s not what it means, smart ass.”
“Why not?” she giggles. “Why are you the exception?”
“Because I’d give up everything before I put tears in your eyes.” By the time I finish speaking, our mouths are an inch apart.
Her breath is hitting my lips in soft, little puffs and her eyelids seem to grow heavy. Yeah, this is a woman who wants to be kissed, and I have no choice but to oblige her. Because if I don’t taste her, I’m pretty sure I’m going to explode.
I reach up and press my thumb to the center of her lower lip, tugging it down gently, so I can lock our mouths together. She makes a mewling noise, shifting closer, as if needing to get close as possible. In the process, her tits graze my chest and I feel her pointed nipples. As if I didn’t just come harder than all of my previous orgasms combined, my cock stiffens in my pants and I have to fight the urge to pick up Quinn and settle her on my lap in a straddle. But no. I’m not fucking her in the back of this Uber—and that’s exactly what would happen. I’m more and more desperate to be inside her with every moment that ticks by.
Instead, I sip at her upper lip, tracing the seam of her mouth with my tongue, loving the way she melts toward me, her fingers curling in the neckline of my shirt.
“Desmond,” she whispers.
The animal inside me is starved for the taste of my name in her mouth. Need. One second, the kiss is gentle, the next I’m wrapping her hair around my fist, slanting her head so I can get my tongue deep, taste every inch of her. Fuck. This woman is addiction and love and home and sex, all rolled into one. I’m rock hard and throbbing behind my zipper, my balls tight and aching.
“Tell me you’re going to open your thighs for me tonight, Quinn.” I kiss her again, long and hard, our tongues lapping together. “Tell me you’re going to scream for this big cock.”
“I want to take it,” she moans, her head falling back, gifting my mouth with the long, luscious line of her throat, which I greedily lick. “I need to take it.”
Precome gus
hes from the tip of my dick. Goddamn, I’m not going to make it home. I’m actually considering throwing her down on the seat and pounding one out on top of her sweet, perfect body, but the driver clears his throat hard—and I realize we’re idling at the curb outside my house.
Quinn realizes it at the same moment, her gasp turning into a giggle.
Before I know it, I’m amused along with her, my crack of laughter filling the Uber.
We’re still laughing as I take her in my arms and carry her up the pathway to my house. When we reach the front steps, she tries to wiggle free of my grip, but I hold fast, maintaining eye contact as we cross over the threshold.
God willing, it won’t be the last time I do it.
* * *
I’ve never been so aware that my house is decorated for a bachelor.
Yankees memorabilia hangs on the walls of my living room, there are discarded socks under the coffee table and muddy boots in my entry way. Quinn doesn’t seem to be turned off by any of it, though. No, she’s more fascinated than anything, like she’s walking off a spaceship onto an alien planet. Kind of like how I felt walking into her apartment, except her place smelled better and had been cleaned within the last month.
“Sorry about…well, everything,” I say, scrubbing at the back of my neck. “My sisters are always on me about sprucing up, but I kept putting it off. The regret is real.”
“Don’t apologize.” She turns in an elegant circle, cataloging everything with her eyes. “It actually looks like someone lives here. I love that.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes. My place looks like a Pottery Barn catalogue. My bedroom is the only part of my apartment I didn’t let my mother’s interior designer touch.”