Chapter 37 You’ve Got the Hat
You've Got the Hat
Quinn
Tripp’s strangely quiet, and I can’t shake the feeling that he’s upset about something. Just as I’m about to ask, his eyes find Wyatt in the crowd.
“I didn’t like that,“ he mumbles.
“Didn’t like what?”
“Seeing you with him.”
I can’t remember a single time Tripp has seemed anything other than cocky and self-assured—especially with women. He can’t possibly be worried about me liking Wyatt.
I narrow my eyes at him. “You don’t get jealous.”
“Apparently when it comes to you, I do," he mutters.
His words shouldn’t make me feel special. They don’t mean anything. Maybe it’s possessiveness because of what we’re doing or how long we’ve known each other. Or maybe it’s just that he’s my brother’s best friend and still thinks he has to keep every other boy at bay.
I scan his face, eyes still tight, lips pulled down into a frown. It takes everything in me not to kiss that frown off his mouth. Instead, I do the next best thing and give him a little truth of my own.
“Don’t worry, Casanova. I was thinking about you the whole time he was dancing with me.”
His frown transforms into a bright smile, dimples forming divots in his cheeks. “You were?”
God help me. I’m a puddle at this man’s feet when he smiles at me like that. His eyes crinkling at the corners. Those goddamn dimples. And that fire that lurks behind his smile.
"You'd better be careful, Casanova. I'm pretty sure a smile like that could get a girl pregnant."
"If you think that's what gets a girl pregnant, I have more to teach you than I thought," he teases.
My laugh is breathless as I slip my fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck.
“I wanna be the only man you think about,” he says, voice low and rough as his hand slides lower on my back.
The way he says it soothes a raw ache inside of me, making me feel wanted and cherished in a way I’m not sure I’ve ever felt before.
“Why did you come to Herds tonight?” I ask, swaying to the music.
“I texted Allie—asked her how girls’ night was going.” His thumb brushes lightly against my spine, sending a shiver through me. “She told me about Tish. Said Wyatt was trying to make you feel better.”
My brow flicks upward. “So you rushed over?”
“Of course.”
My insides flood with warmth.
“I wanted to make sure you were okay,” he murmurs, leaning close, his breath ghosting over my cheek, “but I’m still a man, Quinnie. I don’t want you going home with someone else.”
My head shakes back and forth. “You don’t need to worry about that.”
“And why’s that?” he asks, fingers tightening briefly on my hip as the music swells around us.
It’s on the tip of my tongue. The words I haven’t allowed myself to even think yet. The reason that job offer was less appealing than it should have been.
I could be honest.
And it could ruin everything.
So instead, I lean in, my lips brushing the shell of his ear as we sway to the music. “Because you’re the only man I want making me come.”
He lets out a choked sound.
“What?” I laugh, tilting my head back so I can see his expression.
“I really like when you talk like that, honey.”
His fingers find the hem of my dress, callouses trailing slowly over my thigh as the dance floor seems to disappear beneath our feet.
I glance around the packed bar—worried I’ll find Allie or Sawyer watching us intently, but they’re nowhere to be seen. Nobody’s paying us much attention. And right now, I don’t care if anyone is.
I want him to kiss me. I want to feel his lips on mine—firm and sure and his.
My skin heats, heart pounding out of my chest as his fingers trek higher, sliding up my inner thigh toward my apex. I drop my head to his shoulder, still moving to the music even as the urgent flood of arousal takes my breath away.
Our bodies block the view, but if anyone bothered to look closely...
“Please,” I beg, needing to feel his fingers on my sensitive flesh.
He clucks his tongue at me. “You want me to make you come in the middle of this bar, Quinnie?”
I whimper and nod against his shoulder, flames of heat licking at my skin.
“That’s...”
“Filthy?” I offer, pulling back to see his face.
His grin is devilish. “I was gonna say fucking hot, but yeah, filthy too.” He tucks my hair behind my ear, thumb brushing up the curve of my jaw. “Can’t say I’m surprised though. You did warn me you like being filthy.”
“Mm-hmm,” I murmur as our bodies move together—slow and languid and forbidden.
His hand slides to my lower back once more, drawing us even closer together as the other settles between my thighs. Desire claws through me, a sudden rush of fire in my veins, burning through me with a need that’s so raw and visceral it would bring me to my knees if Tripp wasn’t keeping me upright.
“Do you think I can make you come without anyone knowing?” he asks, a wicked challenge in his eyes.
“Tripp,” I say, warning and yet there’s a desperate edge to it, almost like I’m begging him to try.
Even though it’s stupid.
Even though it’s reckless.
Even though if anyone sees, Wes will be the first person they call.
He swipes a finger through the slickness between my thighs, and my fingernails bite into the skin on his biceps. It’s the only thing that keeps me from crying out as he draws gentle circles around my clit like a pro.
“What do you have against wearing underwear in public, Quinn?”
My laugh is shaky from how he’s touching me so perfectly beneath my dress—a secret that only the two of us know. “I don’t like feeling confined. And if I wore any, this would be a little harder.”
“You won’t hear me complaining.”
My body floods with warmth as his fingers keep up a steady, torturous rhythm, each stroke bringing me closer to the edge. I have no idea if we’re still dancing. I’ve lost track of the music, of the crowd, of everything except the promise of release.
He lowers his forehead to mine, a dangerous smirk playing on his lips. “Christ, Quinnie, you’re wet under this dress for me.”
