by Portia Gray
His other hand went to her whole breast, rolling her nipple, and Arielle gasped at the combination. She moved her hips against him without knowing what she was doing, she was lost to sensation.
Arielle's skin was blazing, her head felt light, and her desperation was painful. As though he knew when she was at the point of agony, he dropped kisses further down her stomach, parted her legs further, then closed his mouth on her clit. In exquisite relief Arielle groaned, and it was loud, but she covered her mouth as her back bowed, the orgasm over almost before it began. But it was spectacular, all she saw was white light.
"Oh God," she gasped, panting hard. "Oh my God."
Quentin was easing his way back over her, his chuckle completely negating the relief she'd just experienced. "Babe, you are so good for my ego. Honest to Christ."
She didn't need jokes. She grasped his face, pulling him closer to kiss, trying to maneuver his hips into hers. "Wait, babe," he whispered gently. "Just a second."
"No—"
"Arielle, I swear. I'm making love to you tonight, I just need to get something." His tone was overly-gentle. They were both remembering the last time they'd tried this.
"Okay," she whispered back, the bed springing up as he was once again gone to the shadows. She heard a foil package tear and felt almost embarrassed. Thank God one of them was thinking straight.
The break did nothing to curb her desires. The second he was back in reaching distance Arielle had her arms around Quentin's shoulders, pulling him onto her and kissing him with all she had; lips, tongue, teeth, all of it. For his part, talking was done. He kissed her back, winding one arm around her lower back. Arielle's thighs gripped his ribs in anticipation.
He brought his face up, making her open her eyes, worried something else was going to get in the way now. But he was just looking at her, head tilted in thought, lips parted as though he would say something if the moment struck him. His thumb passed down her cheek, eyes trailing down her face then back up to her eyes again.
"Can't think of a single damn thing I've wanted this much," he muttered absently.
She had no answer for that. "Quentin—"
"Christ you're beautiful. I don't think I deserve this."
She smiled. "Please," it came out as a plea.
"Good thing I'm selfish," he said, his lips curving in his full, honest smile that made his eyes crinkle. She felt it in her toes and everywhere north of them. The smile faltered, just a bit, as his eyes met hers again. "You're under my skin, babe," he said almost wistfully.
Now when she whispered "Quentin" it was completely different, she had no idea how to properly reply to that, something so raw and revealing. She knew he didn't throw sentiment around, he didn't have to. "You're under mine," she whispered back. It was the truth.
His mouth crushed hers, the heat of this kiss lustful yes, but there was something else in it, too. Something that made her heart swell as his hips moved forward, joining them completely on one merciless thrust, causing her nails to dig into his shoulders as she cried out, the sound swallowed by his mouth.
She was smaller than him, weaker than him, but she felt anything but helpless; as she held him inside it was him that trembled, not her.
Jesus. Quentin had to pause, hold his breath, force himself to stay still for a minute. Christ, this was Arielle and he's just slammed it into her like she was any other crawler. Her whimper made him feel like an ass.
He'd expected her to be tight. He hadn't expected absolutely fucking perfection. And not just the part he was buried in, all of her. Her soft stomach and chest under him, her legs wrapped around him, her arms on his shoulders. Her mouth breathing against his, hot and sweet and almost lethal.
"Are you okay?" He had to ask it. If he hurt her he swore he'd hurt himself worse.
"Yes," she whispered, and the desperation in her voice had to be his wishful thinking.
"You sure?"
"Quentin," she gasped, legs opening more, giving him room to sink in another half an inch.
"Arielle," he groaned, head falling to her collarbone. "Fuck." Shit, now he was cursing in her bed. What a fucking idiot.
"Quentin," she repeated softly, playing with his hair. "I want this, I do. Please…please don't stop."
He raised his head, brushing his lips to hers. "I'm not stopping. It would take a lot to stop me, babe. I just need a minute."
"You do?"
He brought his hand to her throat again. "Jesus, Arielle. You feel so good."
"You do, too," she returned after a pause, and this awkward moment was so not how he imagined this going the many times he daydreamed about it.
