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I dig out the key that I’ve had for the past six months. The key that I’ve used many times unbeknownst to her. Quietly, I unlock the door and step inside. Her little ankle biter is there to greet me, as always. I’m not a people person, let alone a dog person, but this one’s all right. We have an understanding, she and I. She doesn’t bark when I come in, and I give her a treat and a belly rub on th
e way out.
I head to Quinn’s room where she lies sprawled out with only a white tank top and those boy-short knickers. The tiny strap of her top is hanging off her shoulder, and I can see the dark pink of her nipples through the thin fabric. Jesus, fuck, she is every man’s wet dream. A real-life Jessica Rabbit. I hover over her for a moment, simply observing. But this time, watching isn’t enough. I trace my fingertips from her neck down to her collarbone, then drift down to her full, round breasts and rub circles around her nipples until they turn into hardened peaks. She moans softly in her sleep, and the sound goes straight to my cock. I give the other nipple the same attention before my fingers continue their journey down, down, down. I slide my hand between her thick thighs and have to hold back a growl when I feel how warm and damp she is, even over her underwear.
I rub her clit from the outside of her knickers, and I know this makes me the creepiest motherfucker on the planet, but I can’t seem to make myself stop. And when she whispers my name on a moan and rocks into my hand, I don’t stand a chance. I climb into her bed and pull the crotch of her underwear to the side to get a better look. I spread her legs, and she still doesn’t move. It’s dark in here, but I know she’s perfection. She smells so goddamn sweet, I must have a taste. Before I let myself consider the consequences, I swipe my tongue up her slick slit. Fuckkkkk, she tastes incredible. Maybe just one more lick. I swirl my tongue around her clit, teasing another whimper out of her. I’m definitely going to hell.
“Carter…” she whispers groggily. “What are you—”
“Shh, let me taste you. Let me make you feel good.” I pull her knickers off before I kiss her clit, and her legs widen even more as she throws her head back into her pillow.
“God, am I dreaming?” she asks breathlessly.
“No, but I think I am,” I murmur into her warmth. Her hands clench her headboard tightly, her pink toes digging into the bed. I bring two fingers up to her parted lips, and she sucks them into her mouth. I fuck her mouth with my fingers, then bring them back down to her pussy. Slipping my fingers inside her, I suck on her little clit.
“I need you, Carter. I need it.”
She tries to pull me up, but instead, I flip onto my back, pulling her on top, so she’s straddling my head. I’m not done eating, yet. Quinn gasps, not expecting the sudden change of position, but I don’t give her a chance to object. I dig my fingers into her thighs and force her to ride my face. She’s unsure at first, but soon, she’s tearing her shirt off, rubbing those gorgeous tits and humping my face like it’s her favorite pillow.
“God, I’m gonna come, Carter. Make me come, make me come, make me come,” she chants desperately, her eyes squeezed shut. I spear my tongue inside her, and she moves faster, harder, all inhibitions out the window. I feel her body lock up and freeze when her orgasm hits, so I flatten my tongue and lap up her juices like lemonade on a hot day. She moans—not an exaggerated porn star moan, but a genuine sound of pleasure, soft and sultry, like her—and it takes all of my self-control not to free my cock and impale her with it. Her legs shake before her body melts on top of mine. I give Quinn a minute to catch her breath before sliding out from under her. Her red hair is damp with sweat, and a strand sticks to her cheeks, her cherry lips even darker than normal.
What the feck did I just do? I was just intimate with a woman before making sure she was thoroughly sanitized. Before making sure her hands were bound so she wouldn’t touch me. I went down on her, and instead of being repulsed, I fucking loved it. Savored her. Devoured her. I didn’t think, didn’t second-guess myself. I just acted.
Without a word, Quinn settles into the crook of my arm. She smells intoxicating. Her dainty hand travels down to my dick and rubs it through my slacks, but I redirect her hand to my chest.
“Sleep, Quinn.”
She yawns and snuggles in further.
“Okay,” she whispers.
When her breathing evens out, I slip away, quietly.
I wake up to a six-pound ball of scruff lying directly on my face. “Damn, Gia, give a bitch some space,” I mumble groggily as I reposition her in the crook of my elbow, ignoring her growls of protest. I don’t know why she insists on sleeping on my face, but she does every single night, and every time I try to move her, she snarls and nips at me—probably because she doesn’t like me thwarting her plans of suffocating me. I’m pretty sure she hates me—unless I have treats—and even then, she only tolerates me. But, she’s all I have, and I love the little jerk, so I put up with her.
