“About half an hour. I think this little one is out for the night. Why don’t you go back to your own bed, now that you’re awake. You’ll probably sleep better.”
I stand, and Quinn’s gaze drops, taking in my boxer shorts.
“It was all I could find when Daisy started crying,” I say, feeling the need to explain. The fact that they’re tenting as I gaze at the beautiful woman dressed in my shirt, well…that doesn’t quite need any explanation.
She turns from me, and I follow her out the door. Quinn lowers the dimmer switch in the hall, and we make our way to our rooms. She pauses for a second outside her door, looks at me like she wants to say something, then darts inside.
“G’night.”
I make my way to my own room and flop down on my bed. I check my phone, read the messages from Zander, and shoot him one back telling him we’re good. I set the phone on my nightstand and hope sleep will come.
I toss and turn, unable to shut down my thoughts. All I can think about is taking my cock into my hands as I visualize Quinn in bed with me, my mouth between her legs, eating at her, sating far too many years of need. My mind goes on an erotic journey, and I spend the next twenty minutes pictures all the dirty things I want to do to my best friend’s kid sister—the one girl who is off limits to me.
Sexually frustrated, I climb from my bed and walk quietly downstairs, needing to wet my parched throat.
I grab a glass of water and open the fridge. When I see the leftover lasagna, I pull it out. I drop it onto the island and grab a fork.
Just then, I hear footstep, and glance up to see Quinn tiptoeing into the kitchen. My dick thickens as soon as I see her, and I revel in the way my T-shirts brushes over her nipples as she walks.
“Everything okay?” she asks.
“Yeah, I was just thirsty.”
“And hungry,” she points out with a grin.
“Always hungry, just like Daisy,” I
say.
Her chuckle is soft, low. “Okay, good. I checked on Daisy and she’s still sleeping.” She makes a move to go, but for some reason, I don’t want her to leave.
“Want a bite.” I scoop up a piece of lasagna and hold it out.
“I normally don’t have carbs this late,” she says, and crinkles her nose, but the hunger in her eyes as she looks at my forks tells another story. She wants a bite.
“We’re not operating under normal circumstances here, Quinn.”
She laughs, a deep, throaty sound that wraps around my dick and tugs. “I suppose one bite wouldn’t hurt.”
She slides onto the chair across from me, and I hold the fork out. She hesitates for a second then leans forward, and lets me feed it to her. Her lips part, and her eyes slip shut as I slide the lasagna in and, so help me, it’s all I can do not to order her to her knees and feed her something else, something that’s swelling between my legs and demanding attention.
Fuck me.
“Mmm,” she moans.
Before I can help myself, I say, “Can you stop making that noise?”
Her lids flick open. “What noise?”
“The moaning. You do it a lot.”
“I always make that noise when I’m enjoying something.”
“Yeah, well, it’s kind of fucking turning me on,” I confess without thinking.
Shit, what are you doing dude?
Her eyes go wide and she sinks deeper into her seat. “Oh, I…didn’t realize.”