Quinton slows his movement but doesn’t stop as he meets my glossy gaze. I shake my head, begging him to save me for a little while longer.
“Not yet. Please…”
A hint of pain and disappointment flashes across his perfect features, and I can see myself physically drowning in his deep blue eyes.
“As you wish,” he whispers, keeping his solemn gaze locked on mine as he rocks his hips, stretching me open to the point of breaking. I try to close my eyes, but he protests. “No. Look at me.” His thumb finds my swollen clit, the pressure building as he stimulates my sex. “Eyes on me, darling. Look at me. Only me.”
“Quin…”
I'm lost in a sea of conflicting emotions, my mind and body torn between pleasure and pain, desire and regret. Quinton's relentless touch and overwhelming submission consumes me, pushing me to the brink of ecstasy and despair. I teeter on the edge, on the precipice of something so raw and intense that it terrifies me.
Quinton's fingers find a rhythm, skillfully working my clit as his hips continue their wrath. My breath comes out in ragged gasps, and I struggle to maintain eye contact, to stare into the face of a dangerous slope.
As if sensing my inner turmoil, Quinton leans in, his lips brushing against my ear. "Let go, darling," he whispers. "You can let go. I’m here. I’ll catch you.”
And something inside me breaks. Something shatters. Perhaps it’s the compass that was on the brink of failure for months now. I surrender to the moment. I allow myself to feel, to experience every sensation, every ounce of hatred and affection.
My nails dig deeper into Quinton's skin as I cling to him for dear life.
Catch me. You need to catch me.
Quinton doesn't stop, but instead, he picks up the pace, his movements becoming more intense, more urgent. The pressure inside of me builds.
Toxic. Evil. But rooted in truth.
"Quin..." I moan. "I can't... I can't hold on..."
He doesn't offer words of comfort, but his touch becomes more insistent, pushing me closer to the edge. And then, like a fool, I let go. My orgasm rips through me, my nails leaving marks on his skin as Quinton continues to move with me, until finally, he, too, finds release, his body trembling against mine.
“I’m sorry,” I breathe out, our bodies spent and sated. Quinton pulls me against his chest as he lowers me to the ground. Tears cascade down my cheeks as he rocks me. “I’m sorry, I?—”
“Shh…” He hums against my temple. “It’s okay, darling. You’re okay.”
I look up at him through damp lashes, regret bursting through my heart. “I shouldn’t have?—”
“I’m good for you, Emery,” he whispers, absolute certainty in his hoarse tone. He tucks a piece of hair behind my ear. “I think I can be really good for you.”
I shake my head. “But I’m not good for you, Quin. I’m?—”
“Your scars don’t scare me, darling,” he says, wiping under my eyes. “You’ll see. I’ll show you.” He leans down and gives mea soft kiss, so tender and sincere. “Use me as long as you want, Emery. Let me help you.”
“I’m not your patient, Quin,” I say with a deflated sigh, covering my tingling lips. “But I’ll keep that in mind.”
Quinton opens his mouth to say something but the intercom sounds. “Dr. Marquis, we’ll be in Geneva in thirty. Please prepare for landing.”
My eyes widen as my gaze snaps to the cockpit. “Do you think they heard us?”
Quinton smirks, passing me a nearby fresh hand towel. “They heardyou,” he says. “And what a beautiful sound it was.”
I roll my eyes, smacking him with the cotton towel. “Shut up.”
He grins at me. “Don’t act like you forgot they were there, darling. We both know how much you love being on display, don’t we?” I shiver as fragments of the night at The Playground flash through my mind. Quinton chuckles at my reaction. “No need to be embarrassed, darling. You deserveallthe attention.”
I swallow, imagining two sets of large, rough hands all over my body. Jesus. “Water,” I choke out, barely able to look at Quinton as I sink back down into the seats. “Can you bring me water?”
“Still or sparkling?” Quinton asks, grinning to himself as he strides to the bar.
“Still,” I mutter, reaching for the throw blanket, the chill of the cabin overpowering the heat from Quinton’s lingering touch. Three faint vibrations sound from the side table. “I think your phone is ringing.”
