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Taken off guard, I latch onto his biceps for support as his skillful tongue begs for permission to enter my mouth. However, begging is not required as my body instantly responds before my brain can catch up, and before long, we are making out like our lives depend on it.
Since being here, we haven’t been as intimate as we once were, and I miss it. I miss the closeness of being with him in a way I’ve never been with another.
Kissing Quinn is like eating chocolate. One bite is never enough. But Quinn is like nothing I’ve ever tasted before, and his flavor is one I could happily eat again and again. And that’s exactly what I plan on doing.
I suck his hoop into my mouth and draw on it with a long, wet pull. Quinn moans, and his response spurs me on. I reach between us and softly rub over the firm arousal pressing against me.
Quinn groans once again.
That simple sound is all the motivation I need as I unsnap the button on his jeans and slide my hand into his pants. He’s not wearing any boxers as usual.
“Red—” he pants from around my mouth since we are out in public for everyone to see. But that’s what makes this all the more fun and exciting.
I pay no attention to his warning, and the moment I wrap my hand around his shaft, we both moan. I slowly stroke up and down, loving how Quinn surrenders and lets down his guard.
His mouth slackens, and he exhales hot, needy breaths, his hips thrusting forward, moving in time with my quickening strokes.
“Oh fuck.”
I like that I can elicit this response from him, and I think Quinn needs this physical reassurance because showing him that I want him and no one else is what he needs to chase those insecurities away.
We all have insecurities, and the fact this man is afraid I would want anyone other than him is just absurd.
“You feel amazing,” I whisper against his lips. “Does it feel okay?”
“Okay? Oh fuck.” Quinn hisses, driving his hips onward.
“Is a…oh fuck me,” he moans, his sentence structure intermittent as I stroke harder. “Understatement. I’m about five seconds away from coming in your hand.”
I avert my eyes, still embarrassed by his honesty.
“Let me…oh fuck…let me finish you off first.” He hisses, reaching for the button of my jeans, but I nudge out of his grip.
“No way. I like…being in control.”
The confession stuns us both.
Quinn nods, closing his eyes, and arches his head back. The sight is fucking breathtaking. When he lets down his walls this way, what I see is simply beautiful.
His zipper is in the way, so I try to push it down without breaking contact with his arousal. However, when I hear Cynthia calling out for us, I realize this will have to wait.
We quickly disengage while Quinn attempts to act normal when Cynthia appears. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”
I bite my lip because this situation is a little funny. “Not at all.”
Quinn mutes a pained groan.
“I was wondering if I could borrow Quinn for a second. I just wanted to see if he could hang an ornament on the porch. I can’t climb a ladder because of my vertigo, and Polly is busy, and the workers have gone for the day, and oh dear—sorry to be a bother,” she concludes, taking a breath.
It’s safe to assume she has an inkling about what she interrupted.
“It’s no bother. I’m happy to help.”
“Er, thank you, Quinn,” she says, unable to meet his eyes.
We’re so busted, and this is actually kind of comical as I’ve never experienced being caught out by a parent. I try to bite back my smile at this feeling of normalcy because maybe, just maybe, there is hope for Cynthia and me.
“Right, well,” Cynthia says and waves goodbye to me before practically running away.
