Chapter Eleven #10
“You’re gorgeous,” Quinn said, voice rough and sure. He ran his hands up Sasha’s thighs, feeling his mate tremble from the inside out, as if every muscle was wound tight, ready to snap.
Sasha didn’t blink, didn’t look away. Quinn lowered his head and licked a stripe up the underside of Sasha’s cock, slow and deep.
The sound Sasha made—a shattered moan, half-pain, half-relief—sent a jolt straight to Quinn’s own groin.
He did it again, tasting salt and skin, greedy for every inch, and then he took the head into his mouth.
Sasha’s hips jerked, and Quinn steadied him, palm pressing hard into his hip bone. Each pass of Quinn’s mouth took him deeper, tongue pressing the delicate underside, drawing out every frantic sound Sasha made.
“Oh my god,” Sasha gasped, one hand twisting the sheets, the other digging desperately into Quinn’s hair. “That feels...fuck, Quinn.”
He let out a low hum, the vibration making Sasha’s thighs quake helplessly. Quinn moved faster, taking him deep, switching from slow, thick pulls to teasing the tip with his tongue. One hand cupped Sasha’s balls, rolling them gently.
Sasha’s breath came ragged, chest heaving like he was drowning in every move of Quinn’s mouth. Each time Quinn went down, another desperate sound slipped from his mate’s throat.
“Quinn,” Sasha warned, voice strangled, yanking at his hair. “I’m going to—”
Quinn just went harder, hollowing his cheeks, taking everything his mate could give. Sasha came with a broken, pleading cry, cock pulsing against Quinn’s tongue. Quinn swallowed, refusing to let go until his mate was spent, trembling, and pulled away, shuddering with oversensitivity.
“Holy shit,” Sasha managed, dazed and blissed-out. “That was… I don’t even have words.”
Quinn let go, mouth lingering at Sasha’s inner thigh, the faintest graze of lips before he stretched back up, capturing his mate’s mouth in a kiss so deep it was almost bruising.
The taste of himself lingered there, sharp and wild, and when he pulled away, Sasha’s eyes were all shadow and fire, a resolve as dark as storm glass.
“Your turn,” Sasha murmured, and with one palm against Quinn’s chest, he pushed him down and claimed the space above him.
Quinn fell back, sprawled out, the world narrowing to the weight of Sasha straddling his thighs.
There was a tremor to Sasha’s hands at first, tentative wonder as he dragged his palms over the sturdy rise of Quinn’s chest, fingers mapping the muscle, the slope of the ribs.
Each point of contact burned. Quinn ached for every next touch.
Sasha bent, painting slow kisses down Quinn’s collarbone, tracing a path, gently, almost reverent. His tongue flicked over a nipple, a soft, teasing stroke that knocked the air from Quinn’s lungs and dragged a groan up from somewhere feral inside him.
“Feel good?” Sasha looked up through his lashes and gave him a crooked, uncertain smile.
“Feels perfect,” Quinn rasped out, voice raw, every word weighted with hunger.
The answer seemed to hone Sasha’s confidence, making him bolder. His hand found its way to Quinn’s cock, wrapping around it, learning the shape, the heft. His mate stroked, a question in each movement. “Show me,” he said, voice trembling with fresh want. “Show me what you like.”
Quinn curled his hand over Sasha’s, shaping the rhythm, showing the pressure, the tight twist he craved. Only a few strokes, and then he slid his hand away, surrendering, letting Sasha command the pace.
“Like this?” Sasha breathed it, twisting his wrist just right on the upstroke, thumb grazing the sensitive head.
Quinn almost lost himself on that touch alone. “Yes. Just like that.” The words felt rough, broken, as he fought the urge to simply thrust into Sasha’s grip.
Sasha slid lower, settling between Quinn’s legs, the heat of him crowding out every other thought.
Breath skimmed across the tip of Quinn’s cock—a shiver, a warning shot—and then Sasha’s mouth closed over him, warm and greedy, no hesitancy left.
He took Quinn in, eagerness making up for any lack of finesse, tongue swirling, learning him.
One hand worked the base, keeping what his lips couldn’t reach, while the other steadied them both on Quinn’s hip.
He buried his fingers in his mate’s hair, not pulling, only holding, helpless in the face of sensation. Crimson strands spilled between Quinn’s knuckles as Sasha’s lips shined slick and parted around him. The sight barely gave him time to breathe.
Sasha went deeper then pulled back, again and again, setting a relentless rhythm that had Quinn curling his toes, his whole body tightening under the onslaught.
