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He let her guide him, hips moving in response to her urgings, the head of his cock slowly sliding into her. Both drew long, hissing breaths, though Amara’s hitched and was drawn into a low moan as she stretched around him.
The moment his throbbing cock bottomed out, he began a slow, rhythmic pumping, letting her guide his hips as she brought hers up and forward to meet each of his thrusts. As the pace quickened, Amara wrapped her legs around his waist. They moved as one, only one another’s names passing their lips in the sea of panting moans.
As Quint slowed, he rolled to his back, pulling Amara atop him to straddle his hips. She immediately moved against him, straightening up as their fingers interlaced. Taking his thick length to the base, she slowly rocked her hips, side to side, forward and back, up and down, her bottom lip firmly between her teeth as she watched Quint below her.
Seeing him so overwhelmed spurred her on, and she leaned down to kiss him deeply as she slammed her hips down in feverish lust. And again. And again. Until the wave of her orgasm overtook her and sent her crying out, joining in his cries of passion as they reached ecstasy together.
She collapsed on top of him, and he held her tight, as if afraid she might somehow disappear.
The rest of the night was a blur of ecstasy. Quint was insatiable, and Amara was eager to give him exactly what he’d been waiting so long for — and what she dreamt about more often than she’d ever admit.
Every time they seemed to slow to a stop, a touch or kiss in the right place would stir the endless passion within them, and they’d find themselves in the midst of another round of lovemaking. When their irrepressible ache for each other was finally sated, there was no time or energy to talk — or anything else.
They fell asleep, spooned together … inseparable … for now.
Chapter Twenty Nine
AMARA WOKE TO THE SUN beaming in through the bedroom window. She reckoned it to be mid-morning. She turned, expecting to find Quint next to her, but he wasn’t there. She lay back, placing a hand over her eyes, giving a low moan of exhaustion.
The sounds and enticing smells coming from the kitchen across the condo made it clear enough where Quint had gone, and Amara took the time she had alone to reflect on what they’d done.
Her lips twitched up into a smile, thinking of the finally consummated lust and longing, but the smile soon faded as she realized the implications of what she’d done — what they’d done.
She sat up to look around the room. Her clothes were piled on the floor beside the bed, a reminder of the reckless desire she’d given in to. She truly had just wanted Quint to hold her, nothing more.
She hadn’t intended to have sex with him, but she found herself questioning why that was when he slid into bed with her. Realizing that she was holding on to a statement he’d made years ago, long before everything they’d been through both alone and together, she decided to let whatever was going to happen happen.
The more she thought about what they’d done, the more conflicted she became. Things like romance, sex, fun … these weren’t things to indulge in when your child was missing and in danger.
As she trudged to the shower, she waged a one-woman war over all that had transpired. Should she feel badly for seeking comfort in Quint’s arms?
The hot water against her skin was cathartic, and pulled her from her rumination, back to pressing matters. How could she possibly talk to Quint about what happened last night? Was it even something she wanted to talk about? She had been so forward, and she remembered that he’d given her every chance to stop if she wanted. But her need for comfort and love was too strong to deny.
She had to know how Quint felt about everything, and the only way to do that was to talk to him. Without knowing how he felt about it, without talking to the man who’d shared the experience with her, she couldn’t simply sit around admonishing herself. She hurriedly finished her shower, dried off and dressed in a simple outfit, expecting another day of staying in and waiting for a response from the man who held her son captive.
The image of Hampton, helpless and hungry, neglected and distressed, occupied her mind completely as she applied her makeup and fixed her hair in the vanity mirror. Unable to push it from her mind, she made her way to the kitchen, confused by the sudden influx of music as she approached.
The balcony doors were open, and the sounds of raucous celebration were drifting up from the plaza below. S
he walked past the kitchen and out onto the balcony, leaning over to look down at the revelers. The large fabricated skulls, dancing, and blindingly vibrant colors created a deep pit in her stomach.
The Day of the Dead. She’d forgotten about that. It was a routine celebration in South America and Mexico, but the timing couldn’t have been more distressing. The fact that Frederik hadn’t yet responded filled her with terror at the prospect of him doing something rash, even for him.
She turned and practically fled into the kitchen to see Quint fully dressed for the day, nearly finished cooking breakfast.
He turned to her, brow raised in confusion, though a faint smile was on his lips. “Amara? Is everything alright?” He motioned toward the balcony. “Day of the Dead. You must know about the celebrations. Sort of a Latin Halloween, as I understand it. It’s a day of reverence too, but like most other things, it’s also a cause for parades and celebration.”
She nodded slowly as she made her way to one of the high stools situated against the island. “Yeah, I know about it, a little. Aren’t you worried?”
He lifted a pan off a burner and tilted his head slightly, pondering for a moment. “Of course I’m worried. I’ve been worried, and I will be until we get Hampton back.”
“No, not only that. The day. Frederik has apparently gone off the deep end. You don’t think he’d —”
Quint placed the pan back on the burner. “No. No, none of that. We can’t get caught up in that kind of thinking. He wouldn’t do that, no matter how vicious or crazy he is. He knows there’s no way he’ll get what he wants if he does. I don’t want to sound callous, but it’s no good thinking otherwise. Don’t do it to yourself, to either of us.”
She knew he was right and wished for the discipline to follow his advice. “Quint … we need to talk about last night. About what happened between us.”
He pulled away slowly, nodding as he moved to turn the burner off and slide the omelet onto a plate, which he passed to her over the island. “Right onto the next hot topic, are we? Fine. I thought as much. It was sudden, yes. I didn’t expect it, and —”
