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“Yeah, oh yeah. That’s right. Suck it. Suck it.”
My eyes adjusted to the darkness under the bed. The way Quinn was looking at me, as if unsure whether to laugh or scowl, had me wishing for the cloaking darkness to return. He shook his head and rubbed his forehead like he just couldn’t believe this was happening.
“All the way in, yeah, you can take it. God, your mouth is fucking beautiful.”
Quinn shut his eyes and looked at me when he reopened them. He was mouthing something that I couldn’t make out, but I knew he was cussing.
I agreed that the situation wasn’t ideal, but we had to live through it. I shoved my glasses up and twisted just enough to reach into my pocket—
The slats thumped and I froze, pressing myself closer to the floor, my hand jammed in my pocket.
The girl spoke. “Give it here.”
I predicted the coming event, so I quickly wriggled into a better position, pulling out my pen and notebook from my pocket. I might just be able to read some of my notes from earlier. I’d concentrate on the column I had to write, and not on the thumping that—thump, groan, thump, groan—had just started.
“God, you’re so tight.”
Silent laughter shook Quinn’s body and grated against my side. Well, while he laughed, I’d focus on the historical elements that were portrayed at this ball and—
Quinn shuffled closer to me and brought his mouth to my ear. His warm hand rested on my pen-clenching hand. “Are you serious?” The words slid down my neck and his breath turned my skin into goosebump soup.
Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump.
“Fuck. Fuck yeah. Ride me, baby.”
“You’re unbelievable,” he whispered again in my ear. He plucked the notebook and pen from my suddenly limp hands, stuffing my much-needed distractions into his back pocket.
“Turn over. Up on your knees.”
Thump!
This one was so loud, Quinn flung his arm over me, half curling onto me as if to protect me from falling bed slats.
“I could fuck you like this all fucking night.”
“Christ, please don’t,” Quinn whispered against the back of my neck, where his face was pressed.
“Do you like this? Do. You. Like. This?”
Not particularly. Though I found it somewhat fascinating just how much fun the two of them seemed to be having. Sure I’d had sex before, but it was usually a quieter affair. Perhaps I’d just been with the wrong girl?
What would Hannah be like if we decided to pursue something?
Oh–oh-oh-oh!
The slats jumped and slammed and groaned, and Quinn pressed against me tighter until the groans and cries peaked, and the bed banged one last time against the wall. A shuddering cry ripped out of the male, dissipating into softer pants as they both caught their breath.
It was a stiff few minutes until—thank the heavens!—the two lovers slipped back into their clothes and returned to the ball.
Quinn and I waited no more than thirty seconds—just to be sure they wouldn’t come back—before we scrambled out from under the bed.
Quinn peeled off a stiff sock from his side, and we ushered ourselves out of the room.
As soon as we were in the hall, I snatched my notebook and pen from Quinn’s back pocket, making him jump. “Just wanted these back,” I said, shoving them back into place.
With a stiff nod and a stiffer walk, Quinn led the way out of the dorm.
Outside, I gulped down the cool air as we made our way from Beckman Hall to the street. Transitioning from the most unwelcome noise pollution to the still and quiet night wasn’t as refreshing as I’d hoped. “One thing we are good at,” I said, walking faster to beat off the chill, “is finding ourselves in awkward situations.”
“Yeah, well,” Quinn said, tugging my sleeve to stop. I hugged myself for warmth as he caught my gaze. “Here’s another awkward moment coming up.”
I rubbed my upper arms. “What’s that?”
Quinn pulled out a set of keys from his pocket and gestured toward the car in front of us. “You’re cold. Jump in. I’ll give you a lift home.”
I was cold (and still nervous walking home on my own since the Freddy incident), so I accepted the offer. Slipping into the passenger seat of the car, I buckled up. “Was that supposed to be the awkward moment?”
Quinn settled into his seat and gripped the steering wheel. “No,” he said. “The awkward part is when I ask you again if you forgive me for being such a prick last weekend.”
“Oh,” I said, looking out onto the dark street, peppered with streetlights. How many Freddies lurked in the shadows? I shivered. Focus on the forgiving-Quinn-the-prick conversation! “You want us to start over?”
He shifted. “Uh, yeah.”
“I don’t see what there is to start, but okay. I’m sure we can forget last week.” I studied his flushed face, clubbed ears, and thick lashes. A thought struck me as I took in his strong, Thor-like build. “Are you still apartment-less?”