“Fuck, I know.” The words are a tortured whimper.
“Such a good little slut,” he murmurs. “Ready to come for me in a room full of people.”
The heat in my core builds and builds, spiraling toward a pleasure so acute it borders on painful making the room around us disappear. Wetness slicks his fingers, the circles messier, slipperier, dirtier.
It’s wrong.
Insane.
Immoral, probably.
But I’ve completely lost my head to Tripp’s touch, and I don’t want him to stop.
“How about you come like a good girl?” he says. “So I can take you out to my truck and bury my cock inside that soaked pussy.”
And that’s all it takes.
I explode. Biting so hard on my lip, I taste blood. Stars cloud my vision—bright and hot and white.
The music muffles, the crowd fading into nothing as my whole body pulses with the force of my orgasm. It’s like I’ve shattered into a million pieces and only Tripp’s firm hold is keeping me tethered to this spot.
Slowly, my senses return. When I open my eyes, I realize he’s danced us into a shadowy corner away from the speakers and most of the bar.
To anyone else, it probably looks like we’re just talking.
But I know better.
I meet his gaze and feel nothing but satisfaction.
No shame for what we just did.
No regret.
Only gratitude and a lingering buzz that hums through me, making me want to do it all over again. So when he grabs my hand and pulls me out the door, I don’t bother worrying about leaving Allie and Sawyer at the bar.
I’m breathless and laughing when he yanks open the truck door. He glances over my shoulder to make sure nobody is following and then tugs me against him.
His mouth is on mine—hot and insistent. He tastes like whiskey and sin. I could drown in him—get completely lost in the way his hands glide over me, reverent and adoring.
My lips part as his tongue licks over mine. He shivers when my hands slip inside his shirt, my fingertips grazing his abdomen. Then he breaks the kiss and climbs into the passenger seat before hauling me in after him.
“Get on my lap. I need to feel your pussy, honey.”
“Christ, Tripp,” I murmur, slamming the door closed as I straddle his lap.
I rock onto his denim-clad erection, and a groan tears from his throat.
“Fuck, Quinnie. I’m not coming in my pants again. Take my cock out.”
His fingers tear at the strings on my dress while I thumb open the button on his jeans. I wrap my hand around his thick length, tugging the waistband of his underwear down. He lifts up and slides the seat back farther, giving me more room to work.
My dress falls off my shoulder, exposing one breast, and he gathers it in his large hand, squeezing and massaging as I roll my hips instinctively, wanting to feel him fill me.
“Get it nice and wet.”
I whine, but shift, dropping to the floor. His fingers wrap in my hair, keeping it out of my face so he can watch as I open my mouth and lick him from base to tip. I do it again. And again. Before I finally close my lips around the head of his cock and suck hard.
“Fuuuck.”
He pulls my hair, making me pop off his dick.
“I’m not gonna last long enough like that. Spit on it,” he says a little breathlessly.
I collect saliva in my mouth and let it fall from my lips, watching it pool at the tip and slowly slide down his shaft.
“Shit,” he pants, eyes hooded with desire. “Again, Quinn. Do it again.”
I do it a second time. Gratified at the feral sound that rips from his throat as he pulls me back onto his lap.
His lips crash into mine as I shift on my knees, lining him up at my entrance—eager and needy, even though I just came minutes ago. It doesn’t matter. With Tripp, I always want more.
Everything else is muted. All I hear is the thunder of my pulse in my ears and the rough moan he lets out as I sink onto his cock.
But I feel everything.
I grind down onto him, chasing another orgasm as he worships every inch of me he can reach. His hands are everywhere, kneading my hips, gripping my ass, rolling my nipples… tangling in my heart.
He taps my mouth with his fingers. "Open up, Quinnie. Get 'em nice and wet for me."
My lips part, and I drag my tongue over his index and middle fingers, coating them in my saliva.
"Atta girl," he praises, removing them from my mouth.
And then his hand wanders to the crease of my ass, pressing gently against my tight entrance. I let out a whimper and push back onto his finger, letting him breach that sensitive space.
It feels dirty.
And feral.
And wrong.
But also so, so good.
I’m so full. But I press back farther as he thrusts up into me with his cock. The sensation is overwhelming.
He takes his hat off and plops it on my head. “You’ve got the hat. Now ride my cock like you were made for it.”
I gasp as he moves inside me again.
“It feels so good.”
“Yeah?”
I nod, out of breath as my hand drifts between us to circle my clit.
“You ride me so well, honey,” he pants as he wiggles the finger that’s breaching my ass. “I’m going to fuck you here someday, Quinnie. And you’re gonna love it.”
"Yes," I whisper, barely breathing
His movements turn frantic and sloppy, hips stuttering as the warmth of his release paints my inner walls.
My nails bite into his forearm as I stroke myself faster. Pleasure coils so tight inside me I think I might burst. Then Tripp pinches my nipple—and I do.
I’m overtaken by shockwaves of euphoria, and I forget myself, crying out. Tripp clamps a hand onto my mouth, chuckling as I rock into him, riding out my orgasm on his cock.
Our breaths are ragged as I come back to myself.
And in the relative silence, I’m struck by how utterly hopeless I am when it comes to Tripp.
It all feels completely out of my control—a whirlwind of chaos.
The feelings I’ve harbored since high school have been shaken loose like a snow globe, and now they’re falling around me like fragile wishes I’m terrified will vanish the second they find somewhere solid to land.