Another plus, what with all the cock, gripping, and coming. Definitely not appropriate for Jesus.
“This is the song I auditioned to my third year with the Vipers.” I giggle nervously, trying to think about anything but Quinn’s head thrown back in ecstasy while his hand shuttles up and down his hard length, all because of a picture of me.
Still remembering every single move to this audition dance, I automatically uncross my arms and do a few subdued arm-movements. Just like accepting dares, it is physically impossible for me not to do the moves for a dance I know that goes with whatever song is playing. It’s as natural to me as breathing, and most of the time, I don’t even realize I’m doing it until someone points it out.
“Of course you danced to this song, my little rebel.” Quinn chuckles, my stomach dropping right into my toes when he calls me his. “I’m not even going to bother denying that I’ve stalked every single video of you I could find. Please tell me you can still do that thing where you lean to the side and pull your leg straight back over your head like you don’t have any bones, or that twisty thing where you kick one leg out and spin, and kick, and spin,” Quinn begs.
His eyes are big and hopeful like a kid on Christmas morning, and I swear my cheeks are going to fall off if he keeps making me smile any more tonight. Humor is definitely a turn-on for me. If this man turns me on any more, my body is going to self-destruct.
“I can’t do any of those things without stretching properly, or with this dress on,” I remind him, gesturing down the front of my body with my hands.
Quinn’s eyes take their fill of me once again, making me really glad I decided to wear the dress he mentioned he liked, and also wondering if the power of his heated stare alone would be able to rip this dress right off my body.
“I recall someone telling me not that long ago that I needed to show Shepherd what I wanted, because I was a sexy piece of ass who deserved a good dicking. Get yourself some good dicking out of this arrangement already, Emily!”
My best friend’s words pop into my head again. I do my best to ignore them once more, but Quinn doesn’t make it easy.
“Have I mentioned how much that dress has been torturing me all night?” he asks softly, hands still in his pockets, back still casually leaning against the wall.
Something about the tenseness in Quinn’s shoulders, the way his shiny black dress shoe on one foot is rapidly tapping against the carpet, along with the bulge he definitely isn’t faking that I can’t seem to keep my eyes off of that has definitely grown in size the more Quinn stares at me, tells me he really isn’t feeling very casual when he looks at me, and I like it. I like it a little too much. I like it enough to have maybe found where I’ve been hiding my balls.
Wren is right. I deserve a good dicking out of this arrangement. I want him. He seems to want me too. Guys do it all the time. They fuck anything that moves and then never give it a second thought.
Yeah, but you’re already giving him about a million thoughts an hour. Adding sex into the mix, on top of this whole fake dating thing, is not going to be good for you.
Shut up and eat shit! I deserve this!
Remembering I am a strong, confident woman who has never shied away from taking what I want before, I return his heated gaze with one of my own, taking my time to look him over from his head to his feet.
“I could say the same thing about you. You wear that suit well, QB.”
The corner of Quinn’s mouth tips up when I use his initials, something I’ve found absolutely adorable about him ever since I learned it back in college, when he gave his first interview. Obviously, QB is what everyone calls a quarterback for short. But when it came time to name his son, Mr. Bagley, who had a very promising football career until he blew out his knee in college, had high hopes for his baby boy and refused to give him a middle name. Therefore, his initials are legally QB. He was literally born to be a quarterback.
“You need to stop looking at me like that,” Quinn mutters, my eyes flickering up from the bulge in his fitted suit pants, where they got a little stuck for a few seconds in my slow perusal of him.
“Looking at you like what?” I question innocently, cocking my head to the side, which earns me a dimpled smirk from him.