22. Quinn
22
QUINN
S leep is within my grasp, I’m sure of it.
But my eyelashes flutter occasionally.
And I sigh. Then, I turn over, rolling onto a cooler part of the bed.
I beat the pillow with my hand as my head struggles to settle.
I yawn, a sure sign I’m tired, yet it’s time to admit, sleep is evading me.
It has since I fell asleep in the truck on the way home and Smoke put me to bed.
On my own.
I’d been so hopeful it was going to be more.
When I was young, my mom always used to make me fairy milk when I couldn’t sleep.
Warm milk with honey, vanilla, and cinnamon.
She’d bring it in a little glass cup that always felt too fancy.
She called it the sleepy cup.
But Mom had this way of elevating even the most mundane things.
She’d sprinkle edible flowers over sandwiches, would serve up Jell-O in individual crystal dishes, and cut carrots and cucumber into little shapes to dip in hummus.
Conceding, I roll over to the edge of the bed and sit up.
I feel like I’ve lived twenty-seven lifetimes today.
My body aches from all the cleaning I did.
But it ended perfectly with a dinner at a small Italian place, another town over.
We ate pasta, and Smoke ate more garlic bread than I thought a human could consume.
The gut-curdling yell from Smoke’s bedroom makes me jump, and I stumble when I try to stand.
Smoke shouts again. “No. Not there…not.”
Is someone in the house?
My heart hammers against my chest. I can’t do this again, but I know I must get to Smoke if we’re going to survive whatever this is.
I reach for my phone, but remember I put it down on the bench in the hallway when we got home while I took my shoes off.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I look around the room for anything I can use as a weapon, but there is nothing helpful.
An LED lamp, some paperback books.
Smoke’s room drops silent again.
I nudge the door to the hallway open and see Smoke’s door is still closed.
My palms sweat as I listen.
The only sound is the whooshing of my own heartbeat in my ears.
Then, Smoke talks again, but this time, the words are incoherent, and something tells me I’m safe.
There’s no one in the house except me, Smoke and his ghosts.
I tiptoe down the hallway and nudge his door open to find Smoke moving violently beneath the covers.
It’s as though he’s trying to dig his heels into the mattress.
Trying to escape whatever imaginary foe he’s fighting.
Relieved it isn’t an intruder but scared for the man I’m coming to care for, I run to him.
The advice of what to do with a person who is having a nightmare blurs in my head.
Are you meant to wake them, or let them sleep through it?
Is it like when someone passes out, you have to stop them from swallowing their tongue?
The next cry from him sounds like a wild animal in pain, and suddenly, I don’t care what all the advice says, because this must be hurting him.
“Smoke,” I say. “Ronan. Please, wake up. It’s me. Quinn.”
He doesn’t move, so I gently place my palms on his pecs and shake him.
“Ronan. Come on. Wake up. You’re safe.”
He bolts awake and sits up with such force that I dip back to avoid being slammed in the face.
Sweat dots his temples, his breathing ragged.
“Quinn,” he says, grabbing me desperately and holding me hard to his chest.
I wrap my arms around him.
His body is cool and clammy with sweat, but his hair smells fresh from the shower he obviously took before he went to bed.
His heart races. I can feel it where our chests are pressed together so tightly, I can barely breathe.
And his fingers dig into my back.
“It’s okay,” I soothe while I rub my palms gently up and down his spine.
“Take a minute and find your bearings.”
But he doesn’t.
He releases me, cups my cheeks, and kisses me.
I taste every ounce of fear and shame and hurt that still courses through him.
His hands hold me tight too, as if I’ll slip away.
His tongue brushes mine, and he lies back down, taking me with him.
Once his head hits the pillow, I try to break away from him.
“Stop,” I say.
His steely eyes glare at me.
“Fuck me or get out.”
“Smoke, please.”
He folds a forearm across his eyes.
“I’m serious, Quinn.”
I reach for his arm and tug it out of the way.
“You’re vulnerable right now. It would be wrong.”
He rubs his hand across his face.
“Let me decide what’s wrong, Quinn. So what if a bad dream is the reason you’re in here right now. We’ve been dancing around this since I saw you fuck your pussy. Share it with me. Now.”
“Tell me what your nightmare was about.”
“Does it matter? I need your body to escape them. And there are some images you don’t need in your head. Trust me, once they’re in there, they won’t come out.”
“If you want me to share my body with you, then you need to share what’s happened to you with me.”
He winces.
“Fine. You asked for it. The fire at the bakery turned into you dying when I couldn’t get to you. I saw your skin peel from your body, Quinn. But then, it turned into you on that fucking mountain. Couldn’t get to you there either.” He slides his palm along my thigh, beneath the hem of my nightdress.
“But you’re here. Now. Alive. With me. And I don’t want to go another minute without knowing what it would feel like to bury my cock inside you.”
He pushes the covers back off the bed, and I finally see he’s naked.
He takes his cock in one hand, stroking it gently, then loops his other hand behind my neck, pulling my lips to his.
“Why didn’t you want this when we got home?”
“Because I was trying to be a fucking gentleman.”
“Then, what do you need now?” I ask, letting him set the boundaries.
“All of you,” he replies.
