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I stared at him in disbelief. “That… that was just a joke. We’re not really going to— For five weeks?”
Quinn blinked up at me solemnly. “Don’t worry, Angel Soft. You’ll probably be too busy doing your nails with Marissa to worry about… not nailing anyone.”
For some reason, my dick got even more excited by his teasing. I ground my cock into his hip. Then I leaned over and brushed my lips against his earlobe.
“Oh, I’m not worried about me, Piglet,” I murmured in a low voice. “I like touching myself. I like thinking up scenarios in which I fuck unsuspecting wedding planners against the wall and make them weak in the knees. It makes me hard. It makes me want. And when I come all over myself thinking about it, I like to—”
Quinn clapped a hand over my mouth, and his voice came out pitchy and stuttered. “Good grief. For a person who can’t say the word ‘relationship’ without turning blue, Champion, a startling number of your sexual fantasies concern me. Are you sure you’ll be able to make it five whole weeks at Camp Stink-Ass without this ass?” He wiggled the ass in question in a way that made my eyes cross.
“Way easier than you will without my cock,” I challenged, because… fuck, five weeks was going to suck, but I’d be damned if I gave in before he did. “I’ll hardly even miss it.”
But when Quinn snorted and wrapped his legs around me, I made the kind of executive decision that had made me a top operative in my field.
I rolled so he was on top, and then I pulled him down to kiss him. “Starting tomorrow,” I whispered. “For tonight, I want to watch you ride me.”
11
QUINN
“Kiss me, Champion,” I begged without caring how needy I sounded or worrying about trivial things like how I’d come to be pushed up against the wall in the bunkhouse at Drakes Farm, despite being in the middle of a five-week revirgination pact.
“Gonna do more than kiss you,” Champ growled over my shoulder. He slid one big hand up my chest, pulling my back against his hard chest, while the other traveled south to mold my dick through my pants.
We groaned simultaneously.
Champ tilted his head down so he could whisper against my ear, “You know how I feel about you. I—” A loud beeping sound startled us both. “Wait, what’s that?”
“Dunno. Finish your statement.”
“Is that… Do you have an appointment now?”
“Maybe? Who cares! If you’re not gonna talk, at least fuck me,” I begged. “Do it now. Do it fast!”
“Just admit you want it,” Champ purred. “Fight for it. You can have anything if you want it bad enough, Quinn. Quinn? Quinn—”
“Quinn? Hey, Quinn?”
“Gahhhh!” I jerked awake, so disoriented I nearly fell off my chair and brained myself on my desk.
“Whoa, hey!” Ava held up her two hands in a gesture of innocence, and her long, blonde ponytail swayed. “Just your friendly neighborhood Beautification Corps representative, coming to drop off Mrs. Peevey’s Binder of Doom for you.” She set down a large leather folio on the desk. “I didn’t mean to disturb you, but I heard your phone alarm beeping, and I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“Yeah, sorry. Thank you.” I ran a hand over my face and grabbed my phone to turn off my 30-minutes-to-meeting warning alarm. “Dang. I sat down to prep for my new clients, and I guess I conked out.”
“No kidding. You were groaning like you were being tortured by an evil villain in your sleep.”
That’s because I was. Only not just in my sleep.
And not by just any evil villain but by Percival Fucking Champion.
And not regular old torture but two weeks of extreme sexual deprivation, the likes of which I’d never known.
I forced a smile. “How weird! No, I think I’m just stressed because I’m planning a wedding for Tommy Drakes’s daughter, Marissa, and it’s down to the wire. Only a few weeks to go.”
“Ah. Stress dreams.” She nodded in understanding. “I had those before my own wedding. Not getting enough sleep at night?”
“Tossing and turning for hours,” I confirmed. Also, jerking off to the mental image of the tall, gorgeous blond on the opposite side of my bedroom wall spread out naked on his own bed, thinking thoughts of me.
It turned out the only thing more exhausting than being dicked down almost nightly by a man with the stamina of an athlete was being not dicked down by that man after my damn treacherous body had spent thirty-something—yes, I’d officially lost count, and yes, that was very concerning—nights getting used to having him around.
Sometimes I held my breath to see if I could hear the sound of his soft snores through the wall. Sometimes I imagined I could smell him. I’d even cracked and dug my purloined T-shirts from the back of my linen closet, just so I could feel like I was sleeping in Champ’s embrace.
