by Aubrey Irons
“Ok, you know what, fuck off, Lo-”
“Jesus, Quinn!” He hoots, laughing his ass off; “That jealous streak is crazy! You know, you should really deal with that sometime.”
“I am not jealous!” I hiss, feeling totally, completely, and utterly so.
“Well, let me know how that’s going for you later,” He says, and I can practically hear him grinning that smug smirk through the phone; “Enjoy your presents, darlin.”
I slam the phone face-down on the desk, muttering under my breath as I stare at the five remaining boxes sitting on top of the work I’ve ignored all day. I want so badly to just shove them all into my waste basket and call it a day, but I also know that the curiosity is killing me.
Screw it, I think, as I snatch the first box up and shake it. Nothing hisses, or scratches, or growls back, so that’s a good sign at least. The tape comes off as easy as the first box, and then I’m pulling it open and reaching inside to grab-
Oh you have got to be fucking kidding me.
There, in my hand, is small, pink, vibrator. In fact, when I snatch up the box and stare into it, I realize that’s all that’s in there - vibrators; like thirty of them. I start to tear into the second box, but I already know what’s inside even before I pull out the twenty-odd more vibrators and two obscenely jiggling dildos. I’m red faced and mortified as I quickly open up my bottom desk drawer and start hastily shoving the boxes full of sex toys into it, slamming it shut before Carol can walk in and think I’m some sort of sex-addict.
That son of a bitch, I mutter to myself, clutching at the edge of my desk and trying to regulate my breathing and cool down my beet-red face.
“I felt bad the other day about the whole, you know, the whole thing with stealing your, uh, toy like that.”
God, this whole messed up tit-for-tat with Logan is just so- so- I take a deep breath.
It’s infuriating is what it is.
I’m not some lost teenager, and this isn’t some sort of stupid high school crush thing. We are two adults, who made one mistake like plenty of other adults make. We should be able to move past this; I should be able to move past this at least. So why does the idea of him and Peyton spending a night alone together in DC have my blood boiling? I mean, there’s only so many times and ways that I can tell myself I’m not jealous before it just doesn’t have any more weight to it. Because as much as I fucking hate to admit it, I am jealous. I’m jealous that he’s there with her, and the thought of her hands on him, or her lips, or…God, I can’t even think of it anymore.
And now here I am, moody, jealous because a man I shouldn’t want anything to do with, and sitting at my desk at a job I was skeptical about taking in the first place. Oh, right, and I’ve got a drawer full of about two-hundred sex toys.
“Carol!” I snatch up my purse and storm out the door; “I’m taking lunch.”
Alright, even if I still think it's a fucking terrible idea that I've got Quinn Archer physically near me while we work together, I'll grant that having her on the team is the best move we could've made. I'd like to think I'm man enough to know what my strengths and weaknesses are, and I certainly know that one of those weaknesses is shit like this. Negotiations, and board meetings, and trying to be diplomatic in them. Me? I'm terrible at that kind of thing; zero tact and absolutely zero patience for talking things out.
Yeah, I suppose there's a reason I spend my nights punching guys in the face.
But Quinn - damn, it's like she was born for this, and knowing her father, she kind of was. She's smooth and easy with the team, and she gets shit done. And it's not because she's bossy or cajoles people into doing what she needs them to do, which is basically my method, it's because she’s open and firm, and just honest with people.
Well, honest with people besides me.
Because I know I’m not the only one still thinking about this whole thing between her and I; not by a damn mile. And I know I'm not the only one getting all turned around when we're alone or even not-so-alone with each other. She can deny it all she wants to, but I'm definitely not so blind that I don't catch the linger in her looks when she thinks I'm not watching her.
‘Did you know who I was?’
That look in her eyes and those words of hers are fucking haunting me. She’s pissed, of course, but the worst part is, I’m not sure I can tell which part she’s actually more pissed about; that it happened, or that I didn’t recognize her.
Hell, I’m not sure she can tell which one she’s pissed about; probably both.
I mean hell, I hadn’t seen her in five Goddamn years! And it was dark, and I’d just had the shit kicked out of me, and- and-
And she was gorgeous, and sexy as fuck, and there was something so damn disarming about her fixing me, and helping me, and leaning into me and letting me smell the jasmine in her hair.
On the other side of that coin, it’s not like she knew who the fuck I was, which seems like some serious double-standard bullshit to me. Oh, a beard was my masterful disguise? I can’t look that different with or without facial hair from what I did five years ago. She on the other hand-
Well shit, if Quinn Archer was this hot five years ago, I’m fucking blind.