Even with the uncertainty that this is any kind of good idea, I’ll do it.
Because if this is the way I can help him in this minute, if this is what he needs to forget what happened and ground himself in the safety of the now, so be it.
“Kiss me, Quinn. Make me forget.”
This time, the kiss is truly mutual.
There’s nothing quick or sweet or fleeting.
I yield to him, part for him, and invite him to take whatever he needs.
To explore me however he wants to.
It’s deep, possessive, and passionate.
Everything I have ever read or dreamed about.
His hand skims to the bottom of my nightdress, and as soon as I realize he wants me to remove it, I stand and lift it over my head.
“Grab a condom from the drawer.” He tips his head in the direction of the little nightstand, and I open it.
There’s a small bullet vibrator and what looks like a silver butt plug, both in sealed packaging.
Next to them are condoms, lubricant, and a variety of ties.
A part of me laments that I’m not the first to do this with Smoke.
The fleeting thought of Melody is quickly dismissed.
“I’m no saint,” Smoke says.
“I like sex and I’m not gonna apologize for that. But I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you right now.”
I see the wildness start to leave his eyes, and a different kind of intensity replaces it.
He moves over and holds the sheet up in invitation.
We’re grown ups, I rationalize.
Smoke isn’t my first either.
So, I climb beneath it with him.
When he lets it fall over my body, it forms an intimate cocoon around us.
We both shift onto our side, and I’m hyper-aware of the warmth of his skin, the bristles of the hairs on his legs as they move between mine.
And the size of his cock as it brushes up against me.
But he wastes no time sliding his hand between my legs and brushing his fingertips between my lips.
My hips buck, but I raise my leg over his thigh, so he has more room to maneuver.
“You want to know how many times I’ve thought about you masturbating recently?” he asks, his voice a combination of whiskey and gravel.
His lips take mine, leaving me breathless as I try to shake my head.
“Even when I was sitting on Atom’s deck, trying to pay attention to Atom and Wraith and what they were saying when you were at book club, all I could think about was the shades of your pussy. How fucking cute that little strip of hair you have was. How white and thick all your juices were.”
His words ignite a spark inside me.
No one has ever spoken to me like this before.
I’ve read about it in books.
But to experience it, to let the words wash out the doubts I have about myself and my body is a gift I didn’t know I needed.
“You were so brave, carrying on when I stepped into the room and told you what to do. So ready to show me, and tease me, and turn me on.”
He presses his thick finger inside me in a sudden thrust, and I gasp at its presence.
He’s so deep, it feels as though his entire fist is pushed right up against me.
“But if you ever masturbate in my house again without coming to ask me for permission first, I’ll slap your pussy so hard, you won’t feel like touching it for a week.”
Everything in me shifts and tightens at the threat.
Because, God, I want it.
I want the sting of humiliation.
I want to learn. I want to be.
I want to learn how to escape the shame I feel at my thoughts.
“I’ve always known I’ve needed more than I’ve ever gotten. More than just sex. I want your rules and your dominance.”
“Fuck, Quinn,” Smoke says.
“You might just be my kind of perfect.” He begins to move his finger, but he grips my chin with his other hand.
“Eyes on me.”
He kisses me softly.
A complete contrast to the way he’s fingering me so ruthlessly.
It’s harder than I have ever done to myself.
Then, he bites my lip.
“Ah,” I cry, as he starts to rub me inside.
I want it, and yet, I want to escape it.
Like a massage when your muscles are so tight that it’s painful and glorious at the same time.
“Today, in the bakery? It took everything I had to not pull my cock out and fuck you raw, bent over the counter I know you’ll make baked goods for the whole town on tomorrow.”
“Smoke,” I gasp, trying to stay focused on everything he’s saying while my body runs riot with feelings and sensations.
“Fuck, yes, Quinn. You’re so wet. On a day when I’m not so desperate to fuck you, I’m gonna eat you out, over and over. Let you come on my face and fingers as many times as you can.”
The words filter through my veins, heating me up inside.
There’s no mistaking I’m the one he wants tonight.
“Can you squirt?” he asks.
I gasp. “I don’t know.”
“I look forward to the challenge of finding out,” he says.
“You’ve got a great body, Quinn. And I want to know just how far I can push it. But now, I want to see it again. I want to revisit how your cheeks flushed, and your mouth opened, just before I stopped you from coming.”
I grip his wrist with my hand and move against him, fucking his finger as much as he’s fucking me.
It’s not enough. I want all of him, and yet, I can’t stop.
Not when I’m this close.
Not when I can feel the telltale signs I’m going to come soon.
Not when I don’t know if this is all I’m going to get.
“I’m gonna let you continue to fuck my hand like it’s your toy, but we’re gonna have a conversation about letting me decide what’s best for you when we’re done. So, you better enjoy it and get what you need. Are you gonna show me how you come, sugar? Because I really want to see it.”
My mouth drops open as I try to breathe.
My cry of desperation comes out unguarded.
I press the heel of my hand at the top of my mound and don’t care what it looks like.
I just need to?—
Everything splinters.
My body shakes, and I squeeze my eyes shut.
“Eyes, Quinn,” Smoke says, almost as breathless as I am.
I open them and watch him while I fall apart.