by Jewel E. Ann
“Knees up.” His voice was demanding and raw.
I brought my knees under me, spread in Child’s pose. Quinn bent over the back of me and licked a hot wet trail up my back. His chin brushed my shoulder as he sucked in my ear lobe and rubbed it between his teeth.
“Hold on to the top of the bed and don’t let go.”
For the love of all things sane, why do I need to hold onto something?
“Do it,” he demanded again in a calm but firm voice.
I extended my arms above my head and gripped the wrought iron railing.
He rubbed the pads of his fingers over the ends of my nipples; the touch was so soft, but the sensation caused an almost painful throb between my legs. Then he paused for a second and started repeating this process until my core was engorged again and dripping with lust.
“It’s too much, Quinn, I can’t—”
“Patience, baby.”
He stopped his gentle caressing of my nipples and gripped my hip with one hand while he guided his length to my entrance with the other.
“Close your eyes, Addy.”
I felt him plunge into me so hard I almost orgasmed just from the deep impact.
“Ah, you feel fucking amazing!” he growled.
He paused just long enough to let me acclimate to his fullness. Then he started moving, slow and deep at first then his pace picked up, steadying me with one hand on my hip and the other hand rhythmically squeezing and releasing my breast.
“Harder,” I pleaded.
Whose needy, wanton voice is that?
“Not yet.” He pushed me to the edge, and my body was desperate for release. I couldn’t find the friction I wanted and with every thrust he hit the spot that kept me on the edge without sending me over.
Touch me, please!
The sensation was so intense it was almost painful. His response was to thrust faster and harder. I knew he was close. I could feel his body tensing and his breathing was almost a staccato, but I couldn’t wait. I let go of the rail with one hand to reach between my legs. The intensity of the moment robbed me of all shame as I tried to touch myself to release the agonizing buildup, but Quinn grabbed my hand.
“No, I’m your only pleasure. Don’t. Touch. Yourself.” His voice was a mix of anger and greed.
I moved my hand back to the railing in defeat and let out a small whimper wondering if anyone had ever died from delayed gratification, because I might be the first. Then, as though dodging a bullet by a fraction of a second, he massaged my clitoris with two fingers. Another orgasm ripped through my body and devoured all my senses.
I moaned in pleasure and jerked my hips into his hand, and that was all it took for Quinn to find his own release.
“Addy … you’re fucking amazing!” He groaned out in a strained voice.
He gave one more hard thrust, circling and grinding into me, milking every last bit of his own orgasm.
I released my hands and fell into a postcoital coma.
*
I woke to the hydraulic screech of the trash truck behind the building. Snuggled on my side, I blinked open my eyes and read my zen clock: 6:45 a.m. So much for my run that morning. My first order of business was rolling over and dealing with the naked sex god from the night before.
Stretching my arms above my head and arching my back, I rolled toward the middle of my bed.
Empty, huh?
Tying my robe I walked to the bathroom. I felt a dull ache between my legs and grimaced from the pain, but memories of the night before replayed in my head and I had to smile. I couldn’t remember the last time my girly parts received a workout like that. Yes, I could … never.
The bathroom was empty. I checked the great room and glanced out to my deck. “Quinn?”
No answer. Then I noticed a piece of paper on my kitchen counter with a pen lying on top like a paperweight.
I sauntered over to see it.
Addy,
Thanks for last night. It was fun!
Take care,
Quinn
No. Fucking. Way!
Livid, lurid, angry, savage, and furious all failed to describe how monumentally pissed off I was at that moment.
Thanks for last night. It was fun! FUN?
Work was not an option. I grabbed my phone and messaged Mac.
Not working today. You’re in charge. Keep Jake in line and tell him not to scare off the new girls.
Not waiting for a reply, I jumped in the shower and washed the essence of Quinten fucking Cohen off my body. After dressing, I stripped my bed and tossed everything in the washer.
Note to self: get a new bed ASAP.
That vintage wrought iron bed would forever trigger the images of Quinn thrusting into me that were seared in my brain.