The wet, desperate sounds and the low, hungry hums of Sasha’s pleasure soaked into Quinn’s core, making him feel electric, every nerve flaring open, raw.
“Firefly,” he warned, voice stringing out thin and wild. “I’m close.”
But Sasha only moved faster, hand squeezing just right at the base, lips stroking hard. It hit like lightning then, a hard, bright burst. Quinn locked up as his orgasm tore through him, spilling into his mate’s mouth.
Sasha tried to take it all, swallowing, pride and shock tangled in his expression as he finally pulled back. The last spurt landed on his chin, stark, and the sight of it—Sasha, soft-eyed and flushed, slick with evidence of Quinn’s release—was almost enough to break him all over again.
His mate wiped his chin, lips parted, the pleased glint in his eyes edged with just a flicker of uncertainty.
Quinn reached for him, pulling him up for a kiss. When they separated, both were breathing hard. They lay tangled together as their breathing slowed, sunlight warming the sheets around them. Quinn traced lazy patterns on Sasha’s back, feeling more content than he could remember being in centuries.
Quinn pressed a kiss to Sasha’s temple, inhaling the scent of sex and cherry blossoms and something that felt dangerously like home.
They dozed for a while, hands idly stroking, exchanging lazy kisses. Eventually, Sasha’s stomach growled loudly enough to make them both laugh.
“I should probably feed you,” Quinn said, reluctantly untangling himself from Sasha’s limbs. “Your clothes are clean. I washed them last night after taking them off you. They're folded on the bathroom counter.”
Sasha blinked. “You did laundry while I was passed out drunk?
“Had to do something with my hands besides touch you.” Quinn shrugged, grabbing clean boxers from a drawer. “You were pretty tempting, even snoring.”
“I don’t snore!” Sasha threw a pillow at him, which Quinn caught easily.
“Like a chainsaw,” he teased, tossing the pillow back. “But a cute chainsaw.”
While Sasha disappeared into the bathroom, Quinn pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt. He heard the water running, then Sasha emerged, fully dressed but with damp hair that suggested he’d splashed his face.
“Thanks for washing these.” Sasha smoothed a hand down his shirt. Then his expression changed, hand flying to his front pocket. “Wait, where’s—”
“Relax.” Quinn crossed to the nightstand, pulling open the drawer to reveal a roll of bills. “Found it when I was emptying your pockets. You shouldn’t carry this much cash around, firefly. It’s not safe.”
Sasha took the money without comment, shoving it deep into his pocket.
The easy smile from earlier had vanished, replaced by something guarded.
Quinn wanted to ask about it—why Sasha was carrying so much cash, why his expression had shuttered closed at the mention of it—but something told him now wasn’t the time.
“Breakfast?” Quinn offered instead. “I make pancakes that’ll change your life.”
Sasha nodded, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “Lead the way.”
As they headed downstairs toward the kitchen, the scent of coffee and bacon grew stronger.
Quinn placed his hand on the small of Sasha’s back, a gesture that felt both protective and possessive.
Whatever was going on with Sasha and that money, Quinn would figure it out.
His mate was carrying a burden, and Quinn intended to share the load, whether Sasha was ready to let him or not.
Chapter Seven
That evening, Quinn pulled into the space next to Sasha’s car, turning off the truck, leaving only the sound of ticking as the engine cooled.
“Promise you’ll call me later?” Quinn tossed his arm over the back of his seat, his fingers gently tracing Sasha’s upper arm.
“Promise.” Sasha smiled but knew it didn’t reach his eyes. So much had happened in a twenty-four-hour span. He just needed time to sort through his emotions without a hot-ass wolf shifter scrambling his brain.
Reaching for the doorhandle, Sasha paused. He glanced back, still reeling that anyone like Quinn—a guy ripped straight out of a magazine, all carved lines and smoky eyes—even noticed him.
They hadn’t talked about the wolf thing. Or what a mate was, really. Maybe that could wait for the call, once he was safe at home, heartbeat under control.
But Quinn didn’t give him space to bolt.
Instead, warm fingers looped around the back of Sasha’s neck, tugged him in, and their mouths crashed together—not so much a kiss as a clash, hunger and heat and sharp edges.
Tongues, teeth, breath that stuttered and caught until Sasha finally broke away, glasses skewed, lungs dragging in air like he’d just run a mile.
When Sasha pulled back, he straightened his glasses, breath pushing past his lips a little too fast.
“Call me,” Quinn said again, smile tilted, lazy and dangerous.
“Will do.” Sasha slipped out of the truck, careful with the door. Quinn hung back, even after Sasha settled into his own car.
“Jesus,” Sasha breathed. “What is he doing to me?”