Carrying her to bed wasn’t an option, though he wished it was. For the first time in his life, he wanted to be the man who made sweeping romantic gestures. He wanted to pick her up and carry her to bed, he wanted to surprise her with flowers, with her favorite meal, to take her out and show her off to the world, and to show her that she was worthy of that and so much more.
But bruised ribs and the very real prospect of dropping her on the floor intruded on such notions. So, instead he pulled her to him, kissed her again, and walked her backward toward the bedroom door. Luckily, the carriage house was small enough that nothing was too far away. Patience was in short supply and dwindling.
Once in the bedroom, he kicked the door closed behind them and reached for the hem of her sweater, tugging it up over her hips. She raised her arms, and he pulled it over her head, exposing the lacy bra she wore beneath. God, he loved every lush curve, every inch of soft, silken skin. If he wasn’t a total coward, he’d just admit that he loved her. But neither of them were ready for that. So instead, he’d just show her all the things he was too terrified to say out loud.
With slow, deliberate movements, he freed the button of her jeans and then slid the zipper down one torturous inch at a time.
“We’re going to be old before you get me naked,” she said with a sly smile.
“I like to unwrap my presents slowly, Lowey…I want to savor every second of it.”
“Savor it a little faster, Quentin…I need you inside me.”
His cock hardened to the point of agony. And she’d done it on purpose, he knew. He’d wanted to romance her, to make love to her, but like every time he was in her presence, the overwhelmingneedfor Lowey simply took over. Shoving her pants down, he spun her around so that her back was pressed to his chest. He bent his head, his lips pressing against her neck. Then he bit down, his teeth scraping the skin.
She gasped, but it wasn’t pain. He knew that sound, knew the pleasure that prompted it.
“I want you on your knees,” he whispered hotly against her ear.
She shivered against him, and Quentin smiled. It was what they both wanted—what they both needed. Romance would wait. After two months, he just needed to sink into the heat of her, to feel her body closing around him. It was worse than adrug, the way he wanted her. She was like an addiction for him. For the past two months, since he’d been stupid enough to walk out, she’d been on his mind every waking second and even in his dreams.
When she climbed onto the bed, kneeling in front of him, her perfect ass displayed like he’d somehow been granted the gift of living out his favorite wet dream, Quentin knew that he was sunk, no more running, no more pretending. He wanted this—he wanted her—forever.
Ten
Lowey could feel him behind her, the weight of his presence tangible even before he touched her. But then he did, his fingers digging into her hips as he pulled her back against him. The hard press of his cock against her drew a shattered moan from deep within her. She dropped her head onto the bed, arching her hips back against him, a silent entreaty for more.
“I’ve dreamed about you just this way.” The confession rasped out of him, his voice deeper and gruffer than usual. It shivered over her and stoked the flames.
“Then, God above, Quentin…what are you waiting for?” she asked. The need to feel him moving inside her, filling her up, and taking her the way that only he could was too intense, too all-consuming, to allow for patience.
It was like she’d flipped a switch. She heard the rasp of his zipper, so loud in the silent room. Then he was there, the blunt head nudging against her as he parted her with his fingers. He slid two inside her. It was unnecessary. Foreplay, while a wonderful thing, was wholly redundant. She’d been wet for him since the moment she’d laid eyes on him.
It wasn’t pleasure, when he entered her. That was too mild a term. It was relief—intense, overwhelming, andconsuming. For just a moment, it assuaged the awful need that was like a constant and unrelenting torture. Then he moved, thrusting inside her, and the need flared to biting, scratching life again. It clawed within her as her fingers clenched the bedding. She screamed his name as the tension within her suddenly ratcheted higher, to the point she felt as if she might simply shatter with it.
Each thrust, each powerful surge of his hips as he drove into her only heightened the sensation. She was crying out insensibly, her body shivering beneath his as she climbed. The sounds that escaped her were more animal than human, but she was beyond caring.
“Please,” she gasped. She didn’t even know what she was asking for.
His hand moved from her hip, his fingers trailing up her spine until they tangled in her hair. He closed his fist then, tugging her hair taut and pulling her head back. It changed the angle of penetration just slightly…just enough. A broken sob racked her, left her shuddering. And then he thrust into her again—harder, deeper—and she broke. Her body trembled as the pleasure washed through her, every muscle quivering as the waves crested again and again.
Lowey was still shaking when he abruptly withdrew from her. He flipped her onto her back. His hands were rough on her, but she craved that from him. She needed to feel that desperation from him, to believe, even if it was just for this moment—that he was as consumed by it as she was.
When he came down on top of her, his weight settling between her parted thighs, he kissed her again. His mouth was hot on hers, his tongue surprisingly gentle as he slipped it between her lips. It glided tenderly against hers—soft, sweet. It wasn’t the kind of kiss you got from someone who just wanted to fuck you. It was the kind of kiss you got from someone who loved you.
But there was no time to question it, no time to ask him to explain. He was sliding into her again, easing his cock inside her and thrusting deep. He pulled back then, breaking the kiss and looking down at her. Their gazes were locked together as intimately as their bodies.
It was different, she thought.Hewas different. Whatever was between them had changed, morphed into this strange thing that neither of them fully understood or was prepared to define or deal with. Then conscious thought fled, and she was left with only the ability to feel.
Quentin gritted his teeth, trying to hold back his own release until he could watch her come for him again. The need to see that, to see her head thrown back and her lips parted on a silent cry as she shuddered beneath him, was something he couldn’t ignore.
Dipping his head, he pressed a kiss to the soft skin between her breasts and followed it with a lick. He could taste the salt of her skin as she strained beneath him. The muscles of her thighs trembled, her belly quivered, and he knew that she was close. He slipped one hand between their bodies, pressed one finger against her, stroking her clit with deliberate precision. Her neck arched, her head fell back, and her lips parted on a soundless cry as she clenched around him. The rhythmic clenching of her body around him pushed him over the edge. He thrust deep once more, surging into her and gritting his teeth with the force of his release as he came inside her.
Collapsing onto the bed, resting his weight on his elbow so he didn’t crush her, Quentin struggled to regain his breath. Regaining his equilibrium was a lost cause. She rocked him to his soul, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.
Lowey was beyond beautiful, but it wasn’t just her perfect face or her curvy body that haunted his dreams thatdrew him to her. It was the hint of vulnerability beneath all the barbs. He wanted to take care of her, to be the man she didn’t think she deserved.
“If I didn’t know better,” she said, rolling onto her side and curling against him, “I’d think you missed me.”
