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CHAPTER FOUR
Patience was always a merit that came easily to me, even before the recognition that I truly had all the time in the world. But through the next few seconds, waiting to see if she’ll retract her proclamation, I feel like a youth waiting on summer again. My muscles are tense. My breathing is shallow. The smallest change in the air will be enough to ruin the perfection. This moment that no longer feels like duty.
Instead, it’s honesty. Connectivity. Twines of something real to the point of primitive. A bond of intensity beneath our attraction…and arousal.
It’s magnificent. Pure magic.
But fate’s ultimate, and sick, joke.
The cosmos’s perfect joke for every female I’ve seduced and screwed for no purpose except a load to blow. Thrills to combat boredom. Conquests for empty claims.
I struggle, and fail, to access the Dario of those days. For Quinn, I’m completely Darian. The lover who will satisfy her every need. The ultimate—and final—pleasure of her life.
“Are you certain?”
It’s a surprise to witness how my words invoke her blush. I work a hand into her thick curls and gently tug.
“Quinn?”
Her gaze, still fixated on my mouth, raises to meet my gaze. “Yeah. I’m certain. It’s just that…”
“What?” I prompt.
“Nobody’s asked me that before.” She works her own lips together, snagging my own ardent fascination—and more. As soon as I envision those lips doing other things…such carnal and forbidden acts… “It kind of…surprised me.”
Her soft confession has me frowning with new inquisition. “A question from a gentleman…surprises you?”
She snorts. It’s adorable. “Okay, well there’s that. But no. It was more surprising because it was so…hot.”
Before she’s done with that part, her gorgeous stare has gotten its heavy lids again. The technique is tried and true, common to practiced courtesans throughout the ages, but I’m already too smitten to dismiss it as such.
Or too seasoned?
Because I see everything that’s different about her version of it. That uncomfortable quirk of her lips. The second little laugh that spills from them, as if she hopes I’ll do the same.
But I can’t help her out there. Not when my skin is singing, my senses are opening…and my cock is pounding.
Aching.
Surging.
And I’m no longer waiting for summer. I’m at Mother Nature’s door, demanding it.
But first, another yank on her scalp. Quicker. Stricter. And a verbal prod to match.
“How hot?”
Her gaze obeys me first. The corners tauten as the color darkens, their sangria becoming a rich Syrah. The comparison fits. She looks gorgeously tipsy as she pushes in at me again, obviously intent on claiming another kiss. I’m so ready to give to give it to her.
I’m ready to give her fifty.
A hundred.
A hundred more after that.
The promise rages through my system, as vital and full and wet and wild as the crush of our lips, the dance of our tongues, the mesh of our moans. I can’t get enough of her, tasting like spices and tannins and lust-filled female. I can’t let her get enough of me, matching every sweep of my tongue and groan from my throat with the ferocious force of her own passion.
“Quinn.”
