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“Maybe I am. But is what they’re doing better? They’re gonna cut her off. Let her drink herself to death.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Thanks.
“Really, Wes. That must be hard.”
He nods. “Let’s do another round.”
“Maybe we should talk more.”
He shakes his head. “Don’t have anything else to say.”
“Okay.” That’s fair. “How about we not talk together?”
His eyes meet mine. They look for something.
He must find it, because he nods and offers his hand.
I take it.
He helps me glide around the rink.
Then, we do it again.
Again.
Until I really do have it.
We don’t stop until we’re sweaty and exhausted.
I get out of my rollerblades and into my flats, but the ground isn’t any steadier.
The closer we get to his car, the more everything spins.
He’s letting me in.
He’s offering more.
And I’m taking it.
God help me.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Quinn
My apartment looks exactly as I left it this afternoon, but it feels like a different universe.
It’s in the air.
In my veins.
In my heart.
Which is screaming.
I should be used to the Wes, Wes, Wes chant, but that’s different too.
It’s not my body whining for his.
It’s something deeper.
Something in my soul.
God, is that what people say?
My main reference point is Casablanca.
Maybe it’s okay we only have the summer.
Look at Rick and Ilsa. They only have their short affair in Paris and they wouldn’t trade that for anything.
A summer with Wes is better than no Wes.
Better to love and lose.
I have absorbed the message of my favorite movie.
And he…
Well… he knows where we stand too.
“So.” He wraps his arm around my waist. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”
My thoughts immediately float away. The only thing in my brain is Wes, Wes, Wes. Somehow, I manage to murmur some kind of hmm.
He motions to the bathroom. “I should shower.”
“Oh. Sure.” I try to step forward, but he doesn’t release me.
“You should shower with me.”
“Oh.” Oh. “And we…”
“You want to move up our next lesson?”
Hell yes. “Depends.”
“Fuck, angel, my ego.” He makes a noise like he’s been stabbed in the gut.
“Your ego is fine.”
“Could be better with a little stroking.” His voice drops back to that low, seductive tone.
He wants to forget all this heavy stuff.
Or maybe he wants to connect physically.
Or maybe he’s as confused as I am.
I close my eyes. Take a deep breath. Try to find clarity.
His fingers curl into my hips.
His lips brush my neck.
Softly.
Then harder.
Then it’s the scrape of his teeth and—
Fuck.
My body responds with gusto.
Hell yes.
“Depends on what, angel?” He slips his hand under my sweater. Traces the waistband of my leggings.
“What’s our lesson?”
“I seem to recall demanding you come on my face.”
Fuck. My sex clenches. I try to make my nod coy, but I don’t get there. “Will you…” Confidence. I can do that. “Will you teach me how to suck you off?” My cheeks flush, but he can’t see that. He’s behind me. This is confident. Ish.
“Not today.”
My pout is pure reflex.
“I’m too wound up to teach you.” He brushes my hair behind my ear.
“Maybe that’s a good thing.”
“Yeah?” His fingers skim my temple. “If I can’t control myself and I come in your mouth in thirty fucking seconds? That’s a good thing?”
“Yeah.” I swallow hard. Which is hard. Because now I’m thinking about swallowing and if I can manage that. “It will build my confidence.”
He laughs. “You’re a good salesperson.”
“Thank you.” I arch my hips against his. My brain tries to jump in with something about clarity and what the hell am I doing and oh my God, I’m so fucking attached but it’s all so fuzzy. So much less important than this. “What if I make a demand?”
“Come in your mouth or leave?”
My knees knock together.
Fuck, he’s so good at this.
I’m so…
Fuck.
“We can do the shower first,” I say.
“We can do it in the shower.” He pulls me closer, so his hard-on presses against the flesh of my ass. “Fuck, you’re distracting me.”
“Yeah.”
“Want to get you off first.”
“What if I want to get you off first?” I rub my ass against his cock. It’s weird, him being that close to my, well my ass, even with all our clothes in the way.
But not a bad weird.
A good weird.
A very good.
God, maybe I’m into that.
But one thing at a time.
“Fuck,” he breathes.
I’m not sure what I’m doing.
Only that I need it.
Him.
This.
“Is that a yes?” I rock my hips against him again.
“Fuck, Quinn.” His fingers brush my sex, over my leggings. Softly. Then harder.
The smooth fabric glides over my skin with just enough friction.
That’s—
Fuck is right.
“Yeah.” He leans down to nip at my neck. “Think I’ll be the one who needs the lesson at this rate.”
I shake my head. Stop myself. He’s wrong, but I’m taking the compliment, dammit. “Let’s um—”
“Yeah.” He guides me to the bathroom.
I pull the curtain. Run the shower until it’s hot.
He tosses his t-shirt aside.
Then his jeans.
His boxers.
God, he’s…
There isn’t a single word strong enough to describe him.
