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His hips drive into the pouch carpet. “Mmm… I’m coming for you, baby. Get your ready ass in the air. I’m going to fuck your pretty cunt full of cum. Such a good fucking mama.” He roars a little and paws at the carpet.
“Quin.”
He moans and thrusts at the floor. “Say it again, baby. Say it loud, so everyone hears you’re my girl.”
I shut the fuck up, because that is thelastthing we want, and he knows it.
I stare at him, making love to the hotel-room floor barely three feet from a pile of Dusty’s unwashed clothes, including his socks. He clearly has no idea what he’s doing.
Realization dawns on me. His lack of awareness, the bed and the mess its covers are in, despite its looking otherwise perfectly happy to be taken for a walk… He’s asleep.
“Quin. Quin, wake up.”
“No, baby. Dreams are free. Dreams are free. Spread your fucking legs for this cock.”
I throw a pillow at him, but it bounces off his back without effect, so I head to the bathroom and run the water, making sure to keep my distance, in case he unwittingly manages to commando-crawl close enough to breach the ten-foot limit.
I soak a towel in the sink and rush back, to throw it at him.
It hits him hard, wrapping around his head from the force I hurled it with.
He stills. Then he scrambles back onto his knees and rips the sopping towel from his face.
He stares at me with wide gray eyes, and he looks more panicked, as he glances around and comprehends what he’s done.
“Fuck.” He lifts his palms in a halting gesture to stop me from moving closer. “Kira…”
He scurries backward, tangling himself in the ropes, and swearing, as he repeatedly checks over his shoulder in alarm. He looks absolutely mortified, and I cover my open mouth, to hide some of the horror he must be seeing on my face.
He jumps to his feet and shoves his bed out of the way, so he can get back into his room in a hurry and slam the door shut behind him.
It catches on one of his tethers and bounces open, so I see every rage-filled punch he throws at his wall, like a one-man demolition crew.
“Quin.”
He looks up, clearly surprised I’m still able to see him. He leaps forward, tugs the offending cord out of the way, and shuts the door with an ominously final-soundingclick.
A lot of swearing ensues, but when the door finally reopens, a calm and serene-looking Quin appears.
There are no ropes, and he’s pulled on jeans and a formal button-down shirt, in an obvious attempt to look more put together than he did moments ago, on the floor, with his mountainous erection stretching out his boxer briefs as he crawled away.
He pats down his hair for a third time, taming the disarray into a less appealing but more reserved, respectable style.
“Sorry. About all of that,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry for endangering you. I’m sorry for scaring you. I’m sorry you had to see…” He shakes his head. “It won’t happen again. I promise. I’ll shorten my leash. I didn’t even mean to fall asleep.” He’s clearly angry at himself. “Though, thankfully, I was at least loosely restrained, as a precaution.”
He drags a hand down his face. “I’m just so fucking tired.” As soon as the words leave his mouth, I can see his regret. He stands taller, presents himself as stronger and more collected when he hits me with a sincerely determined gaze. “I can handle it. I won’t repeat the mistake. I’m in control.”
Heart pounding, I nod. “I believe you.” I reach for the nearest seat and pull it close enough to sit on. “Will you talk with me a while?”
Quin pulls his seat to his doorway, and we look at each other across the void of Dusty’s room. We both open our mouths at the same time, and then stop.
He gestures for me to speak first, and I nod, still trying to gain my bearings. I thought we’d be talking about something completely different, but it’ll have to wait.
“Tell me about all this.” I gesture at him and his room and the neatly bound cords, now lined up on his bed with the thick leather shackle.
He takes a deep breath, and his face flushes with color. “I’ve got it under control,” he says carefully. “I don’t want you to worry.”
“Tellme.”