An hour later Mac was banging on my door. No big surprise, I never skipped work. I buzzed her in, closed my eyes, and chanted my mantra while she made her way up.
Deep breath … I am peaceful, I am strong.
“Hey, Addy, you not feeling well today?”
“You could say that.” My comment, dripping with sarcasm, hung in the air.
“Wanna talk about it?”
“No.”
“Too bad, not an option. Sit and spill.”
I took a deep breath and quickly exhaled through my nose.
“I did something I shouldn’t have done.”
“You ate meat?”
She was trying to relieve the tension, so I rewarded her with a half grin and an eye roll. “No, I had sex.”
“With a guy?” she retorted with a mock look of shock.
“Yes, with a guy. What the hell, Mac?”
“Hey, can’t blame me for asking. We both know you haven’t been with anyone since …” she trailed off without finishing because we both knew what she meant.
“I just … I don’t know what got into me.”
“Hum, just a wild guess but I’m thinking it was Mr. Sexy Ass Cohen, and if I may say so, well done, Addy. I’m sure you are the envy of every heterosexual female with a pulse. I’m sure the list of women who would kill to have Quinn in them goes on for infinity.”
“Jeez, Mac, I’m sure Evan would love to hear you talking like this.”
“Evan and I are married, not dead.”
“Such a cliché.”
“Maybe, but it’s true. So what’s the problem? Was he trying to work his magic on you with a wee little wand? Did he forget to pleasure you? Call out some other girl’s name?”
‘’No, no, and no. I don’t know how to say this without feeling like I’m disrespecting …” I stopped as memories of my past surfaced.
Mac held my hands in hers. “Addy, Malcolm was my brother and I loved him dearly but I’m not under any illusion that he was perfect, and you can’t measure up every man you meet to him. It’s not fair to them or you.”
I knew she was right, but discussing this with her was still not easy. “It was just physical, Mac, but,” I paused, “but it was the most sensual and erotic night of my life. Quinn did things to me that I’ve never experienced, ever. At times I felt like I was outside of my own body watching it happen to someone else. It was as if we were reenacting a scene from one of my romance novels. Malcolm and I had good sex but it was always, I don’t know, text book.”
There was an awkward silence for a moment, and I couldn’t even muster the courage to look at her. It felt as if I was stomping on her brother’s grave, tarnishing his memory. Finally, without warning, she busted into a fit of laughter. I darted my eyes to hers and squinted them, not at all comprehending why she was laughing.
“Oh my gosh, Addy, I can’t believe it. My brother was a missionary man?” She was getting so tickled about it, and I was having trouble knowing how to respond. Her reaction was humorous but laughing at my sex life with her brother didn’t seem appropriate. “I should’ve known. I mean we were raised in such a strict Baptist family and I was the rebel, but not Malcolm. He was the pleaser child. Apparently that didn’t spill over in
to your bed. Addy, you poor thing, did you ever even have an orgasm with him?”
“Mackenzie! I am not having this conversation with you.” I had to be twenty different shades of red. I saw her start to rein in her reaction when she noticed how uncomfortable I was with the topic of conversation.
“I’m sorry, I’m not trying to embarrass you. I just assumed since you both were so young and in love that you would have been animals in bed.”
“Can we drop it now?”
“Yes, yes, sorry let’s get back to Quinn. I guess I don’t see the problem, you’re single, he presumably is too. There’s an undeniable attraction, he’s apparently a god in bed, so …?”
“The problem is this …” I handed her Quinn’s note “ …this is what I found on my counter this morning.”
“Oh, shit.”
“I know, right?”
“You have to call his dumb ass on this one and let him know you will not be treated like some one-night stand floozie.”
“I can’t.”
“You can and you will.”
“No, I mean, I can’t. I don’t have his number and I don’t know where he lives, other than in New York.”
“He lives in New York?”
I nodded.
“What was he doing in Milwaukee?”
“I’m not sure, maybe something to do with work.”
“You don’t know? How can you not know? How many times did you see him, three? Four? And this never came up? What the hell did you talk about?”
