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My ass is sore the next morning, throbbing as I drive us to the campground in Grand Marais, one of the friendliest towns in Michigan. It’s artsy and quirky, and I think that Quinn will love just poking around.
“So are we really going to kayak out to Pictured Rocks?” he asks, talking about a scenic shoreline on Lake Superior that features cliffs streaked with colors, making it seem almost as if they’ve been painted on. You can kayak up to them, reach out, and press your hand against the stone.
“Yeah, I booked a tour for two o’clock.”
“I can’t wait,” Quinn says, shifting in his seat and glancing out the window. “Fuck, it’s going to be hard to go back home after this.”
He reaches over and links his hand with mine and I stare down at them, the way his fingers fit so perfectly in mine. Those magical fucking fingers that bring me over the edge like nothing else can.
“Yeah,” I say, not telling him that going home means so many different things that I can’t really think about right now.
He brings our entwined hands up to his lips and presses his mouth to them.
“How about,” Quinn says softly, mischief in his eyes. “If you’re not too sore, we get set up and fuck.”
The blunt way he goes about it makes a laugh burble out of me. God, this guy.
“We could break in the campsite. Christen it.”
I peek over at him, my hole already clenching around nothing, ready for it.
“What do you think?” he asks, squeezing my hand. I can see his pants tenting, and I snort softly.
“You think you can manage to hook up the trailer with a hard dick?”
“Gives me an incentive,” he replies quickly. “I can work really fast under pressure.”
I smile at him and he smirks back.
“And then when you’re nice and sore, we can go explore. From what I read online this town is amazing. Have you ever been?”
I shake my head. “This will be my first time.”
Quinn quirks an eyebrow at me and then slides one of my fingers into his mouth. I don’t know how I manage to drive us safely to the campsite, but I do. It’s hard as fuck with him sucking on my fingers like he’s going down on me.
By the time the camper is hooked up and we’re back inside, we’re on each other, ripping our clothes off, our hands greedy, our tongues tangled.
“Fuck,” I groan as he pushes me up against the wall and grinds against me.
I never in a million years thought that I’d be fucking my way across the UP, but I am. Quinn grabs my face, holding me in place as he bites down on my bottom lip, sucking on it with that lush mouth of his.
I just stand there and let him do what he wants. I’ve always been submissive in the bedroom, which has been an issue more often than not because most people look at me and expect something different. They expect me to take control, when I want nothing more than for my partner to make the decisions for me.
I’m so fucking tired of being in control. I just want someone to take the reins every once in a while.
And Quinn seems to like doing that.
Fuck, I like it too. He’s smaller than me, but he can still manipulate me around the bedroom, taking exactly what he wants each and every time. He takes what he wants so well.
He knows how to turn me into putty.
“Turn around,” he says, his hands on my hips, spinning me to face the wall.
My breath comes out as pants, and I splay my hands out in front of me.
“Ass out,” he says as he roughly tugs my pants down.
I arch back, needing him. Now.
