13. Quinn
13
quinn
Before I can get my bearings that this is about to happen, Porter’s lips crash into mine. His kiss is hard and claiming, which isn’t out of the ordinary for us. Every time we’ve been together has been like that. We both knew it was only a few hours before I disappeared into the darkness. Plus, even long-term friends with benefits don’t do romance. There are no flowers or candles or beautiful words spoken. Sure, there’s foreplay—both of us are big fans of both giving and receiving—but there’s no caressing or cuddling. There’s no slow kissing before eventually getting to the good stuff.
It’s just sex. Raw, unfiltered, fucking amazing, sex.
Yet, right now, there’s something different, yet vaguely familiar. Everything about Porter feels desperate. Needing. Just wanting to feel anything that’s not sadness.
Oh my God, that’s it. This really is like that first night. When we both needed to feel…something.
He was obviously devastated and feeling alone after the passing of his dad. And me? I was stupidly heartbroken over the dickwad who cheated on me, though looking back, he did me a favor. We were dating in the base sense of the word. We had dinners at my place. I spent the night at his. But that was it. I never met his friends. He refused to meet mine. And when I asked him to come with me to Rolling Hills during that fateful vacation? He said he couldn’t get time off work. A good excuse in theory, but bad execution on his part. Once Stella got into the girlfriend’s social media, we found out that he couldn’t come with me to Tennessee because he was in California on a wine tour with his new girlfriend.
I was devastated. Crushed. He basically told me that I wasn’t the person he saw himself with in the long term but didn’t know how to tell me.
Translation: You don’t want to date the big girl. But you want to fuck her.
And that’s not me being down on myself; it’s what I’ve discovered after years of analyzing evidence of past dates and boyfriends. The fact of the matter is that while I may love my body, and have finally learned to love the skin I’m in, I tend to attract the men who want to keep me hidden. I don’t know if I’d go as far as to say they’re ashamed to be seen with me, but until I’m proven otherwise, that’s the running theory.
So that night when Porter found me crying behind the bar, I just wanted to feel something. I realize that a drunken hookup with a man I’d crushed on for years probably wasn’t the best decision, but I was sad and had six Lemon Drop shots in me. I certainly didn’t think we’d still be doing this eight years later.
And like that first night when we stumbled into his bedroom, hands everywhere as we tried to strip each other down, this night is playing a mirror image. I stumble backward, Porter’s lips still on mine, as I slam into the wooden door of the office.
I yelp out in surprise, but it’s quickly swallowed by Porter’s mouth. Our kisses are big and sloppy, which are only in unison with our hands fumbling at our clothes. There’s no sensuality in what we’re doing. I’m shoving down my shorts as I hear the whip of his belt coming off before I’m greeted by the vision of him taking off his white T-shirt with one hand.
How do men do that? No. I don’t want know. I just want them—specifically Porter—to just keep doing it.
“Come here.”
His words are a growl as he grabs the back of my neck and pulls me into him. He doesn’t let go as he moves my head where he wants it as his other hand brings my leg up, giving him access to my throbbing pussy.
“Oh!” I gasp as he inserts two fingers. My head falls back and hits the door, but I’ll take the likely bump that’s going to form tomorrow because I can already tell this is about to be one for the ages.
“You’re always so wet for me,” he grunts as I feel the palm of his hand against my pussy, his fingers completely inside me. “Always wet. Always perfect.”
My moan starts as a hum when his mouth descends on one of my breasts. My nipples were already peaked from the cool air of the office—or at least, that’s what it should’ve been. I have a feeling they knew Porter was here, though.
And Porter is their biggest fan.
My knee nearly gives out as his mouth starts sucking like he hasn’t tasted them in ages. I reach down for his dick, wanting to feel something of his. Holy shit is he hard. It feels like steel in my hands as I stroke it as best I can from this angle. It must be working because I feel the vibration of Porter’s moans on my skin before he gives one last suck on my nipple that ends with a pop.
Porter lets down my leg before spinning me around, the front of my body now pressed against the wooden door.
“Bend over. Put that marvelous ass in the air for me.”
I do as he says, bending at the waist so I’m nearly at a right angle. The only thing that’s holding me up right now is my hands against the door, my chest pressing into it, and my wobbly legs. That’s until I feel Porter behind me, his hands spreading my ass before I feel the first swipe of his tongue on my center.
“Holy fuck!” I yelp, my elbows nearly giving out from the sensation. “Don’t stop. Please for the love of fucking everything, don’t stop.”