I cringed and picked at my fingernails. Looking at the situation under the light of Mac’s questions, I wondered if maybe I was getting what I deserved for my reckless behavior.
“I think he may be connected somehow to Mr. Jamison,” I murmured in a weak voice.
“Mr. Jamison? The financial dipshit from Chicago that spoke at the Zen Garden?”
I nodded.
“Why do you think that?”
“Quinn was there, in the back of the room, we exchanged a few words.”
“You exchanged a few words, huh?” Mac nodded her head but I knew she was internally shaking it in disbelief.
“I don’t suppose those words included, ‘hey, what an odd coincidence, what are you doing here?’”
I shook my head. “Nope.”
“Well, my dearest friend, I guess you’d better hope you did something to him last night that brings him back begging for more.”
“Not likely,” I whispered.
“Oh jeez, Addy, you are so oblivious to just how hot and sexy you are. I’ve watched men ogle you for years, even with your pathetic attempts to look ordinary and unappealing, pigtail girl.”
“Hey, I like my pigtails.”
“Yeah, well men do too, but not for the reason you think.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
She released an exasperated sigh. “Nothing. So what makes you so sure Quinn won’t be back?”
“When we were at dinner last night he said he ‘enjoys beautiful women’ but his longest relationship only lasted six weeks.”
“And yet, you still ended up in bed with him?”
“Ugh, I know!” I threw myself back onto the couch and pulled a pillow over my face.
“Well, look at it this way, you have some great visuals for lonely nights with Mr. Dilly Doe.”
I heaved the pillow at her. “Shut up!” We both laughed.
“Seriously, Addy, what are you going to do about him?”
I thought for a moment. “Nothing, absolutely nothing.”
CHAPTER FOUR
“After about 20 years of marriage, I’m finally starting to scratch the surface of that one [what women want]. And I think the answer lies somewhere between conversation and chocolate.”
~Mel Gibson
SIX WEEKS LATER summer in Milwaukee was in full swing. The lake had become destination central, and Sage Leaf Café was busy every day. We had black iron café tables and chairs set up under the front awnings with wheatgrass centerpieces. I set a big bowl of water on the sidewalk for the four legged friends that were out on those steamy days. The owners were usually as grateful as the pooches.
I’d been immersing myself in work, sort of. I loved creating new recipes for my customers, so it might have been a stretch calling it work. Mac and Evan dragged me out sailing at least one day a week. I didn’t know why I ever resisted. I loved the peaceful escape of being out on the water. The sun on my face and the whip of the wind through my ears was my connection to everything greater than myself. I felt significantly insignificant, as if my presence in the world, albeit small, was still necessary. My time with Quinn felt that way too. A one-night stand was insignificant, but the fact that he was the first sexual encounter I’d had since Malcolm was very significant. It was the equivalent of swimming in a tank of sharks with an open wound. The chances of survival … slim. My personal life had been horrifically shattered. Dinner outside of my café was a risk, but sex was jumping into the shark tank with my arm already severed, yet I survived. Significantly insignificant.
Mac’s parents were celebrating their fortieth wedding anniversary in Chicago that weekend, so we were going “home” for a few days. It was bittersweet going back to what I thought of as my previous life, but I had become a stronger person, and Mac assured me her parents wanted to see me. It had been a while since I’d seen them … and by a while I mean not since Malcolm died. I severed ties with everyone and everything connected to that life, except Mac. Not that I didn’t try, but she was persistent to put it mildly. She followed this “hug-em-into-submission” code. After Malcolm’s funeral I decided to take a year off from life. I packed my bags, went to the airport, and randomly picked a starting destination. I called it the Adler Brecken leave-me-the-hell-alone tour.
