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I tease her some more, revving her up to the point of climax, then take my fingers away, kissing her neck. “You want my cock, precious?”
“Pl—please.” She moves her arm back to wrap around my neck. Her nails dig in. I put us both out of our misery and plunge my cock into her tight, wet, hot pussy. It’s like coming home. Everything about this moment is so right.
Three strokes, and the room echoes with cries of delight as Quinn comes for me one more time, followed by my roar of release. We’ve fucked for hours, and each time it gets better and better. I shouldn’t want her again, but I do. I literally just blew my load and all I can think of is throwing her over my shoulder and climbing back into bed with her.
I wrap her in a towel and dry myself off as she pats her hair dry. She steps back into the bedroom. I follow close behind. She’s nervous and sits cross-legged in the center of the bed with sheets in disarray all around her. I have a choice to make.
If I stay, I cross the line of “no strings.” How long will it last? A week, a month? How long before she finds out about my shitty past and decides I’m not worth it? I’ll survive it, like I have every other disappointment. But this time, it might actually gut me.
The safest route is to walk away now. I let out a heavy sigh, hands on my hips, looking into her violet eyes. I rip the towel away and put a knee onto the bed, then climb in.
“What about no strings?” she whispers.
“Things just got complicated, precious.” I claim her mouth and nudge her back onto the mattress. I kiss her hard, feeling her fingers scaling up my back, nails raking, leaving her mark on me.
THREE
Where do we go from here?
QUINN
It’s been five days, four hours, and forty-seven minutes since Priest walked out of my apartment. Although my body has physically recovered from our extraordinary night together, and early morning, I might add, he’s disappeared. Priest grabbed my cell and tapped my number into his. He didn’t leave me his.
I wouldn’t have called him anyway. I’m not desperate. I have a life. I had a life before him, and I’m busy now. In the last week, I’ve become incredibly productive. After three proposals and two completed assignments, I deserve some well-earned time off. So what if Priest’s moved on? I’m doing the same, starting with brunch with Bethany.
One look in the mirror and I realize that the lack of sleep is catching up with me. Dark circles under my eyes—which I blame Priest for, for haunting my thoughts and my dreams—need a lot of work. I spend a little extra time in the mirror. I may not be a girly girl, but I like to look my best. The biggest rule of business is that you never know who you’re going to meet or when. The next client may be just around the corner. Running my own business means that I need to be always prepared.
It takes forever to straighten my natural waves. I don’t do it often, but today feels like a good day for it. I put my hair into a high ponytail and go to work hiding the dark circles. I dab on some light blush. Then put on my mascara to accentuate my long lashes, what I consider my best attribute, and make my violet eyes stand out. Casual jeans, expensively torn at the knees, a lavender cowl neck sweater, a vintage brown leather belt, and tanned brown ankle boots finish the ensemble. I look cute and fresh, and putting Priest out of my mind starts the day out right.
I grab the brown leather jacket that matches my fabulous cross-body purse and head out to Mocha and More. I love the place. The owner is a free-spirited hippie, complete with flowery tops and an adorable shop. Sugar—yep, that’s her name; her parents were hippies too—is all about creating a friendly hangout where people can eat and talk, and she treats everyone like family. On my second time in the shop, Sugar remembered my name and acted like I was her long-lost sister.
Bethany must be running late. I grab a booth by the corner, and before I can even order, Sugar sets a mug filled with a steaming frothy latte in front of me.
“Apple spice latte with half-shot espresso and sprinkled with cinnamon,” Sugar explains. “You’re welcome.” I hardly get out a thank-you before she gives me a wink and skips away. I’ve learned to let Sugar do her thing and bring me what she likes. At first, I was a little put out, but there’s no arguing that she’s got a knack for picking out exactly what I’m craving. One sip and I’m in latte heaven.
Not ten minutes later, Bethany hurries through the door, the bell above the door ringing joyfully. She’s not alone. Frankie clings tightly to his girl, but he’s calling out to someone coming in after him. That’s when I see him. Priest. My heart jolts when I hear the sound of his voice.
“Right behind you,” Priest answers Frankie. He looks around the small café until his eyes settle on me. He’s not surprised I’m here. His expression says so. It also tells me he likes the way I look. His gaze penetrates mine, and a sexy grin slides across his face. It’s the same expression he gets right before he devours me.
I’m not biting. Five days and not a peep. Not a “Hey, what’s up?” Nothing. Nada. It stings that he didn’t send a single text. We agreed on keeping it casual, and I was fine with that, but he turned it to “complicated,” as he put it. What that means is still a mystery to me, but what I won’t do is wait around for some guy, even though he’s sexy as sin and hotter than hot.
My parents raised me right. I’ll be polite and cordial, but I’m already planning my escape. I think manners dictate that I need to suffer through an hour before I feign a headache and beg off. I’ll wait until tomorrow before I call Bethany and make it up to her.
With every step Priest takes, I feel my shoulders tense, and I avert my eyes to Bethany, who is fixated on whatever it is Frankie is whispering in her ear and making her blush. If I weren’t so edgy about Priest being here, I’d think it was adorable.
Priest slides in beside me, sidling in close. I can’t ignore him. The heat coming from his body, the gleam in his eye, and the sound of his voice are enough to make we want to melt right into his arms.
Focus, Quinn! He’s not for you.I refuse to be some hanger-on to a big bad biker boy, no matter how attractive he is or how many orgasms he gives me.
“Hey, precious. Miss me?” Priest asks.
I want to slap the stupid grin right off his face. Inhale, exhale. Once more.
“I’m sorry, do I know you?” I ask casually. I rest my cheek in my palm, bent elbow on the table, brow furrowed.
Priest has the nerve to laugh. Laugh! Not a low, quiet laugh either. A roaring laugh that resonates around the room, causing all the other patrons in the place to stare in our direction.
“You’re pissed,” he rumbles into my ear. “Don’t be.”
