4. Quinn
4
QUINN
I t’s a quiet breakfast—not because of last night’s tension but because Killian and Natasha are most likely making up for their squabble by staying in bed together later this morning.
Which means I ate my meal of fresh-cut fruit and scrambled eggs alone.
Not that I mind.
I brought a textbook for company.
And as I head back toward my wing of the house, anatomy facts chase each other in circles around my brain.
I’m so immersed in locking the information down, I almost didn’t notice that the door to the home gym is open. But the labored grunts are unmistakable. And while I know I shouldn’t, I can’t help but take a peek. Because I know the sounds Lance makes when he works out.
And after the number of stitches I put in him yesterday, he shouldn’t be straining himself.
Not that I believed for a second he would take it easy.
That’s just not his way.
Careful to stay hidden, I peer around the corner of the door until I find him at the pull-up bar. He has his ankles crossed, his strong fingers wrapped around the bar as he does one chin-up, two, then three in a matter of seconds.
Mesmerized by the fluid motion, I can’t bring myself to look away.
He makes it look effortless—like an everyday person might treat the act of standing from a seat. From this angle, I can see the sweat glistening on his bare torso. The ripple of his abs every time his arms flex. His shoulders bulge, his biceps forming mountainous muscles laced with prominent veins.
His breaths escape in rushed huffs, matching the impressive rhythm of his workout. And the dark chestnut color of his hair is almost black as sweat makes it cling to his forehead. It’s been a long time since I’ve watched Lance work out. Not since he moved out of my parents’ Brooklyn estate.
It’s no surprise that his routine has grown more impressive. But the sight of him in nothing but gym shorts and running shoes, glistening from exertion makes me forget momentarily about why I stopped to look in.
I just can’t help myself.
Seeing Lance in his full godlike glory makes my stomach flip and my mouth go dry. The temperature of my body must increase ten degrees in a matter of moments as I think about what it would be like to touch that perfection. To run my hands over his washboard abs.
Swallowing hard, I force my gaze to the square patch of white gauze covering his right pec muscle. Because I actually stopped to make sure he wasn’t pushing himself hard enough to blow his stitches. No red is seeping through the bandage, which is good. But he better change it at the very least when he’s done.
I contemplate whether I ought to barge in and mother him by telling him to do so. But I’m not sure I could do that without blushing. In fact, my face is hot just watching from this side of the door. So, rather than try to scold him into taking care of himself, I take a deep, steadying breath and close my eyes in order to break the spell he puts me under every time I look his way.
It’s a lot easier to think straight when I’m not watching his impressive workout routine. And I know now that it was the right choice to leave him be. But as I take a step back, ready to slip away, the floorboard gives a terrible creaking groan.
I freeze, my eyes flying open as I pray that Lance didn’t hear me.
But he must have because his head snaps in my direction.
Holding my breath, I spin away from the door, praying he didn’t see me. Then, as quietly as I can, I make a run for it, sprinting back to my room before he can catch me watching him.
Dear God, the only thing more embarrassing than blushing as I try to mother a man over a decade my senior would be if he caught me ogling him.
I shouldn’t have indulged in watching Lance—even if I did it to ensure he doesn’t push his workout too far and bust his sutures.
At least that’s what I keep telling myself to feel better about it.
Deep down, I know the truth.
I shouldn’t have a crush on him like I do. I just can’t seem to help it. Try as I might to overcome my feelings for Lance, it’s proven a harder obstacle than I ever would have imagined. And believe me, I’ve tried.
For years, I’ve worked on banishing him from my fantasies. And still, every time he turns up unexpectedly to join us for dinner or to pick Killian up, my heart does one of those crazy somersaults. My stomach fills with butterflies. And my pulse breaks into a full-on sprint.
Once again, I’m thrown into the deep end of my emotions.
And every time, it takes me ages to wade back out onto the dry, barren land of my abstinence. The island of virginity that I will likely occupy all on my own until the day I die because I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want Lance. And he’s never once given me an indication that my feelings might be reciprocated.
Still, as I reach my room and slam the door closed behind me, I can’t wipe the image of his half-naked perfection from my mind. What I wouldn’t give to have his strong arms wrapped around me. To taste the salt of his sweat on my tongue.
Heat radiates through my body as I imagine his bare, sweat-slicked chest pressed against mine, his lips kissing me. I wonder if his five-o’clock shadow would tickle my skin—or maybe it would be rough like sandpaper.