He caught her eyes again. In the dim but stark moonlight they flashed, and he rolled his hips away then back into her, catching how her jaw opened, not relaxed, just an honest reaction. Her body had stopped tightening against him, and he moved again.
"Quentin," she gasped, eyes closing.
He knew he couldn't just pound into her until he got off. And he cursed himself out for spending so much time doing just that with the others. He had to go back to wanting to please the woman he was with. He knew how it was done, he just had to revisit the steps.
When her back arched, he brought his hand to her breast, teasing at her nipple. Her body quivered under and around him and he stroked into her again, rewarded with a moan. She turned her head towards him and he kissed her. That got another moan.
Christ, for someone who didn't know how to ask for what she wanted, she was telling him exactly what to do with her body. With just the slightest increase to his range of movement she bit her lip and groaned but it was soft. He wondered why she was trying to be quiet.
"We're alone," he reminded her, kissing her lips, then her jaw. "Let it out, Arielle."
He rolled his hips again, nearly pulling out all the way before easing back inside. This time she cried out, back arching into him. He didn't wait before doing it again, and her legs twitched along his sides. Jesus, she couldn't possibly be close already. There was no way.
He continued that deliberate pace, and she met his every push with a gasp or his name. When she started tilting her hips against him he nearly lost it, sliding his hands under her back and gripping both of her shoulders to keep her in place while he fell back in love with the feel of her on every thrust.
Each time he did it he hit the end of her, and she liked it. She moaned, whimpered, dug her nails into his lower back, urging him deeper, all the while still kissing him and sucking his tongue from his mouth when he got distracted by the feeling of her small, thin body completely controlling his. The realization she'd come completely undone, hit him like electricity. She was enjoying it. She was really, really enjoying it. Out-of-her-mind enjoying it. She likely had no idea she was making these sounds. He was only going to be able to keep this up a little while longer; she had him far too amped.
Time to get serious.
He rose up on his arms, and without hesitation Arielle dropped her legs and hitched her feet around his knees. The angle was perfect. It made him grunt as he slid into her, looking down on her face and how her lovely neck was arched back. She was panting, eyes on him, waiting.
Quentin wrapped a hand over her throat gently. It wasn't to squeeze, he just liked feeling how her pulse was racing.
With minimal effort he thrust into her, watching her body writhe and fall under him. He did it again and she met the movement. With a grunt he gave over, pushing against her, pace increased, her body open and unable to keep him out.
It took all of twenty seconds. Her back arched sharply and she made the most lovely, enthusiastic sound of female release he'd ever heard in his life. All he could concentrate on was her face; her eyes pinned to his, her mouth open as she cried out then fought for breath, the ease and relaxation in her expression telling him exactly how good it had felt. Her entire body trembled in the wake of it, and when the quivering ebbed away he realized he was done, too.
He'd barely been aware he'd finished right along wi
th her. He didn't care. Quentin pressed a kiss to her lips roughly, dropping his weight back onto her, entire body overjoyed as she wound her arms and legs back around him.
"Quentin," she whispered to his lips. "Oh my…God."
He felt himself smile, easing his head back to take in her face. "That doesn't even cover it, baby girl." Her hands ran up his arms, and it was not missed on him that they were trembling.
"I have never in my life felt this good."
It froze him, but before he could freak her out he nuzzled her neck. "Arielle," it was all he could think to say.
"Sorry. I'm not cool in this situation."
"No, you're not. You're fucking hot, babe."
She laughed at that, covering her face. The laugh had an interesting effect on his dwindling erection, and he eased out of her reluctantly. Her nails gripped his arms suddenly, and she whimpered just from that.
"Christ, Arielle," he muttered, flopping to his back next to her. "I'm not sure I can handle you."
She rolled to her side, her hand running to the centre of his chest. "Liar," she mumbled.
