His touch is ethereal.
Sparks scatter along my skin over every inch his fingertips travel. And I’m dying to kiss him. Taste him. Close the space between us even further. “Quin, please.”
“This kitchen door lock?” His voice is low and gravelly.
I nod. “Marie used to lock us out when she was cooking Sunday roasts years ago.”
He strides to the door and closes it, locking it tight.
Chapter
Sixteen
QUINTON
Fingers digging into her waist, I lift her onto the counter. A little breath huffs past her parted lips when her ass meets the hard countertop. I position myself between her legs, and she leans in, tilting my head up as she claims my mouth. I love this side of CC—the side that knows what she wants and fucking takes it.
Because I plan on doing the same thing.
Lifting her sweater and shirt out of my way, I claim a hard peak through her lacy red bra. Her thighs fall apart even more, her hands gravitating to my hair as she whimpers. What I wouldn’t give to have nothing between us.
But this isn’t about me.
I’ve had years to figure that out.
When it comes to women: for best results, apply selflessness. Hell, I learned most of it from my daughter.
Soft flesh gives way under my grip as I tug a hip toward me. “Dammit, CC. How is it possible that I can’t get you close enough?”
She stills, big blown-out brown eyes staring down at me. Her hand runs over my jawline as her mouth parts on a ragged breath.
She’s fucking stunning.
Her pretty red lips swollen from my kiss.
Her face flushed from my touch.
And it’s not enough. Glancing at the video feed on her phone only to see the start of one odd-looking snowman, I decide we’ve wasted enough time.
I release the clasp of her bra, and her hands sink into my hair, their grip renewed around my tousled locks. Neither of us is slowing down. Hell, I’m not certain I’ll ever recuperate from seeing Celeste undone this way, and we’ve barely started.
“Quin,” she mutters. “I?—”
I take a long, languid suckle of her peak, and she bucks off the counter. My grip tightens around her hips as I do it again.
The softest, most intoxicating mewl slips past her lips.
“Fuck, CC.”
“God, we should really be building a snowman,” she whines.
I chuckle at her assessment of our current situation. But as the amusement fades, burned out by the overwhelming desire for her that has me rock-fucking-hard right now, I shift to the other peak. Grabby hands tug at my flannel shirt, then at the T-shirt beneath it, until her fingertips trace the lines of my stomach and upward over my chest. “I want to see you.”
I release the nipple with a pop and tug the shirt from my back.
CC sits on the edge of the counter, breathless.
When she swallows, somewhat regaining her composure, she says, “How am I supposed to live next door to this?” An elegant hand waves at my exposed torso. “You’re going to have to sleep naked and leave your curtain open, Quinnie.”