I scowl to myself, thinking about the night that started this whole cock-up, and the more I think about it, the more blame I’m putting on her for whatever consequences we’re dealing with now. I mean, hell, she’s a damn Doctor, and she slept with me? If “come on your patient’s tongue and then ride his cock like a race-horse” is part of the hippocratic oath, than I’ve been seeing the wrong fucking doctors my whole life.
“You might have a concussion; I can’t let you fall asleep.”
Right, and I’m the fuckin bad guy here. Give me a break.
"Ok, well that's a wrap, guys. We'll check back in tomorrow on the U.N. appropriations stuff.”
I blink away my own daydreams and realize I’ve been scowling for probably half of the meeting that’s now over. The rest of the team starts to pack away folders and laptops as they stand and slowly empty from the room, but I'm still sitting back in my chair, lost in thought and staring at Quinn when I hear Peyton's voice come up behind me.
"Hey, big guy, got a second to go over some numbers?"
I'm barely cognizant of whatever data Peyton has me going over with her, because as soon as I give her my attention, I can see Quinn glaring at us from the corner of my eye. I grin to myself, seeing just a side-long glimpse of the fiery look I'm getting from her at the other end of the room. Part of me knows it's a cheap shot to let her think what I know she's thinking about Peyton, and I know I should probably get around to settling that little misconception sooner than later. But honestly, making Quinn Archer jealous and getting her riled up like this is just way too much fun; especially when I’ve just decided that the whole mess is actually her fault anyways.
Peyton finishes showing me her spreadsheets and heads out the door past a frosty looking Quinn. And as if I didn't need anymore confirmation of her being ticked off by the whole thing, Quinn very obviously turns her back to me cold-shoulder-style as soon as I get close to her.
Like I said, way too much fun.
“So, Quinn, I need you to be honest with me,” I say, as soon as we’re alone.
She swivels her chair towards me, eyeing me with a frosty expression on her face; “What.”
“Now, think about this, because it’s important, OK?” She nods, and just as her gaze actually starts to soften, I grin; “How many of those batteries I sent you did you blow through the other night?”
Her whole face goes this adorable shade of pink as she wrinkles her brow and rolls her eyes at me; “Jesus, Logan. Do idiot lines like that work on Peyton?”
She swivels her chair back around and goes to collect her things when I lean in close; “Jealous much?" I whisper in her ear, making her jump as she whirls around.
"What are you, twelve?" She sneers out, that pouty, so obviously jealous look on her face just making her look extra hot and fiery.
"I guess you just bring it out in me, Doc." I grin.
"So, you flirting around Miss Delta Zeta slut over there has nothing to do with me being in the room and trying to get under my skin?"
I shrug; "Well that depends."
"On?"
"Did it work?" I wink at her and she huffs and looks away.
"So is all this just because you're mad that I won’t sleep with you again?"
"Been there, done that.”
The slap actually does knock the smile right off my face, if only momentarily. But then I'm just grinning uncontrollably at the how impressed I am that she actually just smacked me.
"Oh my God!" Quinn's eyes go wide as her hands fly to her face; "Oh my God, I'm so sorry!"
"Wow!” I shake my head as I grin at her; "I like seeing this side of you, darlin!”
"Logan, I'm so-"
"Quinn, I know how to take a hit, you know." I move in closer; close enough to smell the jasmine of her shampoo and the hint of something minty on her breath; "Besides, that's a nice hook you've got there, Tyson.”
She's wearing this sleeveless blouse, and I move my hands up to slide over the bare skin of her exposed arms. She shivers and then pulls away from me; "Gets your hands off me."
"Really?"
I smirk as I let one of my hands trail up to her shoulder, and then across her collarbone to the open neckline of her shirt. I'm waiting for her to stop me - hell I'm almost waiting for another slap - but she just bites her lip and looks at me nervously; “You shouldn't be touching me like that, Logan," She says quietly, not making a single move to push my hand away.
"You shouldn't be letting me touch you like this, Doctor." I let my hand slide boldly down over the top of her breasts, sliding between them and feeling the heat of her skin and the thud of her pulse as I deftly pop the top button on her blouse open with my hand.
"Someone could-" Her cheeks flush bright pink, and she swallows heavily as I slide my hand down into the front of her blouse and under the lace of her bra. Her nipple is stiff and hard against my palm. I slowly tease it with my fingertips, and I can see her lips tremble as she loses her words.
Someone could what, Quinn?" I growl, moving against her; "Someone could see how turned on I'm making you?"
"You are not turning me on, Lo- Logan!"
She gasps as my other hand slides right up between her legs and slides against the front of her panties. She's wet there; very wet; “You're going to have to put up a better argument on that one, Doc." She whimpers as I push her soaked panties to the side and slide my finger against her opening. I lean my lips close to her ear; "Because I'm not buying it.”