The first thing I notice is Carter’s absence. It’s like a punch in the stomach, though I’m not sure why. Did I really expect him to stay? This is the elusive Carter Savage we’re talking about. I thought it was a dream, at first, but I still feel him, still smell him on my skin. God, last night was amazing. I always assumed Carter was sort of…unsure of himself. Or maybe a little timid. Turns out, he’s a fucking beast. Last night was the best sexual encounter of my life, and we didn’t even have sex. Not for lack of trying, on my part, though. Even when we were intimate, he still kept me at arm’s length. I don’t know what I was expecting. One night doesn’t change anything, and I should’ve known that. Maybe he really is like all the other men in my life. Jesus, there is something seriously wrong with me. My stalker sneaks into my house and has his way with my sleeping body, and the only part I find upsetting is that he left.
I spend the rest of the afternoon before work in a weird mix of elation at finally having him touch me and despair at his disappearing act. I tell myself that I should forget about Carter and thank my lucky stars that he hasn’t pulled a Marky Mark and killed my dog like any respectable stalker would. After I take said dog on a walk, I start to get ready for my shift at Hot N’ Bothered. I grab one of my barely-there crop tops and pair it with leather leggings and my Jimmy Choo booties, compliments of good old Mitch. Mitch used to be a regular at the club who used to tip me very well. We never met up outside of work. I just laid the flirting on thick and made sure he always had a drink in his hand. He must’ve realized I wasn’t going to put out, because he eventually stopped coming around.
I snatch a flannel out of my closet to throw over my skimpy work shirt for the walk to work and then start on my makeup. I decide to go for smoky eyes tonight, and I use a dark green eye shadow to compliment my red hair. After I wing my eyeliner like a pro, I throw a coat of mascara on my eyelashes, apply some foundation, and then I’m good to go. When I’m at home, I almost never wear makeup, but I go a little heavier with the war paint at work, for obvious reasons. I check myself out in the mirror, adjusting my boobs for maximum cleavage, all while telling myself it has nothing to do with the fact that I’ll see Carter tonight. And when I flip my head over to muss it up a bit to achieve the sex hair look, I tell myself that has nothing to do with Carter, either. I spritz on some Chanel No. 5—another gift from a nameless customer—turn on some Animal Planet for Princess Gia, and I’m off to work.
It’s starting to get darker out earlier this time of year, and the chill in the air has me tugging my flannel tighter around my middle. The bar is only a couple of blocks away, but I still hate walking there, especially during the winter. I hear footsteps behind me, and I turn to see a broad man with a dark hoodie on. His face is angled down, his hands in his pockets. My heart starts racing as I pick up the pace and grip my phone in my pocket, ready to call for help if I need to. Is he walking faster, now, too? I tell myself that I’m simply paranoid since my father came back, and that it doesn’t mean he will come for me. Not everyone on the freaking streets of New York is a bad guy. Even still, I’m uncomfortable having my back to a stranger on an empty street at night, so I turn my head around to steal another glance…except he’s not there anymore.
See? Overreacting, Quinn. Get it together.
Even though he’s gone, I still have the heebie-jeebies. Like, that feeling you get in the ocean when you imagine a shark is behind you, even though you know it’s ridiculous. I’m looking over my shoulder
, practically jogging now, as I round the corner next to the Hot N’ Bothered building. Just before I’m able to make it inside, I run into a solid chest, and two strong hands grip my shoulders. I scream. Loudly. I’m kicking and trying to fight my way out of this stranger’s hold, but it’s only getting worse. His hands lock around my midsection, and they jerk me into his chest, hard. Then his voice stops me.
“Fecking Christ, Quinn. What are you running from?”
I instantly relax at the sound of that accent.
Carter.
Quinn’s tight little body goes lax in my hands upon hearing my voice. Part of me revels in the fact that she’s comforted by me, but the other part knows I don’t deserve to be her savior. I won’t stop following her, though. I will keep her safe. I have to. I won’t fail her.
I was pacing in front of Hot N’ Bothered—walking eight steps to the right, then eight steps to the left, in a failed attempt to distract my thoughts from wandering back to Quinn—when she flew into my arms. I usually follow her to work, but after last night, I tried staying away. Visions of her perfect hourglass figure writhing above me and the taste of her soaking wet cunt have been plaguing me ever since.
