by Amelia Wilde
Reaching down, I shove her panties toward her shins, and she wriggles her legs so that they slide off, ditching her heels in the process. Then, with one motion, I lift her, turn her, so that she’s straddling me.
She kisses me with such heat that it’s a genuine surprise the car doesn’t burst into flames. I love this—the way she uses her entire body to pin me back against the seat, the way she presses her weight against me, driving her hips into my pelvis.
Quinn pulls back, then leans in again to catch my earlobe between her teeth. I can’t stop the groan that escapes my mouth. How does she know to do that? It doesn’t matter. I want her to keep going, and then I want to fuck her until…
Dragging her mouth down my jawline, she leaves a hot, wet trail down the side of my neck, then shifts her weight backward as she reaches for my belt. Her face is focused, eyes heavy and glittering with lust, pupils dilated, and she dispatches the belt with the same dogged efficiency that she uses in the office. My zipper is next, and then I lift my hips toward her so she can tug my pants down around my thighs.
I catch her hands in midair as she reaches for me, and with my fingers curled around each of her wrists, I spread her arms wide, leaning in.
She’s wearing a pale pink button-down top with her now-rumpled pencil skirt, and I take the topmost button between my teeth and give it a sharp jerk. She cries out a little when it pops off. I’m not going to apologize for destroying one top in the name of pleasure. Two buttons, three, and her lacy bra is exposed, her breath causing her breasts to rise into my face, the smooth skin against my close-shaven jawline.
Quinn looks straight into my eyes, and her mouth curves into a smile so carnal-laced that my cock starts throbbing again. Then she jerks both of her wrists, freeing them from my hands. Not another second passes before her mouth is on mine and she’s lined up her pussy over my cock and fuck, fuck, thrust herself downward, taking all of me inside her hot channel in one swift movement.
She fucks me furiously, relentlessly, a delicate sheen of sweat rising at her hairline as she works herself up and down over me, taking me in so deeply I bottom out, making contact with her ridged barrier over and over.
It’s like she can’t stop herself, and in thirty seconds I’m nearing the edge. She digs her fingers into my shoulders and slams into me, slams, slams, harder, harder, her pussy clenching around me in rhythmic spasms. She kisses me when she comes, lips parted, moaning into my mouth, and I swallow her pleasure, letting it push me right up to the edge, so close to it that I can’t stop myself…
At the very last possible moment Quinn thrusts herself off of me and backward and sinks down to her knees on the floor of the Town Car, taking me into her mouth, sucking in as I explode, my hips jerking back and forth. She takes it all.
When I’m finished, she looks up at me, her expression satisfied, and wipes the back of her hand across her mouth. Then she clambers back onto the seat next to me and tucks her legs under her. I gather her under my arm, and she rests her head against my heaving chest.
“Fuck,” she whispers softly, and I have no words to respond, my mind has been so thoroughly blown by my girlfriend.
My girlfriend.
That’s what she is now, even though we haven’t said it out loud.
I take a deep breath and kiss her temple.
As soon as we get to my place in the Hamptons—and as soon as I can catch my breath—it’s time to start letting her in.
29
Quinn
Once we’ve both recovered from our backseat escapade—I pull an emergency tank top out of my purse, then insist on some belated seatbelt safety—Christian starts telling me about where he’s taking me.
“In case you haven’t guessed, we’re going to the Hamptons.”
“The Hamptons,” I repeat, tasting the richness of the word in my mouth.
Christian leans forward and opens a compartment tucked under the front seat to reveal a cooler full of ice. Nestled in the center is a bottle of champagne. From somewhere else he produces a corkscrew and opens the bottle. Two champagne glasses emerge from a second compartment located under the passenger seat. While he pours out the liquid bubbly, his hand not wavering at all despite the movement of the car, he continues.
“My father originally bought the cottage as a family vacation home, and growing up we spent the summers there. Some weekends in the fall, too. My mother—” He swallows thickly and keeps his gaze focused on the champagne glasses as he passes one over to me. “My mother loved it there. After they divorced, he wanted to sell it, but I convinced him to hold on to the property. I bought it from him when I got full access to my trust fund. That was the best thing about turning twenty-five.”
“The best thing? Not the incredible party I’m sure you had?”
He flicks his eyes over to me, a little smile playing on his lips. “When I turned twenty-five, I had the same party I always have. Dinner at the Swan. Drinks. Dancing. Women.”
Something in his tone tells me it’s not the party he wanted. I don’t quite understand it, because the last time I saw Christian at the Swan, he was in his element.
“Where did you want to be instead?”
He lets out a breath that’s not quite a sigh. “Elsewhere.”
“Tell me.” I take a sip of the champagne, its bubbly sweetness sparkling on my tongue. “Where?”
Christian sips at his own champagne, then turns to look at me, his chin lifted. “That was a tough birthday.”
My cheeks flame red as I remember—Christian’s brother. How the fuck could I have forgotten that little detail? “Oh, my God,” I say, slapping a hand to my forehead. “I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I—”
“It’s all right,” Christian says quickly, but I see a flash of something I can’t identify in his eyes. It doesn’t look like grief. That’s all I know, and then it’s gone. “I always held the party at the Swan because…” His mouth works. When he speaks again, something is different about his voice. “My brother was always the quiet one, but I think he liked the parties we would throw together.” A pinprick of icy unease forms on the back of my neck. Why? Something rings false.
