"We're just getting started." I finally freed myself from my jeans, and her hand immediately wrapped around me. "Fuck?—"
"My turn," she said, stroking slowly, learning what made me groan, what made my hips jerk. "Three weeks of wondering what you'd feel like."
"And?"
"Better than I imagined." She rose up on her knees, shoving her panties aside. "And I imagined a lot."
She positioned herself, and we both froze, eyes locked. Three weeks of foreplay, of denial, of want, all coming down to this moment.
She sank down slowly, taking me inch by inch, and we both groaned. She was tight, hot, perfect, and I had to grab her hips to keep from thrusting up into her.
"Oh God," she breathed, forehead pressed to mine. "You're so—you feel so?—"
"I know." My hands tightened on her hips. "Take your time."
She did, adjusting to me, then started to move. Slow at first, finding her rhythm, what angle worked in the cramped space. When she found it—when she found the angle that made her gasp—she rode me harder.
"That's it," I encouraged, one hand sliding up to cup her breast through the cotton bra. "Take what you need."
She did, using my body for her pleasure, and it was the hottest thing I'd ever seen. Quinn Jenkins, coming apart in my lap, uniform half off, taking what she wanted without apology.
My control started to fracture. Three weeks of wanting her, and now having her like this—it was too much. I could feel my release building, unstoppable.
"Quinn, I'm gonna?—"
"Not yet." She slowed her movements, grinding instead of riding, keeping us both on edge. "I want more. I want everything."
"Greedy," I accused, but I loved it. Loved that she wanted this as much as I did.
"You made me wait three weeks," she said, rolling her hips in a way that had me seeing stars. "You can last a little longer."
She rode me slow, then fast, then slow again, keeping us both balanced on the knife's edge of release. My hands roamed her body, learning every curve, every sensitive spot that made her gasp.
"I can't—" She was close again, movements getting erratic. "Wolf, I can't?—"
"Yes, you can." I slipped my hand between us, finding her clit. "Come for me again. Want to feel you."
She shattered, harder this time, crying out so loud I was sure anyone passing would hear. The feeling of her coming around me, the way she clenched and pulsed—I couldn't hold back anymore.
My release hit like a freight train, and I buried my face in her neck, groaning her name as I came. She held me through it, fingers in my hair, whispers I couldn't quite hear over the roaring in my ears.
We stayed there, both trembling, bodies still joined, neither willing to separate just yet.
"Holy shit," she breathed.
"Yeah."
"We just?—"
"Yeah."
Reality crashed over her face like cold water. "Oh God. Oh fuck. What did I?—"
She scrambled off my lap, yanking her pants up, fingers shaking as she tried to button her shirt. "This was a mistake. A huge fucking mistake."
"Quinn—"
"I'm a cop!" She wouldn't look at me, fumbling with her zipper. "You're MC. My father is the sheriff. This can't—this never should have?—"