And I mean that. I think if Porter were to stop right now I’d cry actual tears. Which is madness. This whole scenario is. I just came here to check on him. I didn’t expect to be naked, pressed against a door, Porter going down on me in a way he never has before.
Why is this so intense? Is it the act? I mean, sure. Porter’s mouth devouring me from behind is hot as hell. But it’s more than that. This whole situation was sudden. Unplanned. And frankly, the hottest I’ve been for him maybe ever. Which is saying something. Once when I was home, he snuck me out back, fingered me behind the bar, and then told me to go wait for him in his bed. And that if I wasn’t waiting naked, or had gotten myself off again before he got there, I’d be punished.
The part of me that always bent the rules wanted to see the punishment. The part of me that has a hidden praise kink listened, knowing the pleasure was going to be too good to pass up for the sake of curiosity.
Spoiler alert: It was. The man made me squirt that night.
Though, if I really think about it, every pleasurable experience or feeling that my body has felt during sex over the course of my lifetime has come from the hands, mouth, or fingers of Porter McCoy. The man knows my body better than I do. He sure as hell knows it better than any of the clowns I tried to get with in Phoenix.
None of them know about the spot on my neck, just above my pulse, that make me shake in seconds. None of them could ever get me off with just a few fingers, yet Porter has done it on multiple occasions. Hell, he can make me come with just nipple play. And they definitely don’t know how to talk to me in the bedroom.
Nope. That’s only this man right here.
“Jesus Christ, Quinn, you taste so fucking good.” He stands up, which feels like a drastic contradiction to the words that just came out of his mouth.
“Then why are you stopping?” I’m panting, now just realizing how close I was to coming before he abruptly halted.
He grabs me around the waist, spinning me to him. Our bodies are pressed together, his dick hard as stone between us.
“Because I need to fuck you. I need that pretty pussy to grip my dick like you know I like it. I want to make you scream and wake the neighbors. You okay with that, Hurricane?”
And there it is. My kind of dirty talk. The kind that has a bit of a challenge to it. A little edge. A little bit of a dare.
And let’s be real, Quinn Banks could never turn down a dare.
I mean, any guy can throw in a “shut the fuck up” and “good girl.” Some think that they can ride the line between bossy and douchey, but they can’t.
But Porter? The man could teach a masterclass.
“Do your worst, McCoy.”
That’s all the encouragement Porter needs before he pulls me away from the door and expertly maneuvers me back to the desk. I watch in awe as he shoves off every piece of paper with a swipe of his hand.
“Sit,” he commands. “Let me look at you.”
I’m butt-naked, sitting on Porter’s desk. I’m sure my cheeks are flushed and my hair that was in a messy bun probably looks like a hornet’s nest right now. My chest is heaving in anticipation. And my heart is pounding out of my chest with the way Porter is looking at me.
“You look so good like that,” he says, at some point finding his jeans and pulling out his wallet, grabbing a condom from within. “Now spread those legs for me.”
I do as he asks, because why wouldn’t I? By the look in Porter’s eye, and the way he’s stroking himself as he fits the condom on his cock, this is about to be an epic dick down.
When he gets within a step of me, his hand is wrapped around my neck, urging me to his mouth. He doesn’t let go, applying just enough pressure to make me gasp, but not hard enough to cut off the airflow.
Just like we both like it.
His kiss is intense as he steps between my legs, using his other hand to line himself up just right before he drives into me.
“Gah!” I gasp, my head falling back as Porter’s thrusts begin with a fury. I throw both of my hands back on the desk, praying that they’re able to hold me up. Hell, the way Porter is fucking me right now, I just hope this desk holds up. I’m not a tiny girl, and I wasn’t great at physics, but I have to think that this desk is about to fight for its life.
But Porter doesn’t seem to care. If anything, he’s doing his best to bust it and me. Good Lord, this man is possessed right now. His mouth is sucking hard on my tit while he’s thrusting into me like it’s the last time.
Like it’s the last time…
This time wasn’t supposed to happen. Is that why he’s like this right now? Figuring that if we slipped he might as well go out with a literal bang?
Well, if that’s the case—which I secretly hope it’s not, because I’m sorry, this is too good to stop—then I better hold up my end of the bargain.
“More,” I say, though it sounds like I’m begging. “I need more, Porter.”
He releases my breast to look me in the eye. “More?”
I nod, biting my lip for some extra flirt. “You wanted me to scream, didn’t you?”
A new fire blazes through his eyes as he pulls me up, spinning me around so I’m bent over again, only this time on the desk. The sound of his hand smacking my ass echoes around the room as my body nearly collapses on the desk as he enters me again.
