21. Smoke
21
SMOKE
T his isn’t a date.
At least, that’s what I tell myself when I pull up outside the bakery in a clean black shirt, polished boots, and my cut.
It’s simply two friends grabbing dinner after she’s been making a lot of the meals, even though I don’t really need her to anymore.
Oh, and I’m also still armed because you never know where the next fucker with a death wish is going to spring from.
But any thoughts that it’s not a date escape me, when Quinn, who is busy cleaning the cake cases, looks up and sees me, and smiles.
A really fucking pretty smile.
The kind that makes you forget that it’s not a date.
The kind that eases weary bones and inspires you to carry on when you feel like you can’t.
The kind that makes you forget you just emailed your boss and officially resigned from your career without reading his reply or any of his messages.
“Hey,” she says as I step inside.
“The prospects really helped tidy the place up. It’s amazing how quickly it all came together with that many pairs of hands. I was wondering if they could help me move back in too. I’ve already cleaned up for the night, but if you want something and I have it, I can grab it out of the back and make it up quick.”
She says too many words.
Too many for her, at least. And I can tell when a woman is nervous and rambling.
Our conversation after the fire last night was not my proudest moment.
Not sure it was hers either.
It left me feeling exhausted, but there was still too much adrenaline flooding through my veins to be rational.
And I hate the idea that she saw me.
I hate that she saw that weakness.
This morning, as I lay in bed, listening to her as she moved around the kitchen, humming to herself, I thought about my mom.
About how her depression overwhelmed us all.
And I made a choice to dig myself out of the hole I’m in.
Or, at least, realize I’m digging one, and stop.
I put my hands on the top of the door frame, reveling in the sting it brings me.
Never been a masochist before, but there’s something darkly comforting when the hurt kicks in.
“Nah, I’m good, sugar. And it might be better if you stay…just until we have a better handle on why they came back.”
Relief flashes through her features, and her shoulders drop.
“Really? Thank you. I was dreading coming back.”
There’s another collision inside of me.
Doesn’t every man dream of being the provider?
The one who creates the safe place for his person to thrive.
Giving Quinn a safe place she’s relieved to return to fills a void in me.
But there’s the off-key note too.
That I’m not the man for her.
That I’m following my dick down a path I might not want to be on.
What right do I have to be looking for a relationship, anyhow?
I wish I could erase the uncertainty.
It’s stopping me from moving forward.
From being happy .
The three words catch me off-guard.
Because that’s how I felt about her when I arrived.
Seeing her made me fucking happy.
Sunshine in the gray.
She comes from around the counter.
“You shouldn’t stand like that, you know.”
“It’s fine. It doesn’t hurt.”
She smiles wryly.
“I’m not talking about your injuries. There’s a trend going around on social media where you get your man to stand…wait, I’m not saying you’re my man or anything…but they stand like that because it makes their biceps pop and makes them look looming?”
Her cheeks went pink when she said I wasn’t her man or anything.
And she’s babbling a little by the end.
“Looming?” I ask.
She looks up at me and gestures at the distance between the two of us.
“Looming.”
I glance at my biceps.
“Are they popping ?”
She blushes some more.
“I don’t think you need me blowing smoke up your butt to tell you they are.”
“Come here, Quinn.” My words are commanding, and like the sweet submissive she is, she does as I say.
I don’t know what I thought I was going to do to make things right between us beyond dinner, but I find myself compelled to touch her.
I reach for her chin and tug her a little closer, before kissing her.
She sighs as my lips brush hers.
Then, her eyes flutter closed.
Mine do too.
It’s soft.
I remember something Halo, a brother from the New Jersey chapter, kept saying, about how your woman should be your soft place to land.
And, fuck me, I’ve turned into someone I don’t even know.
Not sure when I decided to ditch being the road captain of a motorcycle club and become some kind of fucking poet who waxes lyrical about relationships.
I take a small step back.
“I’m taking you to dinner.”
“You are?” Quinn smiles.
All sunshine and rainbows here in poet-land.
“Is this a date?”
I shrug.
“It’s the two of us eating out for a change.”
“So, a date?”
“Will it make you get your ass in gear a little quicker if I agree it’s a date?”
“It will make me so speedy, you won’t see me moving. I’ll be faster than the Flash.”
“I spent the whole time driving over here convincing myself this wasn’t a date.”
