"Don't." Her voice comes out rough. "Don't stop. I don’t want to talk."
I hate the hurt that’s etched in her face, eyes, and voice. The hurt that I put there unwillingly and unknowingly. I think my distrust of her has also hurt her, but there’s nothing I can do about that. I distrust everyone.
I kiss her again, slower this time, and I feel the moment she lets go, her hands move from my shirt to my chest, working my buttons open with quickness, like she wants to get this over and done with.
"Look at me," I say.
She doesn't.
I catch her jaw, tilt her face up. "Quinn. Look at me."
She does, finally, and what I see hits me somewhere I wasn't prepared for. Her green eyes are still red-rimmed, still full of pain that she’s been swallowing all night, and underneath the want, there is anger. Pure fury that’s been quietly burning. She wants me, that's not in question, but she's furious about it. Furious about tonight, about Daire, about the fact that she's here in this room with me, and she's furious about how much she wants me anyway.
Good, because I'm furious too.
I don't want softness right now. I want this, the anger and the yearning, the sheer mess of it all, so I kiss her like that's what I'm taking. All of it, the hurt and the fury and everything she's holding back, and for a half second she goes rigid.
Then she breaks and it’s fucking beautiful to see. Her hands fist in my half-open shirt and she kisses me back hard, like she's starved of attention. Her body presses into mine like she can’t get enough. I pull my shirt the rest of the way off, and she looks at me in the low light of the room, and there's that defiance again, chin lifted slightly, like she's waiting for me to disappoint her.
I get her negligee off her shoulders within seconds. The fabric drops, and then there's nothing between my hands and her skin.
Christ. I've spent weeks not letting myself think about this. Weeks keeping distance, keeping my mind somewhere else. I'm making up for all of it now. I run my palms over her, learning the shape of her, the curve of her waist, the warmth of her, and her breath goes shallow. I move up her body, settling my weight over her. She arches up into me automatically, her hips tilting, her thighs parting, like her body knows what it wants even if she hasn't decided to give it yet.
I drop my mouth to her neck and she makes a sound, low in her throat, her fingers coming up to my hair and she holds on. I drag my mouth down to her collarbone, down to the swell of her breast, and she exhales hard through her teeth. I take my time, I feel her pulse jumping under my lips, feel the tension in her body coiling tighter, feel her hands pressing into the back of my head pulling me closer even as her jaw stays tight. Even as she holds on to that last thread of composure.
I close my mouth over her and her back bows up off the mattress.
"Lorenzo—"
"I've got you," I promise her, needing her to trust me.
I work my way down her body deliberately, my hands, my mouth, finding every place that makes her breath catch, that makes her fingers curl tighter in my hair. She is not quiet, I find that out quickly. She tries to be, I can feel her trying, pressing her lips together, but every time I find somewhere new she gives it up. A gasp, a soft broken sound, or my name like a prayer. I want every version of it. I pull back to look at her and her chest is heaving, her eyes dark, watching me from under heavy lids.
"Stop thinking about her," I say, knowing that the bitch is still playing on her mind.
She goes very still.
"Daire doesn't get this." I hold her gaze. "She doesn't get to be in this room with us. Stop letting her."
Something in her face cracks, just briefly. I see everything underneath it, the exhaustion, the hurt, the anger, all of it she's been holding together since before she walked down that aisle. Then tightens her hands in my hair, pulling me back down.
"Then make me stop," she says.
It's a challenge, one that I won’t back down from.
I settle between her thighs and she rolls her hips up toward me, impatient, and I feel the want she's been keeping controlled start to slip. I take her mouth again and I feel her exhale into it. I line my cock against her wet pussy, and bite back a groan. She rolls her hips once again, and I know that I can’t hold back any longer. I push forward slowly, watching her face, and she pulls in a sharp breath, her fingers digging into my back, her head tilting back.
"Look at me," I tell her, wanting to see every inch of her as I take her fully.
She does, her eyes find mine and hold. I move, slow and deliberate, feeling every small sound she makes against my mouth. I feel the resistance of her innocence and pull back. This is going to hurt and fuck, I don’t want to hurt her, but I’ve no other way. I thrust into her hard and fast, breaking through the barrier.
She cries out in pain, her eyes shut tight as she clings to me.
“Breathe,” I instruct her. “Breathe through it.”
She looks at me again and I see a flicker of doubt. I know immediately why she’s doubting herself. Fuck.
"Where did you go?" I ask.
