I ignore the tug of need, rolling over to focus on the brown eyes that are staring back at me. Maisey yawns, pulling the blankets up.
“Night, Maise,” I whisper.
Her eyes stay closed. She really must be tired.
“Night, CC.”
My eyes drift shut as sleep lulls me into its abyss...
Iwake with a start. The dim light outlines a room that’s vaguely familiar as it slowly comes into focus.
Quinton’s room.
I turn to my right to find Maisey sound asleep.
Thank god.
I slip out of the bed and pad downstairs to check on things and grab a drink. I flip the light on and find a glass. Standing by the sink, I watch as the glass fills with cold water from outside. The glass cools as the waterline rises.
Shutting off the tap, I take a sip and lean on the counter. A moment later, the front door unlocks, and a disheveled man appears in the doorway.
Chapter
Eighteen
QUINTON
Celeste stands, hands by her side, lips parted around breathy inhales. The thin fabric of her long pajamas does nothing to cover her hard peaks.
“Everything okay?” I rasp.
I haven’t slept a damn wink. I tried to sleep in the guest bedroom, but the mattress was like a rock. I, unlike Goldilocks, found the softest bed and fucking claimed it. It just so happened to be Celeste’s bed. And despite its heavenly softness, I have been tossing and turning all damn night with her fragrance penetrating every single thing in that room.
If I wasn’t hard before, I damn well am now.
She takes a step forward.
This time, we have no other distractions. But it’s far too cold in this kitchen. I close the distance and sweep her into my arms. Her mouth is on mine a beat later. Walking to the living room, I set her down on the sofa. She pants where she sits, and I rekindle the fire until it’s crackling away and the room is warming up rapidly.
“Quin . . .” she breathes.
I pad to where she sits and drop to my knees. “Fuck, CC. I’ve been tossing and turning in your bed for damn hours. Hell,I have blue balls from smelling you all night and not being anywhere near you. Not touching you.”
“Not just me, then . . .”
Her eyes are ebony, consumed by need and the reflection of the flickering fire. Shadows dance over her face and neck. She’s ethereal.
“Quin, please touch me,” she begs.
No telling this man twice.
With deft fingers, I undo each button on her pajama top. And the lower I get, the slower my movements become. As if this moment is the one where we cross the line from fooling around to something far more serious.
After last night with Hank, my feelings for Celeste have amplified. Her dedication speaks volumes to the person she is.
When the last button pops, my hands drop to her sides, and I shift my focus up. Every heave of her chest has the shirt fall away a little more. Her hands move to mine, a finger tracing the back of my hand, like she too needs grounding in this intense parcel of time.
“Baby, I’m dying here, but I don’t want to mess this up by going way too fast.” I drop my head into her lap. Instantly, her fingers rake through my hair.