She runs a finger over my collar.
“Is that why you put on a nice shirt and boots, to take me on a non-date?”
I dip my finger in the bib of her denim overalls that shouldn’t look so damn sexy on her, but somehow do.
“Stop talking. Start doing.”
“I feel like a hard boundary for me might be knowing whether I’m going on a date or I’m going for food with a friend.”
“Keep this up, and I might take you into the kitchen, pull those overalls down, and spank your ass to make it clear.”
She glances around the empty store.
“What if I said I might like that?” Her voice comes out on a whisper.
My cock thickens in my jeans.
Without truly thinking through what I’m doing, I step into the bakery, lock the door, and turn the sign to, We Are Closed .
Quinn’s hand is small in mine when I lead her behind the counter to the kitchen.
Deliberately, I avoid looking at the photograph hanging on the wall as we walk by.
“Smoke,” she says.
“I don’t know what this is, but I know you aren’t vanilla, Quinn. Last night in the truck, you said some things. I’m proud of you for being honest with me. I like when you do that. Do you know how to define what it is you want?”
She bites her lip and looks up at the boarded window.
“Not really. I?—”
“Eyes on me,” I say, and she immediately turns to look at me.
“We’re going to talk about this. We’re going to figure out what you like, together. And you’re going to trust me to push you when I think you’re lying to me, or more importantly, yourself.”
“Does that make me your submissive?” she asks.
I want to say yes. There’s a yearning deep down in the pit of my soul that has already decided she’s mine.
“It makes you a submissive.”
She looks a little disappointed in the semantics.
“Why does that last sentence make you sad?” I ask.
“It seemed a little dismissive. Like I’m just a body to you, not special.”
I tuck her hair back behind her ear.
“For years, you’ve hated me. And this, you and me, it’s changed fast in the last week. Real fucking fast. Probably too fast for either of us to know if this is truly a good idea or not.”
She sighs; her shoulders drop.
“That’s fair.”
“Doesn’t mean it’s nothing, though. Doesn’t mean you’re nothing to me. You’re someone, Quinn. Someone who’s fast becoming…special.”
The corners of her lips turn up in a shy smile, and it warms me from the inside out.
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
She nods.
“Your face lit up like a firecracker when I said I was going to spank you. So, I think because you’ve been honest with me, I’m going to reward you.”
“You are?”
I tap the end of her nose.
“Go stand facing the counter.”
She does as I say, and I make her wait while I roll my sleeves up.
I see her do a little jiggle.
It starts with her toes and makes its way to her hips.
It’s an almost childlike excitement.
Smiling isn’t something I do a lot of, period.
Let alone when it comes to sex.
But for her, I could be a playful Dom, I’m sure.
And it does something to me that I get to be the first to do this for her.
“Normally, I’d sit on a chair, and you’d kneel over my lap. But, given the floor is still wet from scrubbing, I’m not going to make you do that.”
“Thank you… Should I call you sir ?”
“I’m not a fan of honorifics.”
“So, no my liege for you?”
I step behind her and playfully kick her feet a little wider.
“Stop talking before I gag you.”
She mimics zipping her lips and throwing the key over her shoulder.
“I was going to start you at three, but you’re getting five for that.”
Tenderly, I snake my hand in front of her and undo the metal hardware on the bib of her overalls.
The flap falls forward, and she’s wearing a thin-strapped tank the color of tangerines beneath.
I pop the three buttons at her side and shimmy the denim over her hips, then let it fall to her knees.
She’s wearing practical panties in plain white cotton, but they’re sexier than any lace I’ve ever seen.
They cup the curve of her ass, and I bend and bite one cheek.
She tries to move away from the bite, but she’s trapped between me and the counter.
Perhaps I spent too long trying to ignore anything to do with Quinn Moran, but now, I’m paying attention.
Now, I can’t ignore the way she eases me, and her rocking body that I can’t get enough of.
I press my chest to her back, then wrap one arm over her breasts and slide the other between her legs, cupping her firmly.
I place my lips next to her ear.
“Why am I about to spank you, Quinn?”
“Because I kept talking.”
“And?”
She drops her head back a little, so it falls against my shoulder.
“Because I zipped my lips and threw away the key.”
“Good girl.”
“And because I…last night…I…”
“You what, Quinn?”
“I handled it wrong. I was grateful and concerned about you, but I pushed unnecessarily.”