I swallow hard as I envision his big hands roaming over my body, feeling my curves, daring to touch me the way no man ever has.
And a deep, throbbing ache starts to grow between my thighs.
I don’t think he caught me watching him, because he would have made it to my room by now if he had. Right?
And in the silent solitude that follows, I feel the intense urge to alleviate that pulsing need.
Padding across the floor in my bare feet, I settle onto my bed, then fall back across my mattress. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve fantasized about Lance. But something about seeing him in the gym today has completely shattered my self-control.
I so desperately want to know what his lips would feel like against mine.
To have his hands touching me.
And without thinking about it, I reach between my thighs. My soft, mini olive-green smock dress slides up my legs as I bend my knees, granting me better access. When I run my fingers over my lace panties, I can feel my excitement through the fabric.
Warmth creeps up from my chest to pool in my cheeks as I imagine Lance running his fingers over my panties, pushing them aside at the same time as I do.
I gasp at how wet I am over just that glimpse of him all sweaty and straining in his workout. The perfection of his muscles. The tantalizing V that guides me to what he hides beneath his gym shorts.
Plenty of my friends at school have talked about what it feels like to be with a man. And of course, I understand the anatomy of it. As a nurse, that’s a basic part of my education.
But knowing what it would feel like to become one with Lance…
I’ve never actually seen…well, all of him. But considering the rest of him, I imagine he’s rather large. And I wonder if he and I would even fit together. At five foot five, I’m average height for a girl. While he’s…anything but average.
Fire floods my veins when I picture him leaning over me, pressing his lips to mine as he aligns with me and slides inside of me for the first time. I gasp as my fingers follow the motion I fantasize about his cock performing, easing into my hot entrance.
Relief bubbles in my veins as I take my slick juices and stroke upward until the pads of my wet fingers find my clit. And I slowly start to circle, swirling my excitement around the sensitive nub. All the while, images of Lance’s muscular body wrapped around mine flood my mind.
I moan at the thought of him naked with me, his skin brushing against mine.
Would he be gentle with me? Or take me with the brutal determination with which he seems to go about every task in his life? I’m not sure which I might like more. But the idea of him wanting me so desperately that he couldn’t hold back makes my clit throb and my pussy tighten.
And suddenly, I’m on the brink of climax, my orgasm hovering on a precipice I might topple over at any moment. My muscles tense, my need for release so intense it makes my back arch up off the bed. I roll my hips as my fingers continue their frantic circle.
But what launches me into euphoria is the thought of Lance coming with me—his desire for me so intense that we find our release together, wrapped in each other’s arms. I shudder, my legs jerking together as my clit pulses against my fingers.
I suck in sharp lungfuls of air, astonished by how turned on I was and how quickly I came.
Then again, it’s been a long time since I’ve spent this much time in close proximity to Lance. And yesterday, I was actually touching the hard muscles of his chest, though I used every ounce of self-control to focus on stitching him up, rather than how strong he felt even after sustaining such an injury.
Not to mention, the latex gloves gave me a bit of a barrier. They made it feel more clinical. Still, I couldn’t escape that distinctly masculine scent of leather, gunpowder, and a hint of coppery sweat that surrounds him. And though I suspect that’s just his natural musk, given his environment, I find it ridiculously enticing.
God, I’m hopeless.
Letting my feet slip off the edge of the bed, I lie on my back staring up at the ceiling, reveling in just how pathetic my life has become. Sure, nursing is a noble profession—one I’m excited to begin. But my personal life is all but nonexistent. I don’t spend time with friends. I don’t date. I can’t even remember the last man I tried to flirt with—or who attempted to flirt with me.
And all the while, I might just be hung up indefinitely on someone who’s not just my brother’s best friend but my own foster brother—a man who’s too old for me anyway.
What is wrong with me?
I yelp, the question fleeing my mind as someone pounds adamantly on my bedroom door. I jump nearly a foot in the air as I panic, thinking they might come in while I’m still in a state of disarray.
“Coming!” I call, scrambling to my feet. I quickly straighten my dress and attempt fruitlessly to cool the heat in my cheeks. I will myself to get it together so whoever it is won’t realize that I was jilling myself off in the bedroom.
And when I open the door, I find Lance standing there in all his sweaty glory.
Scowling.
My heart stops.
Oh God, did he actually catch me watching him?