“Like that?” he asks, but both of us know that there isn’t going to be an intelligible answer that leaves my lips. Not when Porter’s hands are digging into my hips, fucking me with all his might and bringing me very quickly to the brink.
“Yes. So close.”
His thrusts only speed up, Porter knowing exactly what I’m going to need to send me, as well as him, over the edge. Without asking, he reaches around, rubbing my clit before giving it the perfect amount of pressure.
And just like that...I’m a goner.
“Fuck!” I scream, my orgasm crashing through me like a freight train into a brick wall. I feel Porter’s hands dig into my hips, his tell that he’s not too far behind me.
“Damnit Quinn! Ah!”
He stills inside me, his chest breathing heavy against my back, as we both come down from a high like no other. I feel like we’re joined together for minutes like that, both of us trying to find our breath, and bearings, as the world stops spinning.
I must say, if this was the last time, I can’t complain with how it ended.
Porter helps me stand up before he quickly grabs his jeans and steps into them, running out of the office and coming back a minute later with a damp towel.
“Here,” he says, cleaning me as I try to gain my bearings.
“Thank you,” I say, suddenly feeling bashful of my nakedness in the light of the office. Porter must pick up on it as he immediately looks for my bra, shirt, and denim shorts and hands them to me.
I shimmy off the desk and step into my shorts when I see Porter put on his T-shirt and then slumping onto the corner of the desk.
“Is everything okay?”
I’m really concerned. Porter usually doesn’t have a regretful look after we have sex. And I don’t know if this is necessarily regretful, but he doesn’t have the post sex glow like I want him to have.
“What are we doing, Quinn?”
I’m halfway to putting my shirt back on when those words leave his mouth. Shit…after eight years, is Porter now wanting to have the “what are we” talk? And with remnants of orgasmal bliss still in the air?
I mean, he has asked me to stay. Is this the new version of that? And shit…I don’t fucking know. I can barely stand on my legs, let alone put together a coherent answer. This always worked because we were casual and on the same page about not wanting to be in a relationship. Or so I thought.
“You can put away the panic,” he says before I can say anything. “I wasn’t trying to ask you to be my girlfriend.”
I let out a big breath, which earns me a laugh from him. “Geez, don’t get too excited.”
“No, it’s not that,” I say. “It’s just…now more than ever, I’m not looking for anything serious. I don’t know how long I’m staying in Rolling Hills. Everything about my life is up in the air right now. The last thing I want is anything serious.”
“And you think I do? I’m not going to be sleeping tonight, wondering if my sister is coming to rob me.”
Oh, shit. How did I almost forget about that?
Oh. That’s right. The orgasm.
“So what are you asking, then, Porter?”
“I…I don’t know, Quinn. All I know is that I should stay away from you, call tonight a slip and go back to us just being boss and employee, but I don’t know if I can.”
That makes two of us.
“I mean, us going back on promises of ‘the last time’ is kind of our thing, isn’t it?”
He bumps my shoulder as we lean back against his desk. “We could do this, couldn’t we? What we’ve been doing before, only now more frequent?”
“Porter McCoy, are you asking me to be in a situationship?”
He laughs. “Do you think a word like that would ever come out of my mouth?”
“No, but it’s fun to think about.” I step in front of him, taking hold of his white shirt so I can press into him slightly. “But you’re right. We can do this. We’re consenting adults. Both on the same page of what we want. Why deny ourselves?”
“Exactly,” he says, his arms now pulling me in as they rest on the small of my back. “We just need some guidelines. Boundaries. It’ll keep us in line.”
I nod. “Normally, I’m not for following the rules, but in this case, I think it’s best.”
“Agreed. So nothing during work hours.”
“Absolutely no flirting at the bar. Oh, and the only time anyone is allowed to say ‘chicken wings’ is when we’re relaying an order to the kitchen.”
“Good call,” he says. “And, I think it would be best if no one knows. This is just between us. No one needs to know our business.”
I do my best to not have a reaction to that statement, even though it feels like a punch in the gut. Which is ridiculous. If he didn’t say it, I was going to. But still, hearing it from his mouth stings more than it should.
“Obviously.”
Porter tilts his head. “You okay? If you don’t want?—”
I put my finger to his mouth, needing to distract him from asking any further questions. “I’m fine. And I do. In fact…” I trail off as I push my hands under his T-shirt. “I think I want to do it again.”
“Really? Round two?”
I lift my shirt over my head before lowering myself to the ground. “I’d rather call it ‘things I didn’t get to earlier.’”