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My orgasm built quickly, and I was panting harder and harder and—
“Quinn!” It burst out of me, and my pleasure swelled with each of his swallows. I sagged against the wall, a spray of water hitting my shoulder and fanning outward, lightly misting Quinn.
He carefully drew off me, palms running down the backs of my thighs. He held my gaze as he slipped his hand down his boxer-briefs and drew out his hard length. “Stay like that. Keep looking at me.”
Sitting back on his haunches, he pumped himself hard and fast, as if already close to the end. His eyes shut briefly, but when he reopened them, they were locked on mine again. His body stiffened and he shot over my knee, my ankle, the floor.
He was suddenly trembling, so I moved to the side, re-angling the showerhead so he could get some warmth. “No, that wasn’t what I—thank you,” he said.
He peeled out of his clothes and for the next few minutes we focused on cleaning, taking turns to rinse off under the water.
Once we were out, towels tightly wrapped around our hips, I headed for the door only to have my wrist snagged. I turned back toward Quinn, who was staring intently.
He softened his grip but didn’t let go. “I don’t want you racing off to your bedroom, and I don’t want to wait another week without mentioning this.”
My gaze dropped to my wrist and back to him. “Are you saying you want a relationship, Quinn?”
He drew himself and that tingle-inducing shell he always seemed to wear right up close. He nipped my ear. “You bet your ass I am.”
I moved to his room, snatching up my laptop on the way. His bed hadn’t been made and, climbing into it, I kept an eye out for the likelihood I’d be exfoliated by Pringle shards. Seemed a low possibility. The bedding might have been tangled, but it also smelled faintly of washing powder.
Sitting back against the headboard with the pillow jammed behind me and my naked legs stretched out, I burrowed the right leg against Quinn’s body and opened up my laptop.
Quinn pecked my elbow, rasping the edges of his teeth lightly over my skin. “Of course you’d bring your work in here.”
He delicately nipped my elbow again, and then watched as I checked my mails. My mom had written promising next year she’d make up for having to work.
I hit reply and typed back that it wasn’t a problem, and then I described in detail my ideas for “the article” that had to “wow” the chief. Mostly it was to cement the ideas for myself, but I knew my mother liked it when I went off on detailed tangents. She said it was always a privilege when she was allowed inside my head.
I wrapped up twenty minutes later, asking her a question at the end about how her new job was going. Quinn watched, his breath funneling under the sheets and over my hip.
I dragged the mouse symbol to the “send” button, and hesitated. A quick glance at Quinn’s blond tufts and clubbed ear nuzzled close to my side, and I added a P.S.
A soft chuckle came from Quinn, and the mattress bowed as he shifted himself into a sitting position. “‘P.S. I’m gay?’” he read aloud.
I pressed send as I nodded, and then opened a fresh document for brainstorming. “Thought telling her might be appreciated.”
Quinn nudged my leg and I glanced at him as he picked at the seams of his bedcover. Slowly, he raised his head. “So, was I clear enough back there in the bathroom?”
My fingers stilled over the keyboard. “Yes, you want a relationship.”
“And?”
I clicked opened my calendar, and looked over the dates and appointments and deadlines. “Can I give you my thoughts after I’ve submitted my features article?”
“You don’t have thoughts right now?”
“Of course,” I said, resting my head back against the wood, “but they are . . . overwhelmed. I’d like to sort them first and find the right answer, and at the moment, I’m too distracted with this article I have to wow the chief with.”
Quinn twisted onto his knees, sheets falling to reveal his stunning nakedness. “Sometimes there is no logical answer. Sometimes it’s just a feeling. Stop thinking up here—and start thinking here.”
He touched my chest, and I frowned at his fingers, staring at the bitten-off nails a long moment before I spoke. “What if I will never be like you, Quinn? What if I don’t always yell and laugh and cry and cheer at things you or others might?”
He dropped his fingers to the edge of the pillow under me.
“Maybe,” I said, drawing the laptop closer and jotting in the date, “we should both think about things.”
His nod was slow and measured.
“Do you want me to leave?” I asked, gesturing toward the bed and the door.
