13. Georgia
Chapter 13
Georgia
T he bookstore was fairly silent all day, with a few customers coming in and one selling a box of used books for store credit. It was drizzling outside; red and orange leaves blew across the street while people passed by the window. It was one of my favorite kinds of days and I wasn't even enjoying it. To be fair, I was supposed to be fucking Sebastian Quinn in less than twelve hours. Now, as much as the idea excited me, it terrified me in turn.
This morning I had picked out an "outfit," if you could call it that, in a mad dash to find something to wear without spending any money. I had sent the additional $600 to the clinic this morning and ended up with under $10 in my account, so hopping over to the mall was a big no-go. Sure, I had small savings set aside, but lacy underwear didn't exactly scream emergency. So I dug in my drawer until I found a cute set of deep green underwear and a bralette I barely wore because of the cleavage it produced on my A-cup breasts that I found uncomfortable for long periods. But like Quinn had said, it was just going to be taken off anyway.
"Good afternoon, Georgia," Emma greeted, coming through the door quickly and bringing with her the howling wind and burst of icy arctic air. Her skin was red with the cold, and the shape of her lips pressed into a thin line.
I smiled at the older woman. "Good, I had a few guests in today. Is it still alright for me to leave at three today? I was going to visit my grandmother."
Emma nodded, a smile softening her face and as she rested her hand on top of mine. "Of course." She looked around the place, which had a few clients milling around, her hand clutching a letter. "They’re raising the rent again, just enough to get around that new rental gouging law."
I placed my hand over hers and squeezed. "Hemingway's will get through this. I know it." Emma smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes.
It wasn't milkshake day, but I did bring my grandmother some sugar-free candy and a Diet Coke since the facility's vending machine had been broken since last week.
"You’d think they could afford to fix the vending machine with how much I pay," I grumbled as I knocked on my grandmother's door.
Mary Clark was sitting at her small dining set, putting together a puzzle, a black and white TV program droning on in the background at an almost intolerable level.
"Hi, Grandma!" I greeted her, setting down the sack of treats and kissing the top of her head. She seemed bright and alert today, which meant today was a good day. I helped her assemble the puzzle that depicted cats napping on a window.
"I think, next milkshake day, I'm going to smuggle in Hannah," I whisper conspiratorially, pushing a piece into the halfway-completed puzzle.
Grandma looked up with a twinkle in her eyes. "I like the way you think, Georgia." I laughed and looked around her place, thinking of a few items I could bring from the apartment that would make the place seem more homey. Maybe a few plants. I could even afford to get her new furniture if this all went right tonight.
My stomach flipped.
"You okay, honey?" she asked, her maternal instinct catching the subtle change in my expression. I rolled my eyes and nodded. "Of course, just thinking about work stuff."
She grinned, placing another piece of the puzzle. "You should try to stop working so much and get a guy or girl in your life." Grandma winked at me. "You're a pretty girl and deserve to be treated right. That Dylan fellow just wasn't it."
I chuckled but nodded. "I do agree with you there."
She raised her eyebrows, pretending to study the puzzle. "Are you talking to anyone?" She smiled wider. "Or not talking with someone?"
Huffing an indignant laugh, I shook my head. "Grandma, those regency romance novels are rotting your brain, and no, me and Hannah are very happy just with ourselves. Thank you very much!"
She scoffed, "You're way behind. I'm reading about cowboys now." At my incredulous expression, the older woman waved me off. "You should be out having fun! Your twenties are for figuring yourself out; have fun!" She shook her finger at me, "Go flirt a little, go kiss a boy."
Oh, grandma, if you only knew…
It being fall meant my razor and I hadn't been as close as we were in summer. I was in the shower for at least an hour, exiting from the hot water dehydrated and dizzy. At this time I would normally be getting ready for bed or at least reading for a few hours; I was instead tweezing my eyebrows and mangling my winter dry hair into something resembling curls.
I looked down at my phone, currently reading 8:30 p.m., which meant I had 30 minutes to finish my hair and toss on some makeup to look fuckable. I shook my head at my train of thought; okay, that was problematic. Leaning on the bathroom counter, I stared at myself in the mirror.
"Am I really doing this?" I whispered to my reflection, and then I remembered my bank account and put on some mascara. I swear I’d only been fixing myself for a moment when my timer went off, reminding me I had five minutes to get across the hall.
"Shit," I whispered, popping another piece of gum in my mouth and smearing some black cherry lip balm on my chapped lips. "Okay, okay. This is good, I look good."
I kept repeating that as I fed the cat and pulled on a pair of black sweatpants and an oversized sweatshirt with a faded National Park logo on, hiding my coordinating pieces. Jogging to the door, I stopped, nearly colliding with a chair, before running back into my bathroom and throwing open my cabinet drawer to find a small bottle of perfume I had sitting there for special occasions.
"Well, if this isn't a special occasion, I don't know what is," I muttered, spraying behind one ear and on my ankles, wincing at the burn from my freshly shaved legs.
It was time. Fuck , what was I doing?
I walked across the hall and tried to tell myself that I was shaking due to the cold hall as I knocked on the door. It opened almost immediately. "Hey, c'mon in!" Quinn greeted in a muffled tone, and I was glad to see he was in some basketball shorts, a t-shirt, and a toothbrush hanging out of his mouth. I walked in, hearing some music drifting from the bathroom that he retreated into.
"Mozart, huh?" I called with a smirk as I put my bag down by the door. "A little on the nose, don't you think?"
