I want more.
But she’s leaving in three weeks.
And my heart can’t handle any more disappointment.
I dig my fingers into her thighs. “How about I handle making you come?”
Chapter Nineteen
Wes
“So…” Quinn pulls her robe a little tighter. “Should we have a drink first?”
The silky fabric slides off her shoulder. Reveals the strap of a lacy bra.
Quinn in red.
Fuck me. I’m already hard.
I take a deep breath. Exhale through my nose. “It’s barely noon.”
“I resisted margaritas at lunch.” She brushes a wet strand behind her ear.
“Is that a brag?”
She laughs. “No. Just… There’s something about tequila and tacos. Don’t you think?”
“You drink tequila?”
“Yeah. I, uh, I kinda love Mexican food.”
“Really?” I ask.
She nods. “Since I moved here. And, um, this one time Owen and I went to Mexico for vacation. This place had the most amazing strawberry margaritas. I lost track at three.”
“How was the hangover?”
“Uh… not great.”
“You have fun?”
She makes that kinda motion. “He was supposed to be my wingman, but he ditched me to hook up with this guy.”
“The slut.”
“Right?” She swallows hard. “Not that I object to promiscuity. Whatever makes him happy. As long as he’s safe. Just—”
“Dick move.”
She nods. “Exactly. He… um… It was for my eighteenth birthday. It was supposed to be the trip.”
“Where you punched your v-card?”
“Yeah.”
“Your brother was cool with that?”
“Well… I let him believe I slept with my high school boyfriend.”
“Yeah?”
She blushes. “He doesn’t know about my scarlet V.”
“Scarlet V?”
“Like The Scarlet Letter. How Hester wears an A for adulteress.”
I stare back at her.
“You skipped that lecture in American Lit?”
“Sounds vaguely familiar.”
“It’s a good book. You should read it.”
“Book?”
“There’s a movie too. But it’s not on our syllabus.” She ties her robe again, but that doesn’t stop it from sliding farther down her shoulder. “Did you, um… Did you want to put on clothes?”
Her eyes pass over me slowly, from the tips of my hair, to my bare chest and stomach, to the towel slung around my hips.
Her pupils dilate.
Her fingers dig into her thighs.
Her tongue slides over her lips.
She wants me naked.
But is she ready for that? “Do you want me to?”
“Well. No. But also… I think I’m going to have a glass of wine. So, um, you might be more comfortable in clothes.”
That’s a yes.
I step aside so she can pass.
She moves into the main room.
I scour my backpack for a clean pair of boxers.
“You want one?” she calls from the kitchen.
“Sure.” I pull on my grey boxers. Check my reflection in the full-length mirror.
I’m not a humble guy. Never saw the point of that. I work hard to look this good. Why deny the fruits of my labor?
Between the tattoos, the broad shoulders, the built arms—I’m catnip to women who want a certain type of guy.
Usually, I play it up.
With Quinn…
That feels wrong. Like a pretense.
But it’s not like I’m admitting the truth either.
I like her. I do.
That doesn’t mean I can tell her how fucked-up my family is.
Or how much my easy, breezy attitude is bullshit.
This isn’t about becoming besties.
It’s certainly not about falling in love.
I’m teaching her to fuck.
That’s it.
If Griffin were here, he’d say something about how I’m deluding myself.
Or maybe something about boundaries.
That’s what I need. A wall between my feelings and Quinn.
With sex on the other side.
That’s doable.
Easy.
I’ve fucked plenty of women without getting invested.
Sure, Quinn is different.
But nothing has to change.
This can stay casual.
“You want it in here?” Her footsteps move closer. “Or here.” She steps into the bedroom, a glass of white wine in each hand, her hazel eyes wide with trust.
It’s obvious immediately.
This is different.
Completely different.
I have no fucking idea how to keep that wall up. “The couch maybe.”
That’s how I’m doing it.
Going back to sex.
My head. Wall. Sex. Quinn.
Perfect.
“Sure,” she says.
Her fingers brush mine as I take the glass.
She spins on her heels, saunters into the main room, her silky robe swishing against her hips.
Fuck, that thing is perfect on her. A gorgeous, bright floral print that falls just below her ass.
She pulls the sleeve up her shoulder. Sits cross-legged on the couch. Brings her glass to her lips. “Mmm. This is good.” She swallows another sip. “There’s something about a glass of wine on a hot day.”
“People say that about beer.” I taste my glass. It’s not bad. Mild, fruity, light. It tastes like wine. There’s really no other way to describe it.
“Does that make me a snob?”
I shake my head. Quinn doesn’t have lowbrow tastes, but there’s no snobbery about it.
“You don’t like it?” She motions to my drink.
I take another sip. It’s solid, for wine, but it’s still wine. Even so—”It’s perfect.” It’s her.
“Good.” She swallows a mouthful. “I, um… I had a lot of fun today.”
“Me too.”
“I guess I’m dodging.”
“That’s all right.”
“I do want to touch you.”
“Yeah?” I arch a brow.
Her gaze travels down my neck, chest, stomach, crotch. “Yeah. But I’m not sure… What do I do?”