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“I take back what I said. You’re good at this,” I admit softly, glancing over at him. A small grin comes to his lips.
“You think so?”
I shrug one shoulder up, and he kisses it again just as my hand slides between my legs, and I use my middle finger to put pressure on my clit through my shorts. I close my eyes at the sensation. It’s too much already. I’m already so wet from the conversation we’ve been having, from how wrong this all feels to take much.
“Is this how you normally do it? Over your clothes?”
“Sometimes… or at least at first.”
“Do you have any toys?”
“No.” I feel a blush come to my cheeks. “I did but then I was worried my roommate would find them.”
I feel his grin touching my skin again, and he resumes the absent movement of his lips, kissing me in short little bursts.
“You just have to have a good hiding place.”
“Maybe.”
“Are you wet?”
“Yes.”
There’s a rumble from his chest but no audible response besides it. His eyes are glued to where my hand moves slowly between my thighs.
“Can you come like this?”
“Sometimes but not normally.”
“What else do you usually need?”
The blush on my cheeks deepens because I don’t want to admit the truth. Especially not to Quentin.
“There’s nothing to be shy about, Madness. Everyone needs something different. That’s why I’m asking.”
“I usually take a bath. It lets me relax and the water helps…” I trail off. I don’t feel like he needs more explicit detail than that.
“What do you like about it? The pressure?”
“Yes, but the warmth of it too.”
“Have any of your boyfriends ever used their mouth on you?”
Just the thought of it has me imagining him, and the want I feel pools lower. But then I remember the one time I thought I was bravely seducing my high school boyfriend after my friend told me guys love doing it, and he outright rejected me.
“No. I asked Tom once if he wanted to try it, and he said he’d done it before with someone else and didn’t like it.”
“Tom’s an idiot.” Quentin kisses his way up my shoulder until he’s at the crook of my neck and then he pulls back, his lips nearly brushing the lobe of my ear. “I’d do it for you if you want.”
“I…” don’t have words. I’m just imagining Quentin’s face between my thighs. His tongue on my clit, and I’m ready to melt into oblivion.
“We don’t have to. And it doesn’t have to be now. I’m just offering if it’s still something you want to try.”
“Okay. Thanks,” I say and immediately regret it, closing my eyes to try to forget how awkward and ridiculous I am. I’m probably nothing like the women he’s used to. They’re all probably confident and self-assured. They probably know everything he likes and doesn’t.
6
Quentin