Then again, what the hell do I know? The entire point of this vacation, if Christian’s text is to be believed, is to give me a chance to see the reality of his life. It makes perfect sense, after all—the Swan isn’t exactly the kind of place to get to know someone’s deep secrets, and there’s not much more to my life than Carolyn’s apartment at the moment.
I dismiss the feeling. Christian clears his throat. The silence has gone on for too long.
I give him a comforting smile and reach across to take his hand in mine. “No need to talk about that if you don’t want to.”
“I do want to.” Suddenly his face is open, his eyes almost pleading, and yet his tone is forceful. He’s not the kind of guy to cede control of a situation. “I want you to know everything there is to know about me.”
“I want that, too,” I say carefully. The conversation has taken an intense turn, and Christian’s eyes, crystal blue in the filtered light coming through the Town Car’s windows, bore into mine.
“I mean it.”
“I know.”
There’s a strange energy crackling between us, and it makes me both intrigued and slightly uncomfortable at the same time. I’ve never seen this side of him.
Then the moment fades, and Christian shakes his head, a little, sexy half-smile on his face.
“I don’t mean to freak you out,” he says finally, and I let out a little laugh of relief.
“Jesus Christ, I hope not,” I say, and then it’s his turn to laugh. It’s a good thing we’re going to spend the weekend getting comfortable before we dive into anything serious.
It’s already serious, says the voice in the back of my mind. I can’t argue.
“What about you?”
“What about me?” I say, giving him a coy smile.
“Any special places you want to tell me about?”
“Not a cottage in the Hamptons, that’s for sure.”
He laughs, not unkindly. “Where did you vacation?”
“Anywhere,” I say. “Everywhere. My parents were camper people.”
“Camper people?” Christian looks mildly confused.
“They liked to haul a pop-up camper behind their car. That’s where we’d stay when we went on vacation.”
“Oh,” says Christian thoughtfully. “I don’t think I’m the camper type.”
“No?”
“That doesn’t seem like it would be…sturdy.”
“They’re plenty sturdy.”
“Not for the kinds of things I’d like to do to you on vacation.”
I suck in my breath, heat rising again between my legs, and then I bite down on my bottom lip. “Not fair.”
“It’s the truth.”
In front of us, the partition lowers. Without taking his eyes off the road, Louis calls back to Christian. “We’re here, Mr. Pierce. Should I drop you off in front?”
“Great.”
I look out the window. The winding drive we’re on is large enough, and long enough, to be an actual road, which is what I assumed we were traveling on until this moment. Then Louis pulls the car around a circular drive in front of an honest-to-God mansion.
My mouth drops open. I should have expected this, but I was so caught up in our…activities…and then our conversation that I didn’t bother to ask how big this place was. I look back at Christian, who is smiling, his eyes shining with pride and anticipation.
“The cottage,” he says.
Sure, I think, too excited to admit out loud. This is a cottage, and I’m a princess!
30
Christian
Quinn steps inside the front entry to the cottage—she’s right, the name is possibly the biggest understatement in history—like she’s entering a castle, or a cathedral. The brickwork and the soaring windows contribute to the effect, and so does the fact that the staff has lined up in the foyer to greet us.
It’s not a large staff, but Quinn’s eyes widen nonetheless.
“This is Robert, the chef,” I say, introducing her to the stocky man who is dark and handsome, although not very tall. He shakes Quinn’s hand with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “Rosemary, the housekeeper.” Rosemary steps forward, her grandmotherly vibe putting Quinn at ease. “We also have a gardener who’s here three days a week, and of course you know Louis.” At that moment, Louis appears from a side entrance carrying two suitcases, then disappears up the grand staircase with a nod.
“Rosemary, Robert, this is Quinn.”
“I’m so—I’m so pleased to meet you,” Quinn says, blushing a little. She must feel out of her element, to let a little thing like meeting my staff throw her off. This is nothing—nothing—like the apartment I took her to. That might as well be a hotel for all the personality it has.
“Lovely to meet you, as well,” Rosemary replies in return, beaming at Quinn. “She’s lovely, Mr. Pierce.”
“Thank you, Rosemary,” I say, and then, with a nod, I let them go back to their business.
Robert lingers for one more moment. “I have a late dinner prepared for the both of you, Mr. Pierce. Would you like Rosemary to bring it up to your suite in about an hour?”
“Wonderful.”
“Excellent,” Robert says, then turns on his heel and hurries back in the general direction of the kitchen.
Alone at last, I turn to Quinn, who’s still gazing around her like she’s in a foreign country. “Would you like a tour?”
“Yes,” she says with a definitive nod. “I have got to see this place. This is incredible.”
I show her the formal dining room, which has a table large enough to seat twenty-four people, the downstairs library, and the formal living room. We peek into the kitchen, where Robert is busy putting the finishing touches on our meal, and Quinn glances across at me. “Those are some seriously fancy appliances.”
