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“Yes.” I press a kiss to his erection and Erik fists his hands in my hair. He’s groaning as he shifts his hips under me.
“We’ll have to save that for another time,” Erik says. He drags me up his body and when I’m staring down into his face, arms propped on his chest, he lifts his head and presses our mouths together. “You put that mouth anywhere near my dick again and I’m going to go off like a bottle rocket. I’d rather do that inside you. Between your legs, Quinn.”
I shiver at the promise in his words. “I’d prefer that too,” I say and slide a kiss over his throat. ”Do you want me on top again?”
“Only if you want to be.” Erik palms himself. “I’ll take you any way you’re willing to give me.”
I frown, “I thought you said it was easier—”
He chuckles, the sound turning to a moan as I cover his stroking hand with my own, jacking him myself.
“Quinn,” he says my name again, like it’s a prayer. He bites me on the chin and tips his hips up to meet my grip as we slide our joined hands up his erection. “I lost my leg below the knee. I can do anything other men can do.”
“But you said—”
“I said ‘what if I told you.’ I’d have said almost anything to get you to sit on my face.”
I roll my eyes, but I’m also smiling as I sit up and tug his pants further down his thighs.
“How romantic.”
Erik pushes up on his elbows, meeting my eyes with his. “Is that what you want? Romance?”
In theory, yes. Maybe not everyone wants a happily ever after, but I do. Someday. That desire for a future with someone who can romance me doesn’t mean that I’m putting unfair expectations on this connection with Erik. I know this is different. We could probably be friends. We get along well enough, but there is no future here. No opportunity for more. We live a thousand miles apart and neither of us is moving.
“Not from you, Erik,” I soften the message with a kiss to the center of his chest. I’m still wet and ready and my blood is so hot in my veins it’s a wonder steam isn’t pouring out of my ears, but if we continue this conversational line, then I’m in danger of losing all those things. I kiss him again, melding our tongues together as I wrap a hand around his dick and stroke.
“You can take these off,” I whisper against his lips. The pants have to be digging into his skin and hindering his movements. Denim is rarely comfortable, and his jeans have almost zero give.
“My leg?” He asks and I pull back to look down at his leg. I forgot about it. Again.
“What do you want?” It’s probably more comfortable for him to take it off, right? I’m still wearing my camisole, and Erik’s pants are bunched around his thighs, so no one is naked, but a prosthetic leg isn’t the same as a pair of socks. Right? “I want you to do what you’re comfortable with.” I say, because if the time I’ve spent forgetting about his leg is any sign, then neither option bothers me.
Erik hikes me up over his hips until I’m straddling him again. My knees rest on the bedspread as I brace my palms on his chest. My core presses into the thick weight of his erection and we both groan. I rock my hips against him, just a little, and I could come again from this alone.
“Condom,” Erik pants out, his hands steadying my hips.
I don’t have one. I don’t carry condoms with me because first, I’m on the pill and religious about taking it every day, and second, I don’t have a habit of picking up strangers for happy naked fun time.
“Please tell me you have one in your wallet.” That was something men did, right? Carry emergency condoms? A man like Erik probably has a box stashed in his suitcase. I don’t like that thought, but protection is protection. Despite our crazy chemistry, I can’t just skip safety with someone I barely know.
Erik shakes his head, fingers flexing against my skin.
“I can call the concierge,” he offers. He throws his head back and groans as I shift my hips again, the tendons in his neck standing out in relief.
“We are not calling the concierge for condoms.” I say, stilling my hips and frowning down at the beautiful man beneath me. “I guess you’re getting your rain check sooner rather than later.”
“I’ll make it up to you. I swear.” Erik grits his teeth as I push off his body to kneel between his spread thighs. I take his erection in my hand and lick the head like a blow pop. He’s hot and hard on my tongue, tasting salty and musky as I swallow him down. “Fuck, Quinn.” Erik twists a hand into my hair, alternating between watching me with ravenous eyes and throwing his head back to groan.
This is probably for the best, I think, as I suck and swirl my tongue around the length of his dick. He’s built in proportion—larger than normal—and I just know my jaw and throat will ache tomorrow. Worth it though. Worth it to watch him curse and thrash under my ministrations. Worth it to feel powerful and sexual and beautiful in bed with him. And this is why sex leaving the table is a good thing. If giving a blow job is this enjoyable, I just know sex would make me lose my head and I’ll forget that he’s leaving. Sex with this man, with the chemistry we already share, may just tip me over the edge and I could fall in love with him.
The line to the coffee counter is taking forever, but I have it on good authority—aka the nurses—that this is the only drinkable caffeine in the building. After my late night with a certain redhead, and hours of meetings, I need something to get through the rest of the afternoon. A double shot of espresso will definitely help. So will seeing Quinn later for dinner. I’m picking her up at seven. On an unrelated note, I also purchased an industrial size box of Trojans. Just because.
The line moves forward and I check my watch. So far today I’ve met with the head of oncology, pediatrics, and psych. I have a meeting with the hospital’s CEO in an hour and a half, which gives me more than enough time to grab a cup of coffee and check out some rooms set aside for patient sessions. It also gives me more than enough time to think inappropriate thoughts about the woman I can’t wait to see again.
There had been a moment the night before—after we’d both been naked and coming down from the orgasm high—when I wondered if I’d made a terrible mistake. Quinn cuddled up against my side for fifteen minutes and then, as if a timer had dinged in her mind, she’d reached for her pants and slipped them on. I knew she had school this morning. I knew she needed to see her dad, and still the image of her turning her back to me as she pulled the stretchy leggings up over her ass had made me feel dizzy and nauseated. I hadn’t wanted her to leave, not even for the less-than-twenty-four hours we would spend apart, which meant I’d made a huge mistake because I already wanted more. Even knowing that the end was looming.
I step up to the counter and place my order, wondering how Quinn takes her coffee. Something light and sweet? A blended drink with no coffee at all? Black? The barista raises her eyebrows, and her jaw goes slack when I give my order, but she takes my cash without comment. It’s been a while since I’ve been mistaken for my brother. It used to happen more when he played for Chicago, especially when I was working on marathon training or dressed in workout clothes.
