Lorenzo #2
For weeks, I’ve been pushing her away, unable to let her get close.
Finding out about Orla made me doubt everything I know about Quinn and I fucking hate that I’m doubting everyone these days.
Ever since the Harringtons dismantled the Syndicate, or tried to, from the inside, I don’t trust anyone and when Daire told me about Orla, I took that chance to put distance between Quinn and I.
I’m done with the distance.
I kiss her.
Not the polite kiss from the church. This is all the frustration, anger, confusion, and wanting I’ve been choking down for weeks.
My hand slides to her jaw, my other arm around her waist as I pull her into me.
She makes this soft sound against my mouth that nearly wrecks me, and then she’s kissing me back like she wants this just as badly.
Her fingers fist in the front of my shirt, holding on like she’s not sure whether to pull me closer or shove me away.
I take the decision from her and walk her backward until the backs of her knees hit the bed.
She makes a soft startled sound against my mouth, but I’ve already got her, and I’m not letting go.
"Lorenzo." My name comes out breathlessly.
“I’ve got you,” I promise her.
We’re still a fucking mess. Tomorrow all of this comes crashing back.
The doubts, the lies, and all the things neither of us have said, they’ll all still be waiting for us.
But tonight she’s here. Tonight she’s my wife, and that’s more than enough, so I kiss her, again, and again. I don’t want to stop.
She doesn't pull away, her fingers are still fisted in my shirt, her mouth moving against mine, but she's holding back, not giving me all of her, and for some reason that pisses me the fuck off. I pull back just enough to look at her. Her lips are already swollen, her eyes slightly unfocused, but I can see a wall between us. She's here. She’s in the moment, but she’s not giving me all of her.
I don't know why that feels like a challenge I need to win.
"Quinn."
"Don't." Her voice comes out rough. "Don't stop. I don’t want to talk."
I hate the hurt that’s etched in her face, eyes, and voice. The hurt that I put there unwillingly and unknowingly. I think my distrust of her has also hurt her, but there’s nothing I can do about that. I distrust everyone.
I kiss her again, slower this time, and I feel the moment she lets go, her hands move from my shirt to my chest, working my buttons open with quickness, like she wants to get this over and done with.
"Look at me," I say.
She doesn't.
I catch her jaw, tilt her face up. "Quinn. Look at me."
She does, finally, and what I see hits me somewhere I wasn't prepared for. Her green eyes are still red-rimmed, still full of pain that she’s been swallowing all night, and underneath the want, there is anger.
Pure fury that’s been quietly burning. She wants me, that's not in question, but she's furious about it.
Furious about tonight, about Daire, about the fact that she's here in this room with me, and she's furious about how much she wants me anyway.
Good, because I'm furious too.
I don't want softness right now. I want this, the anger and the yearning, the sheer mess of it all, so I kiss her like that's what I'm taking. All of it, the hurt and the fury and everything she's holding back, and for a half second she goes rigid.
Then she breaks and it’s fucking beautiful to see.
Her hands fist in my half-open shirt and she kisses me back hard, like she's starved of attention. Her body presses into mine like she can’t get enough.
I pull my shirt the rest of the way off, and she looks at me in the low light of the room, and there's that defiance again, chin lifted slightly, like she's waiting for me to disappoint her.
I get her negligee off her shoulders within seconds. The fabric drops, and then there's nothing between my hands and her skin.
Christ. I've spent weeks not letting myself think about this.
Weeks keeping distance, keeping my mind somewhere else.
I'm making up for all of it now. I run my palms over her, learning the shape of her, the curve of her waist, the warmth of her, and her breath goes shallow.
I move up her body, settling my weight over her.
She arches up into me automatically, her hips tilting, her thighs parting, like her body knows what it wants even if she hasn't decided to give it yet.
I drop my mouth to her neck and she makes a sound, low in her throat, her fingers coming up to my hair and she holds on.
I drag my mouth down to her collarbone, down to the swell of her breast, and she exhales hard through her teeth.
I take my time, I feel her pulse jumping under my lips, feel the tension in her body coiling tighter, feel her hands pressing into the back of my head pulling me closer even as her jaw stays tight.
Even as she holds on to that last thread of composure.