I shrug. “My father had them installed before he and my mother got divorced. She liked to moonlight as a baker when she wasn’t attending charity events and fighting with him about how much he liked to party with his friends.”
“Is that where you get it from?”
She’s teasing, but something twists in my chest.
Because the truth is….the truth is…
I pull myself back from the brink. No. Now is not the moment to try and bring that up. The weekend is beginning. Our relationship is beginning. It’s going to be crucial not to be too hasty.
“Come on,” I say, tilting my head back toward the main part of the house. “There’s a lot more to see.”
Upstairs, I lead her down the hallway to the master suite—another understatement. There are eleven guest rooms, but the master suite—the rooms I occupy whenever I’m here—includes a massive bedroom, two walk-in closets, a den, and a small study.
“Holy shit,” Quinn says, her voice almost a whisper, as I push the door and it swings open noiselessly on its hinges.
Unlike my apartment, this room is full of personal things.
“So, this is my room.”
“Your room.”
“My rooms.”
Family photos appear on almost every shelf, and the decorator I hired incorporated lot of smaller touches—my college degree, framed, hangs between two bookshelves, the armchair sitting underneath it practically begs you to put your feet up. My books occupy most of the other shelf space.
Something in Quinn’s face shifts as she sees it all, and like a moth drawn to a light, she moves away from me and toward all the things out in front of her in plain sight.
Right away Quinn notices a shelf filled with leather-bound journals at waist level behind the armchair. “Christian,” she says, with a note of wonder in her voice. “Do you keep a diary?”
“I kept journals,” I say, grinning at her, but then the words stick in my throat. What the hell should I say now that won’t give me away? My heart skips, wrenches. Why is it like this? Why is it that one moment I’m fine, enjoying her company, letting this unfold how it’s going to unfold, and then the next minute I’m seized by such a frigid dread that it almost takes my breath away?
You want this.
The thought floats up into my mind. It’s true. I want her. I want all of her. Now, tomorrow, forever.
Carefully.
Carefully.
She doesn’t notice when the smile falls away from my face. She’s too busy looking at the first editions of the classics on the rest of the shelves.
“Damn,” she says quietly.
“There’s more in the den, if you’re interested.”
She turns back to me, and flicks the tip of her tongue out to lick her lips. “You know,” she says, “I seem to remember Robert saying Rosemary would be up in an hour. How long do we have left?”
I glance down at my watch. “Fifteen minutes.”
Quinn’s hands are already working at the straps of her tank top, pulling it over her head. She is insatiable.
The bedroom is down a narrow hallway, tucked away in the back of the suite. In two steps I’m next to her, my arm around her waist, and as she’s unhooking the clasp of her bra and tugging it off, I’m leading Quinn to my massive bed.
When she sees the king-size masterpiece, impeccably made up, she gives a little sigh of pleasure. “It’s impressive,” she comments, then turns and starts to unbutton my shirt. “But not as impressive as you.”
31
Quinn
What happens on Christian’s bed can’t be described as making love. It’s a quick and dirty fuck, with me on top, but we have a lot more room than we did in the Town Car.
When we’ve finished, I sprawl out on the bed and wait for my heart rate to quiet down and my breathing to slow.
“That…was incredible.”
“It’s always incredible with you.”
I roll over and kiss his cheek. “You’re too sweet.”
“I was thinking
about something in the car.”
“What?”
He turns on his side to look into my eyes, and I mirror him. In this moment, at least, I don’t see a flicker of doubt.
“We need to come up with a title for what we are.”
My heart skips a beat, then it speeds up. Are we going to talk about this now?
“Like, Lord and Lady Pierce?” I say, letting out a nervous laugh. I didn’t know how badly I wanted Christian to bring this up until he did, and now that he has, I’m for some reason afraid that the moment will slip away.
He grins at me. “If you want. But my thoughts were more along the lines of…introducing you as my girlfriend.”
I can’t wipe the smile off my face. “I do,” I joke, echoing hypothetical wedding vows. I’m only half kidding, but I’ll never admit it.
Christian bursts out laughing, the sound deep and musical. “I remember what we said the other night. It’s still true for me. Is it true for you?”
“Yes,” I say, my expression turning serious. “It doesn’t make sense, but it’s still true.” Truth or not, I can’t bring myself to say the words again. I’m too consumed by the jitters. The tattoo on his bare chest catches my eye, and I spend a few seconds tracings its curves and lines with my gaze. It’s an intricate coat of arms, the thick lines dark on his skin, and the design is divided into different sections, each with an image inside. Something pricks at the back of my mind. Something is off about it, but I can’t put my finger on what it is.
“We can’t be public, though. My job—”
“I know. We’ll work it out.”
“Good.” I let out a breath. I’m still not willing to give up my job over this. Maybe if we were married…nah, I’d still want to work. I’m not the stay-at-home type.
“You don’t think it makes sense?”
“No,” I say, rolling over onto my back. Christian slides across the bed, and then traces a finger over my jawline. “We just met, and I’m barely out of my last long-term relationship, and you’re a playboy who—”