He caught her hand, kissing the backs of her fingers. "I mean that, Arielle. Jesus. I'm out of words." When she was silent he risked a look her way. She was studying him, biting her lip. All mindless passion was gone, and she was thinking, and he could tell, somehow, they weren't happy thoughts. He rolled up to his elbow, running a hand under her jaw. "What's that face for?" he asked softly.
"What do you mean?"
He shook his head. "I think your mind is going dark places, and I don't want that." She closed her eyes. "Arielle, babe?" She shook her head. "Nah nah, break away from wherever you just went. I want soft and sweet Arielle back. I want sexy, hot Arielle back."
She opened her eyes on a shuddering breath. "I don't think that Arielle is real."
He raised his eyebrows, easing closer to her. "Oh, she's very real. I've been after her for months. She was just here."
She smiled at that. His chest eased open a bit. "I'm not usually like that," she said, voice very small and he'd bet she was blushing.
He rolled to his back and pulled her with him, tucking her into his side. "And I'm not usually like this," he shared. "But like I said. You're under my skin. I can't help it. With you I'm…naked."
"I like that," she admitted, kissing his chest. It made him grin up at the ceiling. "Quentin?"
"Yeah?"
"Don't…don't break my heart, okay?"
He squeezed her into him tighter, kissing her head and biting back on the hurt that caused. "Baby girl, I'd rather cut off my own leg. You gonna promise me the same thing?"
"What?"
He ran his hand around the back of her neck, and she raised her face to gaze down on him, those big eyes so fucking honest. "You gotta promise not to break my heart, Arielle." She smiled slowly, then looked away from him again. "Hey," he croaked, pulling her around to face him again. "You gotta promise, Arielle."
"Oh, Quentin."
"No Oh Quentin. That requires an equal response," he wanted her to laugh. He was getting louder, wanting her to at least smile.
She bit her lip, then propped her chin on his chest. "Aren't you too tough to get your heart broken?"
"If I'm giving it to you, it's you that's gotta look after it, babe." Yeah, he said that. Blurted it out, cheesy as fuck. He wished he could inhale and take it back while she blinked once, twice.
Without warning she surged forward, pressing her lips against his, her upper body resting on him and causing him to slide his hands around her back as a reflex. He felt her ribs and spine again, but mostly he knew only her kiss and how urgent it was as she slid that sweet tongue past his lips, into his mouth, into his fucking soul.
He gripped her, likely too tight, but he couldn't help it. This wasn't the kind of kiss that was meant to invite a man to your bed, this was the kind of kiss that was the bearing of her heart and he felt that sweet tingle return to his neck and jaw as she parted, the kiss melting into softer pecks on his lips.
"I'll take care of your heart," she whispered, and he heard something thick in her voice.
He caught a tear with his thumb before it got too far down her cheek. "Hey, no tears here. This is good Arielle. It's so fucking good I'm not even questioning it."
"Okay," she answered, which wasn't an answer.
"I can't even being to tell you how fucked-up you got me." Not smooth, but it was the best he had at the moment. "If you knew, you wouldn't be crying. You'd be laughing your ass off." That got a better response. Arielle grinned then nestled into his side again. "I'm in trouble," he muttered, arm behind his head as his eyes closed. "So much sweet-tasting trouble."
Chapter Twenty-One
Quentin dropped off to sleep but Arielle just couldn't. Her heart was still racing, her body still lit up, and her face wouldn't cut the smile. All because this biker from next door made it safe for her to drop all walls and enjoy herself. That thought on its own nearly made her tear up again.
It had been wonderful, yes, but scary as well because she wasn't just hot for him. If that had been the case she would have shut him out months ago from blind fear.
He snuck in on her, just a bit at a time. Letting her know he thought she was attractive, blatantly. She didn't know men actually did that, but from him she loved the attention. And being great with Calvin was the final nail in the coffin of her resolve. Hell or high water she was ending up in his arms, she just hadn't realized it until right then. And with everything else she had going on…he could give a shit. He just wanted her. So she let it happen, no thoughts of whether or not what she was doing was right. Or weird. Or wrong. She just trusted him, and was so glad she had.
Amazing.
Astounding.
