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I feel a surge of jealousy from nowhere at the thought of Quentin and his fan club discussing how easily they do or do not get off. I have no idea why. Quentin isn’t known for being celibate, but I don’t think he’s quite the same as Xander. He wasn’t lying about that from what I know.
“I bet they do.” Is all I manage to say because envy would color any other words I might come up with and that wouldn’t be fair to them. They’re all probably way more sophisticated than me. Probably know all the perfect ways to give head and get a guy off. They probably have an actual chance with either Xander or Quentin. Maybe both of them—that’s an overwhelming thought. I blush harder and bite the inside of my cheek to distract myself.
“Thoughts you want to share?” Quentin’s studying my face, and he has a growing smirk.
“Not at all.”
“So do you know how to get yourself off?”
“Oh my god… Quentin…”
“What? You asked for my help. I’m helping. I have to know where we’re starting though.”
“You’re supposed to be helping me figure out how to get Xander off. I told you, I don’t care if I do.”
He only makes a doubtful face in response.
“What? Wouldn’t that be more appealing to a guy anyway? Less work?”
“It’s not work if everyone’s enjoying it. So no, not really. I mean… maybe some guys, but I doubt Xander. Definitely not for me.”
“Right. I’m sure that’s your great love in life. Running around giving women orgasms. Not video games or getting drunk or whatever you get into on the weekends.” I give him a look that tells him I don’t believe him for a second.
“The two scenarios where I feel like I’ve made a fucking difference in this world is when I hit one of my guys in the end zone and when I watch a woman come for me.”
I’m stunned silent for a second but recover, trying to deflect with a joke.
“Then I guess if football doesn’t work out you can become a male escort?”
His face falters, and I feel awful for a moment forgetting his situation when I made the joke, but then he grins. “Why? You think I could get paid for teaching you the ropes?”
“I don’t know. It sounds like you need a lot of instruction to be able to get a woman off based on all the questions you’re asking. I doubt you’d make it long. Best leave it to the guys who can do it without the help.”
“Now you’re just baiting me.” His long dark lashes lift and his deep blue eyes pierce through me as one corner of his mouth lifts in amusement.
“Not baiting. Just stating facts.” I stand with smug amusement, planning to head to the kitchen when Quentin’s hand wraps around my wrist, and he pulls me down into his lap.
My cheeks flush almost immediately because Quentin looks, feels, and smells like sex. That woodsy cologne that has a hint of citrus you can never put your finger on, the sheer size of him—at six foot four—that envelops me, and the way his eyes study me as mine fall to his lush lips. I don’t know what I’m doing in his lap, but this close… all I can think about is how much I want to kiss him. How much I wish I was the kind of girl who could hold his attention.
“What are you doing?”
“Showing you what I mean.”
“Meaning what?”
“Sit back in my lap.”
I stiffly readjust, following his instructions but I’m trying not to let too many parts of our bodies touch. My heart flutters in my chest because for all my bravado I feel weak around him.
“Lean back and relax.” He reaches forward and gently tugs my hair. It feels like he’s inadvertently lit a match, my body lighting up just from that little touch. I try to do as he says, but I’m on edge. I don’t know where this is going, and I always feel like I’m just one self-conscious bundle of nerves every time I’m around Quentin now. Xander is starting to feel like the easy part of all of this. Maybe that was the point.
“Madness, we’ve got all our clothes on, and I’m going to let you have all the control. Xander isn’t here right now. There’s nothing to be nervous about. I promise we take things at your pace.”
I force myself to go soft, letting my shoulders and spine relax and letting my legs slip apart as I lean back against his chest. I can feel the rise and fall of his chest with each breath he takes, the exhale dancing over my shoulder and down my chest.
“There you go,” he whispers against my ear, and I feel little sparks light down my spine from how soft and deep his voice is at this level. “Put your hands here.” He takes my hands, the ones I’d just had balled up into fists, and places them palms down on my stomach. “Take a deep breath.”
I do as he asks, and I can feel a little bit of the nerves dissipate. Breathing, even if it is in his lap is something I can focus on. Try to match my own to his.
