“What do you think?” she asks, as if I’m not gaping at her with my mouth wide open and my cock straining against my pants. As if I’m not scrambling forward, gently knocking her hand away so I can be the one to touch her. She moans when I take her nipple between my thumb and forefinger, pinching tight.
“What do I think? I think I’d like to come on your chest. I think I’d like to use it to write my name so whoever is there after me knows I was there first.” She warms under my hand, body flushing a pretty shade of pink. “I’d like to leave a mark so you remember me in the morning. So you don’t forget what we did.”
“Is that what you normally like?”
“I’ve never done that before. But with you, I know I’d enjoy it.Fuck, Quincy. Look at you,” I breathe out. Full of wonder, full of awe. Full ofhow the fuck am I the one to be here with her right now?“You’re gorgeous.”
“You said something about wondering if I’m wet. About not hating you.” Quincy lifts her long arms above her head and hums when I palm her breast, the lace rough against my hand. “When are you going to find out if you’re right?”
There’s that goddamn confidence making me weak again.
I could finish right now. A quick thrust against the mattress is all it would take.
My hand drops to her thighs, thumb running over the ridge of her knee. Up higher, teasing over the front of her underwear before fanning out over her ribs.
I look at her, and it’s the biggest mistake of my life. I’m dumbstruck. Her dark hair hangs in loose waves around her face. Herchest is heaving, her legs are open, and I’m not convinced this isn’t some fantasy I’ve had before. A memory from last week where I got off in the shower to a hazy vision of her.
This is so much better.
“Sebastian?”
“Sorry.” I shake my head. “You’re making me stupid right now.”
“Tell me about the ways you want me.”
I could write a novel. An encyclopedia full of Quincy-isms and all my inappropriate thoughts, but I settle on kissing her instead. Swiping my tongue along her mouth and smiling when her lips part and she smiles too.
She tastes like wine and that cupcake she ate earlier. Decadence swathed in a five-foot-nine brunette who must be trying to bring me to my knees when her knuckles brush along my jaw.
“I want you right now. Fast, then slow, so I can figure out what you like the most then do it again. I want you to sit on my face because you’ve been telling me for years to shut up, and I think that might be the only solution to giving you what you want. I want you on top of me, riding me, so I can watch your tits bounce while I fuck you. I want you from behind so I can tease you. So I can pluck you apart and put you back together. I know how to take care of people, Quincy. And I want to be the one to take care of you.”
My fingers hook in the waistband of her underwear and hold, the moment suspended. She gives me a small nod and I move, dragging the lace down her hips. Over her thighs, her calves, until they’re at her ankles. I wrap the prize around my wrist and grin.
“Are you doing something with those?” she asks.
“Keeping them as a souvenir.”
“Yeah?” Quincy reaches out and grabs my chin, and I didn’t think it was possible to get any harder. “Truth or Dare, Sebastian?”
“Dare,” I answer. “I will literally do anything you want. I’ll crawl. I’ll ask nicely.Anything, Quincy.”
“I dare you to touch me.” She lets go and leans back, elbows resting on the mattress. She drags her feet over the wrinkled sheets, legs bent at the knee, and tips her thighs open. “I dare you to look at me.”
I glance up, and my heart almost flatlines. I need to be revived but also sedated.
There she is.
Perfect, and mine for the night.
I press my thumb against her clit and rub a slow circle. Her toes curl, her back arches. She moans my name like she’s mad at me, and I smile.
“Like that?” I whisper, and she nods. She lets out a breath and puts a hand on my shoulder, nails digging into my skin. I can’t wait to look at the half-moon marks she leaves behind when we’re finished. I should get a tattoo to commemorate the occasion. I’ll put her name under it in big, bold letters.Courtesy of Quincy Monroe. I’m the luckiest motherfucker in the world.“Oh, sweetheart. You don’t know what you’re asking for.”
Quincy loops her fingers in my necklace and tugs. I nearly tumble on top of her, but I catch myself at the last second, holding myself above her. Her smile is a dare. Her eyes sparkle with a challenge. She unhooks her bra, breasts spilling free and a hand trailing down her body.
She’s going to make me beg, and I’m going to thank her for the opportunity.
“Get back on your knees like you said you would, and tell me how much you want to taste me.”
