25. Smoke
25
SMOKE
B ut you’ve kissed me like I meant something.
Touched me like I meant something.
And last night, you railed me like I meant something.
Quinn isn’t wrong.
That’s the conclusion I came to, when I focused on the shadows the sun cast on the craggy mountain tops and tried to rid my mind of all the doubt.
I did kiss her like it meant something.
Because it did.
And I did touch her like it meant something.
Because it also did.
And, Jesus Christ, hearing the word rail come out of her mouth gave me an instant boner, which made me regret my choice to go without underwear.
But I was so focused on the panic that overwhelmed me this morning, that she knew my secrets and nightmares, that I decided last night couldn’t happen again, and it became urgent I find her and kick her out.
Until there she stood.
Pretty as a fucking picture.
In the Iron Outlaws T-shirt I wore yesterday, and my head leapt to how it would feel to walk out every morning and find her there.
Maybe add a Property of Smoke patch to that T-shirt so we both knew she was mine.
Coward is such an ugly word, but she’s also right about that too.
I was being a coward, because my feelings for Quinn Moran are complicated.
But while she showered, I focused on them, trying to still the voices in my head that tell me to be scared of genuine feelings.
The part of me that has suffered so much loss through my family, my brotherhood, and my job that I can’t bear loss the same way anymore.
I focused on what my life could feel like in the next twelve months if I let Quinn be a part of it, rather than going back to old habits.
I asked myself the tough questions.
Like, will I be happy fucking the same woman over and over instead of sampling many?
And each time, the equation fell on Quinn’s side.
I rub the oil between my palms to warm it up and then rub my palms over her entire foot with deep long smooth strokes that ensure the oil is evenly spread.
Will probably get oil all over my jeans but don’t really give a fuck.
Her feet are pretty, like her.
Trimmed toenails in a summery pink instead of the turquoise they were the first time I saw them.
Her skin is soft, and I can smell the scent of oranges, not lemons.
Likely from the body lotion she used after her shower, given the way her skin shines.
I start massaging the arch of her foot, using my thumbs to dig right in.
As I’m kneading her arch, Quinn sighs and lets her head fall back against the swing.
It takes every ounce of control I have not to rip the towel from her.
But that isn’t what this is about.
This is doing something for her because I want to.
This is doing something for her because I want to set the world right.
And it’s probably weird, but I made the connection between building a solid foundation and massaging her feet.
I want to give us something solid to stand on so I can prove to her I’m not the things she accused me of.
Even as I accept that’s exactly who I was being.
Even as I was being cruel.
“You don’t have permission to talk,” I say.
“Just listen.”
Quinn opens her eyes but nods her consent.
“I’m the coward. Not you. I’m sorry I alluded to the idea you were. I’m glad I was the only safe place you could think of running to. I’m glad you’re here, and I don’t want you to go.”
She places her hand to her heart but doesn’t say a word.
I begin the process of squeezing and pulling each of her pretty toes.
They slide out of my grip with a quiet pop.
Then, I slide my fingers between each of them and grip her foot, twisting it and stretching it.
Her breath catches again, and it’s all I can do to not split the towel and dive my face between her thighs.
I suppose this is the other reason I picked a foot massage.
In some ways, this is punishment and torture.
To not be able to come all over her feet is my atonement for being a dick.
“You were right. It’s easier to keep everyone at arm’s length. Not just you. I have, and have had, jobs and a vocation that robs me of people I care about too fucking often. Not getting involved with people is a survival tactic, but that’s my baggage. Not yours.”
I shift my hands to her ankle and rotate it, first clockwise, then in the opposite direction.
Unable to resist, I bring her foot to my mouth and suck her toe into it.
She wiggles, and bright laughter escapes her.
So, I bite down on it gently.
The movement causes the towel to part across her thighs, and I get a glimpse of her pussy.
My already heavy cock grows longer, and I discreetly try to adjust myself.
But it fails, leaving my boner even more obvious.
Quinn will be able to see it if she looks, as the button on my jeans is undone and the zipper isn’t fully up.
I glance down, and sure enough, my leaking head is fully on show.