I close my mouth over her and her back bows up off the mattress.
"Lorenzo—"
"I've got you," I promise her, needing her to trust me.
I work my way down her body deliberately, my hands, my mouth, finding every place that makes her breath catch, that makes her fingers curl tighter in my hair.
She is not quiet, I find that out quickly.
She tries to be, I can feel her trying, pressing her lips together, but every time I find somewhere new she gives it up.
A gasp, a soft broken sound, or my name like a prayer.
I want every version of it. I pull back to look at her and her chest is heaving, her eyes dark, watching me from under heavy lids.
"Stop thinking about her," I say, knowing that the bitch is still playing on her mind.
She goes very still.
"Daire doesn't get this." I hold her gaze. "She doesn't get to be in this room with us. Stop letting her."
Something in her face cracks, just briefly. I see everything underneath it, the exhaustion, the hurt, the anger, all of it she's been holding together since before she walked down that aisle. Then tightens her hands in my hair, pulling me back down.
"Then make me stop," she says.
It's a challenge, one that I won’t back down from.
I settle between her thighs and she rolls her hips up toward me, impatient, and I feel the want she's been keeping controlled start to slip. I take her mouth again and I feel her exhale into it. I line my cock against her wet pussy, and bite back a groan. She rolls her hips once again, and I know that I can’t hold back any longer.
I push forward slowly, watching her face, and she pulls in a sharp breath, her fingers digging into my back, her head tilting back.
"Look at me," I tell her, wanting to see every inch of her as I take her fully.
She does, her eyes find mine and hold. I move, slow and deliberate, feeling every small sound she makes against my mouth.
I feel the resistance of her innocence and pull back.
This is going to hurt and fuck, I don’t want to hurt her, but I’ve no other way.
I thrust into her hard and fast, breaking through the barrier.
She cries out in pain, her eyes shut tight as she clings to me.
“Breathe,” I instruct her. “Breathe through it.”
She looks at me again and I see a flicker of doubt. I know immediately why she’s doubting herself. Fuck.
"Where did you go?" I ask.
Her jaw tightens. "I'm right here."
"You were," I say. "For a second you weren't."
She doesn’t say anything but she doesn’t need to.
Daire. It always comes down to that fucking bitch and I can’t help but wonder what she’s done to Quinn to make her doubt herself.
But that bitch isn’t getting tonight. Hell fucking no.
No more. She’s taken enough and Quinn needs to understand that she’s my wife, not Daire. Quinn is.
I move and she makes a mewling sound in the back of her throat, her hands glide down my back, her nails dragging over my skin.
I feel her start to lose it, that careful control unraveling with every thrust of my cock, with every shift of my body against hers, and I don't let her pull it back together.
Every time I feel her tense, I find the angle that wrecks her, the rhythm that pulls her apart, and she stops trying to be quiet.
She’s mewling and whimpering, and I can tell that she’s getting close, her whole body arches, straining against me, her thighs locking around my waist, and she holds on as she detonates, her pussy clenching around my cock as she falls apart, taking me with her.
I pull out and go to the bathroom to clean up. Once I’m done, I pull on my pajama pants while she cleans up. When she returns she's quiet and I know that whatever we just shared is long gone. She climbs onto the bed, dressed in a nightie, and has her back to me, curled up in a ball.
It doesn’t take long until I hear her breathing even out and she’s asleep. But it doesn’t come easy for me. I'm on my back, staring at the ceiling. I can feel the heat of her body beside me, there’s space between us and I have a feeling if Quinn had her way, there’d be an ocean between us.
This evening was a huge clusterfuck. The shit with Daire was out of line, and partly that was my fault.
I should have pushed her away. I knew better than to let that viper get close, but I fucked up and the hurt look on Quinn’s face isn’t something that I’m going to forget and it’s going to be a hard line back from what happened this evening.
Tomorrow everything that happened will still be there, hanging above us like a stormy cloud until we sort it out. But tonight I chose her. I needed her to know that I chose her. I told her Daire didn't get to have this and I fucking meant it.
I'm not sure it's enough and I'm not sure she believes it is either.
But she's here, and the space between us is small enough, at least, that I can feel the warmth of her. It's not enough. I know it's not enough, but it's our starting point.