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I’m nodding, one dirty image assaulting me after another. “Or maybe I just get it over with,” I whisper, inching into his space, “and use you right here.”
He growls, releasing the wheel to rub a hand over the swell at his fly.“George.”
So. Sexy.
I can’t wait. I don’t have enough experience managing this kind of attraction.
The garage is empty. My principles are lying in tatters back on Nat’s kitchen floor.
I’m halfway onto his lap, my mouth already locked with his, when he lets out a tortured groan and opens the car door. His arm bands around my back as he eases out of the seat, pulling me with him.
He kicks the door closed, and then my back is against it, my legs spread as Quinn kisses me hard, grinding against me just right. I want more. I want him inside me. That kiss I was supposed to hate, the one that should have paled in comparison to my memory… that kiss was a thousand times better, hotter, more addicting than what I’d remembered. That kiss was the stuff of legend—minus the romance or emotional connection, of course. And now I’ve lost all control.
His tongue thrusts past my lips, stroking firm and filling me with his taste and need. Making me ache low in my belly and hot deep between my legs. “Want this,” I gasp when he breaks away.
“Baby, you’ve got to let me go then.”
Right. Because my legs are wrapped around his hips and my arms are wound around his neck, my fingers buried in his hair… holding tight.
I swallow, trying to pull myself together as I disengage.
When I’m standing and he’s done some adjusting to the steel pipe in his jeans, he nods toward the private elevator that readsResidents Only.
He reaches for my hand and I shake him off. “No hand holding.”
“Right,” he says with a low laugh that’s such a good sound I feel it all the way through me.
Quinn punches in a code and the elevator door opens. But before I step into the gleaming car, the little voice is back with a guilt trip that has me holding up a finger. “I know you like me. But that’s not what this is about. It’s not leading anywhere but to a good time.” Or if I’m lucky, maybe just anokaytime. “Really.”
“This is sex. Got it.”
Then because I’m not sure he does, or maybe because I just need to say it— “This isme, usingyoufor sex. Not the other way around.”
He gives me a very serious face that doesn’t really look serious at all. “Never.”
Satisfied, I step in and Quinn follows. He presses a button and props a shoulder against the mirrored brass, watching me intently. “And the distinction is important?”
Critically so. “It is.”
“Then that’s how it is.”
I swallow, suddenly feeling my nerves kicking in. I’ve never done anything like this. I mean, I’ve had sex with guys I wasn’t serious about. But even that one friends-with-benefits night of casual mediocrity two years ago was more meaningful than what’s about to happen here.
We ride to the eleventh floor and when we step off, it’s into a simple but elegant hall with only four doors. He lets us into the first one on the right and starts kicking off one shoe and then the other a few steps into the apartment.
“So tell me—” He reaches over his head and pulls his shirt off. Slowly. “How exactly does this‘using’business work?”
He drops the shirt on the floor, leading me toward the back of the apartment and into his bedroom.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to snap back, “You tell me.” Only this isn’t about pointing out every wrong this man has ever committed. This is about some mutual satisfaction… achieved on my terms.
Thing is, I’ve never intentionally used someone before. Still, I don’t want to give up my control. So I say, “You do what I tell you.”
The corner of his mouth hooks again. “Mmm. Bossy, huh?”
Okay, and now I’m pretty sure he’s thinking I’ve got a kink I don’t actually have. “No. Yes. Okay,not like that. Not that there’s anything wrong with it. But— Just take off your pants and let’s get on with this.”
He laughs, and it’s easy and warm and makes me feel like I’m getting played all over again. Because I cansayI’m in control, but does that mean I actually am?