I heard a bark of a laugh from the bathroom accompanied by the water being turned off. "Maybe a bit." He came back into the main living space, wiping his freshly shaven face with a towel. Fuck, he looked good. "C'mon, someone like you doesn't like classical music?"
I wrinkled my nose, taking back my internal compliment. "Someone like me?"
He rolled his eyes, tossing the towel in a basket in the corner. "English major, bookstore worker? I'm just saying, you seem the type."
Crossing my arms over my chest, I looked at him with a grin. "I happen to like pop and death metal." He raised an eyebrow and shrugged. "Oh, the duality of women."
I gave him a small laugh, and we stood in silence for a moment. I sucked on my teeth before finally saying, "Where do we start?"
That seemed to shock him out of his reverie. "Shit, sorry. Uh, first of all, with this being just a practice run, you can always just say stop or pause since it's not really going up online. We should still treat it like it is, just to get the hang of it, but start thinking of a good safe word. It's only used on live streams if you decide to do those; if not, stopping is always good. I also check in pretty frequently. I use red, yellow, and green to tell me your levels, okay? Got your mask?"
I swallowed around the anxiety building as I nodded, processing all of the information. I pulled out an online package that came right in the nick of time and revealed a wide netting mask. Thin and transparent enough for me to see through with ease but enough of a barrier that my appearance would be safe.
He took it from me with a raised eyebrow. "Nice, Clark, I dig it." My stomach flipped at these words, and I felt a sweat break out over me.
"So, your room?"
Quinn nodded, stopping at the fridge to grab a few bottles of water, and waved me into the bedroom. There were two bedrooms, just like my apartment, but the smaller room looked like it had been turned into an office. His was bigger than mine just by a bit, with plenty of room for the video camera equipment, which consisted of three cameras on tripods set up at different angles.
While I was busy looking at the equipment, hoping my stomach would just settle down, he pulled out a contraption to show me that it was hooked up to what looked like a travel camera. "This is a Point of View camera," he explained, positioning it over his head until it sat flush against his chest, pointing downwards. "It's really good for close-up work or just P.O.V. videos, which are always popular." Quinn took it off, sitting it on the nightstand. "I realize it's kind of intimidating, so we don't have to pull that out tonight, but I just wanted you to see it. "
I nodded, chewing on the inside of my cheek as he turned to me, his face serious.
"Before we get started, are you sure you're okay with this?" Quinn didn't take his eyes off of me, his expression soft and understanding. "After the rehearsal, if you hate this, it's over. No questions asked."
My mouth was suddenly very dry, and my tongue didn't seem to want to cooperate, so I just nodded instead. Quinn smiled and clapped his hands together. "Alright, let's get to it. I have music going, but it'll be low so we can communicate." He stepped closer to me, and I instinctively stepped back, my heart hammering in my chest. I knew he was tall but I hadn't realized how tall until he was right in front of me.
Quinn gave me a look, a shallow dimple appearing as he smirked (how had I never noticed that before?). "Don't worry, Clark, I don't bite." He paused dramatically. "Unless you ask, of course."
Rolling my eyes, I took a step towards him, "Cliche, Quinn." A dark chuckle rose from his chest, his amber eyes sparkling as he pulled his mask from his back pocket and slipped it over his head. Hoping to God he didn't see how I reflexively swallowed as he went from Sebastian Quinn to Wolfe. The man I had been touching myself to for over a year.
"It sometimes helps to take each other's clothes off, just touching first," he said, his voice deep and muffled behind the black balaclava. "Wait to put your mask on until we get you ready so it's where you want it." I nodded wordlessly again, my mask wadded up in my sweaty palm.
Wolfe inched closer to me until I could smell his minty aftershave and expensive cologne. I had to tilt my head up to look at him as his fingers teased the hem of my sweatshirt, and I sucked in a breath as I felt the ghost of his touch on my abdomen.
"Color?" His voice was deep, as rough as gravel, and I felt a flush rise up over my neck.
"Green," I whispered softly, amazed that I was able to get my mouth to work. He nodded, allowing his eyes to map over me, taking me in. "Arms up, baby girl."
Fuckkkkkk .
My arms went up, and my sweatshirt lifted over me, my bangs disheveled in the movement. "Mask up, Clark." I nodded, placing it over my eyes and tying it behind my head, wincing as it tugged at a piece of my hair.
"Cameras are on—so that you know," he said, jutting his chin over to the equipment. Dipping my chin in acknowledgment, I toed off my sweatpants, allowing them to pool onto the floor. That's when I found myself nearly naked with a fully clothed Sebastian Quinn across from me. He lifted his arms to the side as if daring me to come closer.
"You can touch me, Clark," he whispered, and I tried not to focus on how his deep voice was affecting me. Taking a deep, steadying breath, I drew closer, taking the edge of his shirt in my hands and lifting it to his chest before he did the rest, flinging it to the corner. The red lights dipped into the planes of his stomach as I traced the peaks of muscles to the dark hair at the base of his naval that trailed down to disappear into his shorts.
He was patient, waiting for me to make the first move. I carefully reached my trembling hand to his chest, his skin raising in goosebumps as I drew my finger down the planes of his pectoral muscles down to his abdomen, pausing on the drawstring of his shorts. As if hearing my silent request, he hooked his thumbs in the band and dropped them to the floor, left clad in one tight pair of white briefs.
"Get on the bed, Clark."