Oh I’m soft all right.
When his big warm palms slide over my hips to my waist, I hold my breath. I didn’t mean to; it just happened. He moves farther up, and I sit up straighter, I guess anticipating where he’s going. The second his palms are beneath each breast, his eyes meet mine. I see heat in his; I suspect he sees fear in mine.
“You okay, Quinn?” he asks softly.
I nod because I am. I want him to touch me more than anything in this world.
Like he’s torturing me, his hands move at a snail’s pace. When they touch the bottom of my breasts, I press my chest out just a little bit. Enough for him to notice, I guess, because he chuckles. He stops chuckling, though, the second his hands cup each breast.
“So perfect.” His voice sounds husky.
I’m not perfect, but his hands on me sure feel that way.
“Cooke,” I urge, arching my back farther. I want his hands to move and squeeze me, but he’s only holding them. “Please?” I whine.
Luckily, he listens and begins kneading each breast. Then he runs his fingers over the hard tips, and it makes me want to move my hips. When he pinches and tugs on them, I press down on his dick. I’m like a puppet he can control with just my breasts.
When his fingers squeeze harder and tug more aggressively, I begin to grind down on him, back and forth. I’m chasing another one of those illusive orgasms. I can feel it, though it’s just out of reach. I need more. Just feeling him through my panties isn’t enough. Sliding away from him, I reach down so I can touch him, but it makes him stop.
“No,” I say almost angrily. “Don’t stop.” I want to feel him.
I half expect him to roll over and go to sleep, but he doesn’t. He reaches down between my legs and moves my panties aside.
“I’ve never seen a naked man in person. In real life.”
“Another first. Now climb back on, love.”
I do it. I climb back on without another thought. He’s bare against me, and it feels natural to be skin to skin. We both moan so loud, I’m afraid we’re going to wake the dead.
“Move, Quinn. Please move.” His hands are back beneath my shirt and on my breasts in seconds. Hands that feel frantic as I slide over him, forward and back. I’m so into it that I don’t see him sit up and latch on to my nipple through the shirt. I’m tempted to pull it off, but I’m not there yet. I need to focus on chasing the orgasm that’s slowly building.
I make the mistake of looking down at him just then, and what I see makes my breath catch. Cooke looks intense. His eyes are focused on my face, his lips a straight line like he’s concentrating hard. It makes me smile, because I can tell he’s into it. When he sees my expression, his seems to soften. What doesn’t soften is any other part of him. I feel his hips move beneath me as he hits the perfect spot. “Feel good, love?”
“S-So good.” I’m seconds away from the second orgasm of the night, and of my life. “Almost. Don’t stop.”
Two or three more moves and I’m gone. I throw my head back and release a guttural sound that I should be embarrassed about, but I can’t be because it feels too damn good. Moments later, Cooke presses against me and hisses. Looking down, I see his release all over his stomach. I’m tempted to touch it, maybe even taste it, but I’m not sure I should. What I do know is I should get off him now. I’m probably crushing his pelvis.
Placing my palms on either side of his broad shoulders, I lift my leg and swing it over and away from him. When I’m on my knees at his side, Cooke smirks. “That was fun.”
I giggle. “It was.”
Looking down at his rippled abs, he quickly sits up, then rolls off the bed. “Back in a tick, love. Need to clean up.”
I just sit there like a bump on a log, watching his perfectly round backside walk away from me into the bathroom. In preparation for his return, I lie down, facing the bathroom. This time, I don’t care if I’m gawking. It’s one show I don’t want to miss. He doesn’t disappoint, because he strides back out of the bathroom completely naked.
“Cooke, your body isri-diculous.” Oh shit. Did I say that out loud?
“Thanks.” He chuckles, patting his abs. “That’s what you get with hours and hours of training.”
“I can see that.”
When he slides back into the bed, he scoots to the middle, patting the spot beside him. I move closer to him, and he turns his body enough to snap off the bedside lamp and then swings that same arm back over my hip and around my stomach. I should suck in the gut made possible not by “hours and hours of training” but by years and years of neglect. I should worry about my extra-soft middle, but I’m too tired right now. Yawning, I scoot back so we’re touching, and I fall asleep in minutes.
Chapter Thirty-Four
God, I’m depressed. Cooke has been gone for three days, and whenever I’ve had a minute alone, I mope. Sure, I’ve cried a couple of times but that only happens in the bathroom when I’m at home, since I don’t currently have any bedroom walls. And it doesn’t look like I’m going to have any walls anytime soon. The landlord did what he promised. A crew came in on Saturday with a huge dumpster and gutted the entire basement. And I meangutted. There’s no longer a bedroom down there, nor are there walls around what used to be a makeshift bathroom. Now the toilet sits out in the open next to the sink and shower stall. They took it down to the studs, throwing away the carpeting, paneling, and the little drywall that was down there. They sucked up the water with shop vacuums, plugged in one dehumidifier, and left. That was two days ago. Patsy tried to call the landlord to see when they were going to finish the job, but he’s not picking up. Big surprise there.
I have a sneaking suspicion that he’s not going to do another thing down there. I guess I’ll have to decide what I’m going to do. I could stay upstairs and only get about two hours of real sleep a night, or I can move back down into the basement. Sure, there might be a third option, but I can’t think about that. Besides, I don’t know if Cooke bought the condo, and I’m not about to ask him. It’s bad enough he bought me a scooter.