The kind of sex where your body would never be the same again. The kind where she was now completely ruined for other men because they couldn't possibly compare. The kind of sex that only existed in books, or so she thought. The kind of experience everyone was searching for.
The kind of sex that meant she didn't open her eyes until 11:23 AM the next morning. She frowned at the alarm clock, not wanting to move because she might wake the man currently serving as her pillow. But no amount of blinking changed the time.
Then she heard the front door open.
"Shit," she whispered, sitting straight up and feeling around the covers for her T-shirt. Where the hell had it gone?
"Morning, baby girl," came a rough, warm, low and terribly sexy greeting, but she was too much in full freak-out to really appreciate it.
"Thelma and Calvin are back," she hissed, brain torn between figuring out where her clothes ended up and how to explain away the fact that Quentin was there.
"So?" he mumbled, pulling her back down into the covers with him, winding an arm around her waist and actually cuddling her.
"I have to get up," she returned, pushing at his hand and trying to sit up.
"What’re you more worried about? Thelma knowing I'm here or Calvin knowing I'm here?"
She sighed, eyes scanning the floor. She saw the T-shirt she'd been wearing as pajamas and leaned over him to snag them up, making him chuckle in the process. He shoved the covers off the both of them and she jerked away, grabbing for the sheet to pull it up to her chin.
He sat up, completely naked and just as comfortable that way as she'd ever seen him. "Should I scurry through the window? The bike's in your driveway and I've got my shirt and cut in the living room, babe."
She didn't know what a cut was but it sounded bad. She hoped it wasn't a weapon. "Shit."
"Arielle, you're a grown woman. Thelma knows that. And Calvin's"—he waved his hand—"nine. He knows where babies come from. I've had that talk with him."
"Oh... You did what?" Arielle tried to keep herself covered while sliding the T-shirt up her arms. Quentin pulled the sheet away, and just as she was about to give him a mouthful he completely floored her.
"Don't cover up, babe. Not from me. I've worked too hard to g
et this close to you."
Her arms flopped into her lap, T-shirt half on, and she stared at him, the kindness in those blue eyes enough to take her breath away. "Quentin…" was all she had to respond with.
"You're beautiful," he whispered, hand running up over her head to the back of her neck, where he reeled her closer before kissing her.
Oh God. She had to remember to not kiss Quentin Bayle in bed when she was supposed to be hurrying. And certainly not when she was naked. And he was naked with that rock-solid godly body. And he said she was beautiful. And his hands were warm and his lips tasted amazing... She pushed him back. "Quentin, that door doesn't lock. It's broken."
His grin was slow and…dammit, far too sexy. "Really?"
She sighed. "Please put some clothes on."
"You sure?" he brought his nose to her jawline, voice low and rougher when he spoke quietly.
"Please?"
He nipped her ear lobe and her eyes closed. "Damn, Arielle, you always smell this good, don't you?"
"Okay," she hissed, pulling away and yanking the T-shirt down. "Clothes, please Quentin."
She got to her feet on the mattress and stepped over him, trying to avoid his hands as they successfully made a bid to grab her bare ass under the T-shirt. She likely flashed the whole show but in panic mode she couldn't care. She found her panties next, wiggling into them and turning back to find Quentin still lounged out fully naked on her bed. Naked and excited, and she couldn't be held responsible for where her eyes went. She'd only felt it the night before, she hadn't seen it.
"Oh God…" she whispered, then shook her head and forced her eyes away. To his face, and the too-proud-and-masculine-to-be-acceptable look he had. Which on him was completely acceptable…and attractive. Shit. "Get up and get dressed, please."
"Okay, babe." He finally sat up, reaching to the floor for his shorts. She tossed the jeans and T-shirt to him next then headed to her dresser to dig out her bra. You know, for decency's sake. She wrangled the thing on under the T-shirt, thankful the shirt was so large, just in time to hear her bedroom door open. She thought someone was coming in without knocking, but felt her stomach drop as she watched Quentin walk out of the bedroom sorting out his T-shirt before pulling it on.