Mac showed up at the airport, bags in hand, and when I refused to let her come with me she tackled me in the middle of the airport and wouldn’t let me go until I agreed to let her come with me. We were gone one year, but it wasn’t a bucket list tour of the seven wonders. We went to the most remote and unappealing destinations and witnessed some unimaginable living conditions: Democratic Republic of the Congo, Liberia, Zimbabwe, Central African Republic, Madagascar, Mozambique, Ethiopia, Mali, Haiti, and Uganda. We spent the last three months in Tibet becoming learned in the practice of meditation. It wasn’t a coincidence that we missed the anniversary of Malcolm’s death; our time away was about healing and being there with Malcolm’s parents would have ripped open old wounds that I’d spent too much time trying to mend.
*
We left Milwaukee early Thursday morning so our trip down to Chicago was two hours instead of the three or more it could be on a busy Friday. Mac’s parents met us for an early lunch, which was a relief since I wanted to test the waters with them in a more casual environment before the black-tie affair Friday night.
Her dad, Richard Townsend, was an attorney at a large firm. He was tall with a mix of ash blond and grayish white hair that was thinning on top. His skin had started to take on a mature wrinkled appearance, but it was usually tan from hours on the golf course. He’d made a lot of money over the years going after large companies who manufactured defective products. Firsthand experience solidified his already staunch belief that you couldn’t put a price on a human life. However, he was adamant in his belief that those companies deserved constant reminders that they were accountable for public safety and not above the law. The “constant reminders” were in the form of multi-million dollar injury and wrongful death law suits.
Mac’s mom, Gwen, was a nurse until she married Richard. She too was tall and thin with shoulder length strawberry blonde hair like Mac. Green eyes weren’t that common but their family had plenty to go around. Both Mac and Malcolm had their mom’s light green eyes, a feature I’d always envied about them. She’d spent the last forty years raising their family, organizing church activities, volunteering at local non-profit organizations, and golfing at the country club. I was very close to Gwen
until Malcolm’s death, but since essentially dropping off the face of the earth, I was uncertain if I ranked very high on her list. Mac said she was never upset with me, just hurt that I had refused to stay and grieve with her and let her “comfort” me.
We arrived at the restaurant a few minutes late, but overall, we made pretty good time. The maitre d’ escorted us to our table where Richard and Gwen were waiting. Standing up, Gwen pulled Mac into a tight hug while Richard and Evan shook hands and exchanged manly pats on the back. When Gwen released Mac she gave me the most endearing smile and opened her inviting arms to me. I willingly accepted her warm embrace knowing both of us were fighting back tears of emotion that had festered for years.
“Addy, you look wonderful. It’s been too long. How are you doing, sweetie?”
“I’m good.” I gave her a confident smile so she knew I was truly okay.
Richard pulled me into his big chest and almost squeezed the life out of me. “Adler, so good to see you, kid, we’ve missed you.”
“Thanks, Richard, the feeling is mutual. You both look great.” I exhaled avoiding prolonged eye contact.
We ordered lunch and settled into comfortable conversation. Evan was an attorney also, so he and Richard talked shop while Gwen shared everything about her charities and golfing tournaments. Overall, lunch went quite well and I felt like the weight of the world had been lifted from my shoulders.
After lunch Evan and Mac dropped me off at my hotel.
“I wish you’d stay with us at Mom and Dad’s.”
“I know, I’m just not ready to walk down the memory lane of pictures I know adorn every wall, table, and mantle.”
“Okay … I guess I understand,” Mac paused for a moment, “do you want to meet for dinner later?”
“Thanks, but you two enjoy the evening with your parents. I’m going to get settled into my hotel room and maybe go for a run. I’ll call you in the morning.”
*
So much had changed since I’d left Chicago, but the comfort I felt with the familiar surroundings in Grant Park remained unadulterated: the beautiful gardens, the Art Institute, Buckingham Fountain, and my favorite Lakefront Trail. It was a bit more humid than I normally liked for running, but a good sweat felt refreshing that evening. The warm breeze caressed my skin as the rest of my senses came to life: the bobbing boats on the horizon; kids racing to catch every drip of their melting ice cream cones; the ambient white noise peppered with the call of the swooping gulls and rhythmic creaking of wooden docks; the mixed aroma of fish and food vendors.