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“Same reason, I think, that you showed up here tonight,” he told me, reaching for the champagne, and steadily pulling off the foil.
“Wait… is that pink champagne?” I asked, brows drawn together.
“Ever see An Affair to Remember, babe?”
“I just told your doorman all about it!” I gushed, a smile spreading so wide that it almost hurt. “He told me when I hesitated that I didn’t seem to be in a wheelchair, so, essentially, I should drag my ass up here.”
“I owe him a giant tip,” Quin said as he popped the cork. “Can you grab the flutes? Next to the fridge,” he clarified.
“You just… happen to have a set of champagne flutes? I don’t even have proper wine glasses.”
“How else are you supposed to toast something great happening?” he asked, filling them as I held them, then taking one for himself.
“What great thing are we toasting?” I asked, just needy enough to have to hear it from him.
His head ducked to the side a little, his smile warm. “The start of this,” he offered, clinking my glass.
“The start of what?”
His head tilted toward mine, our foreheads almost touching. “Us, Aven. The start of us.”
Us.
He said it.
And there was no denying the soaring feeling in my chest at hearing it.
“Well, I will drink to that,” I agreed.
And we did.
And it was all of two seconds after the flute left my lips that he was slamming his own down, reaching for mine, and putting it down with his so our hands could be free. His moved out, framing my face, angling it up slightly as his head lowered, claiming my lips as his own.
Finally free of injuries, he didn’t have to be gentle this time, careful. His lips were hungry and hard, searing into mine in a way that said I would feel them there even after the kiss was long over.
My body melted into his, my hands sinking into his upper arms before sliding around to fold behind his neck.
I don’t know how long we stayed like that, but when his face finally pulled from mine, my lips felt swollen and sensitive. “I know we’re supposed to be doing the catching up thing,” he started, eyes heavy-lidded, sexier than anything I had ever seen before because I knew they were that way because of me, “but I have been imagining getting you back into bed for over a month.”
There would be plenty of time for catching up later.
“Take me to bed, Quin,” I demanded, leaning forward, brushing my lips up the side of his neck, making a low, barely audible growl move through his chest.
His hands slid across my ribs then down my back to sink into my ass, digging in, and yanking up until I was off my feet with little choice but to drag my legs up, and wrap them around his back as my tongue traced over the very edge of his earlobe.
I was vaguely aware of moving through the house before Quin folded slightly forward, and my back met the mattress. There wasn’t even a pause before he pulled at my hold, his hands grabbing the waistbands of my pants and panties, and ripping them down my legs impatiently, every bit of control he usually possessed suddenly gone. His fingers found the hem of my shirt, dragging it upward, making me lift up to free it, then discarding it to the floor as his free hand reached behind me to unclasp my bra.
In seconds, I was completely naked in front of him as he moved to stand off the edge of the bed, eyes raking over me as he impatiently shrugged out of his jacket, and worked his buttons free. His hands made short work of his pants and boxer briefs, then he was as bare to me as I was to him, moving over me, our bodies pressing deliciously together as his head shifted, lips moving down my neck, then down to close around my nipple, making me arch up into the sensation with an airy whimper.
His tongue rolled the hardened bud until it was almost painfully straining, sucking it hard before moving across my chest to torture me further as he balanced half to my side on one arm, allowing his hand free to graze over my belly, the outer side of my thigh, down to my knee, then up my inner thigh, making my legs fall open on the bed, inviting his touch.
He didn’t tease.
We were both too far gone to hint at things without fulfilling the need.
His fingers whispered over the crease of my innermost thigh before moving in and gliding up my slick cleft, finding my clit, and working in in slow, steady circles as his lips left my nipple and moved back up to tease over my neck.
“So fucking wet for me,” he growled as his teeth nipped my earlobe, his thumb moving to work my clit so he could move his fingers down to press deep inside me. My hips bucked up to meet his touch, needing more, desperate for an end to the weight on my lower stomach, the coiled feeling inside.