She bites her lip between her teeth, her brow furrowing as I slide my finger into her pussy. And there's something about the way she sucks on that bottom lip that has me rock hard in my pants, and I growl as I lean down, ready to suck that lip myself. Her eyes close, and she tilts her head up as if ready for the kiss I know we both want; ready to close the distance. And I want nothing more than to bruise those lips with my own, and taste her tongue across my own.
“Doctor Archer?” Quinn's eyes shoot open as one of the analyst's voices calls from somewhere down the hallway; “Doctor Archer, did you want to look over those genome resistance reports again?"
Her eyes go wide for a moment, and then she narrows them at me angrily. It’s as if she’s suddenly realizing what happening; as if I’ve just tricked her into this position somehow.
"Logan!" She hisses, shoving at my chest; "Get your fucking hands off of me, you meathead."
Meathead?
"One second!" She calls out to the analyst," All while pushing my arm away from her. I roll my eyes and slide my hand out of her panties as she fumbles to smooth down her skirt and button her blouse back up, all the while shooting me a dirty look; "I can't believe you just did that!"
"Oh, what, like that's all me, Quinn?" I scowl at her as I lean in close, my voice low; "Don't pretend you weren't just dripping wet to feel my fingers inside you.“
Her face goes crimson red; "Don't be disgusting." Somehow, the flustered look on her face makes her look almost as sexy as she looked when my fingers were stroking her wetness.
Trisha, the analyst, pokes his head into the room; “Doctor Archer?”
“Trisha! Yes!” Quinn’s face is flushed and she quickly clears her throat as she smiles at her; “Let’s, uh, let’s take a look at those reports.”
She shoots me a look as they both move past me towards the conference table, but I can’t help but bring my hand up to palm her ass as she brushes past. Quinn whirls back to me, her look tense, but her eyes wild, and I just grin at her.
“Get the door, would you, Logan?”
Trisha’s back is turned as she flips through one of the binders on the table, and I look Quinn dead in the eye as I bring a finger up to my mouth - the very same finger that was up until recently buried in her slit, and grin before sucking it clean. It’s the the predictability of her squeamish and wrinkled-nose reaction that’s so much fun, and I smirk and give my finger one last dramatic lick before I turn and leave her to work.
Yeah, good luck with that, sweet cheeks, I grin to myself as I saunter down the hall back to my own office.
“I can’t just let you out here, miss.” The cab driver wearing a leather vest and a porkpie hat is a big guy, but even he looks nervous as he glances at me through the rear-view mirror.
“Oh, it’s-“
What, ‘It’s scary as shit here? Here in whatever utter horror-show of a warehouse area of Brooklyn I’m crazy enough to have driven to in the middle of the night’? Cause, yeah, that’s actually exactly what it is. But I had to, and I have to be here.
“It’s fine, I’m meeting some friends.”
The cab driver mutters something and looks warily out the windows at the darkened, dilapidated warehouse that we just watched Logan’s car pull up to about five minutes before; “I got a daughter about your age, honey. Ain’t no way I’d let her hang out with any friends that hung around a fuckin place like this. ’Scuse the language.”
I push cash through the divider; “Good; don’t. I really am fine though”
Yeah, totally fine.
I definitely shouldn’t be here, I think to myself as the cab roars away into the depths of the night, leaving me alone in the shadows. Except by the thudding sounds of music and cheering coming from the warehouse looming in the darkness, I know I’m not really alone.
I’m still undecided which one is a worst prospect.
Granted, this was a terrible idea, but I couldn’t not follow him tonight; not after I’ve spied on him ducking out of the building late at night and heard him stumbling home even later, usually nursing an ice-pack or bloody towel of some kind. So tonight, I was ready and waiting in the cab out front of our building when he slipped out and got behind the wheel of his Maybach. Tonight, I followed him here to the sketchiest, darkest block in the borough of Brooklyn. Whatever this is, I have to know and I have to see it, even if I’m not sure why.
*****
As I creep around the corner of some shipping containers, I can see two men standing out front of the warehouse door itself. Now, I may be utterly out of my element here, but I do know door security when I see it. I skirt around the shadows to the side of the building, and find myself creeping between a pile of old wooden crates trying to ignore the possibility of coming across rats or worse. I creep up to the dirty little window emanating light from inside.
The whole cab ride over, I wasn’t quite sure what I’d find tonight. I mean sure, I had some suspicions about the nature of what Logan was up to, but nothing - absolutely nothing - prepares me for what I see when I finally claw my face up to the edge of the window and peer through.