“You were probably more right than wrong, but we’ll learn how to communicate more honestly, sugar.”
I catch the smile that graces her lips.
Like I said the one thing she’s been waiting for someone to say to her.
Unexpectedly, she kisses the edge of my jaw.
“In case this hurts, I just want to say thank you now.”
“If I do it right, it should be the perfect kind of hurt. Red is your safe word. Use it if it gets too much. I’ll stop. Yellow works if you’re overwhelmed and need a minute. You won’t get into any trouble for using either.”
I place my palm between her shoulder blades and push her down onto the counter.
I take a minute to arrange her on the table, so it makes her neck look long.
I wrap her ponytail around my hand, and she bites down on her lip.
Anticipation builds need.
Quinn squirms against me, and I press myself against her to stop her.
It does little to ease the ache in my cock, but this is about Quinn stepping into her kink, not me and my most basic needs.
Besides, the restaurant I’m taking her to has gender-neutral bathrooms. Maybe I can persuade her to join me in one of those and she can suck my dick, technically, in public.
My cock twitches at the thought of her lips on me.
Once she’s arranged, I dip my fingers beneath the waistband of her panties and lower them to her knees.
Because of the shape of her overalls, she can’t open her legs all that wide.
I rub my hands over the cheeks of her ass.
They’re smooth and unblemished and untanned.
In other words, they’re going to mark up perfectly.
“Count for me, Quinn.”
And then, I spank her on the fleshy mound of her right ass cheek.
It’s not gentle, but on a scale of what I’m capable of, it’s probably a four.
She lets out a gasp.
“One.”
The next one, I hit her left.
This one is more of a five.
“Two.”
The third one, I spank upwards, hitting just below the crease of her ass.
A solid six that has me breathing deeply and fighting with the noble gesture of making this all about her.
“Ah,” she cries. “Three.”
Two red handprints are appearing on her ass, a visual reminder that I’ve had my hands on her.
I wonder how she would feel about me taking photographs of it sometime.
I move a lock of hair that has fallen over her face.
“I’m going to go a little harder on the next two, because I think you can take it. If you can’t, I want you to use your safe word.”
She nods.
“Okay. Please.” But the words don’t have their usual sass.
I can hear the anticipation, the nerves.
The cheeks of her butt tighten, anxious to stay out of the path of my hand, even as she remains resting on the counter.
Gently, I stroke my hand over her ass, feeling the change in temperature as I move over the handprints.
She’ll no doubt notice them when we sit down to eat later.
The idea of her wriggling in her seat, trying to get comfortable, makes me grin.
Maybe I’ll pull her over and let her sit on my lap for a softer seat.
“If you relax,” I say, “it doesn’t hurt as much.”
And then, I follow it with an upward spank to the other cheek.
“Smoke,” she cries out, and at the same time, I notice the glistening between her thighs, and tears forming in her eyes.
I tip my head back and take a deep breath, because if there’s one thing guaranteed to make me happy when it comes to sex, it’s when my actions create an aroused response.
Bizarrely, it’s not usually their pleasure I care about.
It’s the kick I get from the power of being able to do that.
But this time, it’s different.
I find myself caring that Quinn’s enjoyment matches my own.
I dip my finger through it, then pull it to my lips and lick it clean.
“You taste so good, sugar.”
And she’s still looking at me with teary eyes when I spank across her pussy.
Her whole body shakes, and Quinn bursts into tears.
She didn’t orgasm.
That wasn’t the point.
She brings her hand up to cover her face, but doesn’t move.
I reach for her arm and pull it away from her face.
“No, sugar. Don’t cover your face. Let me see what I did, how it made you feel.”
Bending forward, knowing it means my rough denim will rub against the sensitive spank marks, I lick one of her tears.
It’s a gesture that’s way too soft and tender.
She gasps in air when I deliberately move my hips against her.
“Stay there ’til I get you dressed, sweetheart.”
Quickly, I pull her panties and overalls over her butt, then stand her up to pull the straps over her shoulders to buckle them in.
Then, I pull her into my arms, tucking her head beneath my chin so it can rest against my pec, and hold her while she cries.
“I didn’t think I’d cry,” she admits between sobs.
“Even though I read about it and know people do.”
I smile.
She’s got so much to learn.
And I’m going to have so much fun being the one to teach her.