It’s all part of it.
Being vulnerable.
The discomfort of it sits uneasily, but I trade it off against how important Quinn is becoming to me.
And while I’m not usually a man who is naturally romantic, I’m going to have to find it from somewhere.
Because Quinn, who is now watching me intently, eyes bright and smile soft, deserves a life filled with it.
Along with some spankings for good measure.
“You were also right,” I say.
“Last night, in that moment, you were the only person I wanted to see. The only person I could tolerate seeing me vulnerable because I didn’t think you’d judge me for it or tell anyone it happened. You were the body I wanted to lose myself in. Your hands were the only ones I wanted to feel on my skin. And your cunt was the only one I wanted to lose myself and those thoughts in. It was really shitty of me to pretend you weren’t. And I’m really fucking glad I woke up here, with you, rather than in the clubhouse with any of the club girls. I’m sorry I was a dick, sugar.”
She raises her hand, and my heart does that thing where it bangs against my rib cage.
“You’ll get your turn,” I say.
“Can you be a good girl and let me do this my way?”
I was never quite sure what the word beatific meant in context, but I feel like that’s how I should describe the smile she gives me.
“You like being a good girl?” I ask.
She bites down on her lower lip and nods.
“Good to know. Because I’m thinking we should combine our relationship stances.”
She wrinkles her nose in confusion.
The unspoken question emanates from her.
“You can speak now, because I’m about to ask you some questions.”
“Clarification. Can I go back and comment on what you just said?”
I shake my head.
“Not yet.”
I switch feet and begin the whole process again, repeating my actions, starting with massaging the arch of her foot.
“Meanie,” she says, but she plays with the knot at the top of the towel and lets it slide open.
The fabric of the towel slips, but clings to her breasts.
There’s a small sliver of her stomach showing.
I raise an eyebrow. “Don’t play with fire. I might end this by taking it out on your ass.”
Her knees rub together, and I realize I’m going to have to find a different punishment with Quinn because she might like it a little bit too much.
“Were you serious when you said you didn’t want kids?”
Quinn nods.
“I’d get my tubes tied now if I didn’t have such a high deductible and if women didn’t get rejected because their husband wants to knock them up so often. I’m on the pill until I can do that.”
“You’re certain?”
“Everything I said was true. I feel like I’ve already lived a life as a parent. In my head, I’m now older than Melody. It’s hard to explain. But that parental pressure, of being tied to someone you’re supposed to love, or making the sacrifices you need for a child…I feel like I’ve spent most of my life already trapped in it. I want freedom, Smoke.”
I slide my fingers between her toes, stretching them wide, before I squeeze the top of her foot and twist it.
“I think, given we’re having a conversation about our future, I think you should call me Ronan.”
“Am I allowed to ask a question, Ronan?” she asks.
“You may.”
“Club girls. Do you intend to give them up?”
“Would be hard to give you the kind of relationship where I treat you like you walk on water if I’m fucking someone else.”
She smiles softly.
“I think we’ve both lost our way. Who knows, maybe we can help each other find the path back to who we are.”
I work on her heel, the base of her foot, feeling the tense tendons beneath my fingertips.
“I like that idea. Will you promise me something, though?”
I glance up from what I’m doing.
“Anything.”
“Honesty and communication.”
Two words I want to live by but have found myself coming up short.
“You were right, that’s what a good Dom should do. But more than that, it’s what a good man should do. I feel like you’re gonna ask me questions and I’m not gonna like the answers when I look inside myself.”
She tugs her foot out of my reach and leans forward.
The towel falls, and it’s hard to not glance down at that fit-as-fuck body of hers.
“We’re all imperfect people, Ronan. All of us.”
I run a finger down her cheek.
“What if I can’t live up to what you need?”
The moment of weakness catches me off guard.
It’s like I just gave voice to a soul-deep fear.
Something about this moment and Quinn made me feel brave enough to admit the fears I have.
That my firefighting brothers died on a fucking mountain because I couldn’t live up to being a good enough leader.
That my Iron Outlaws brothers are struggling to come together, and I’m not living up to being a good road captain because I’m wallowing in grief and injury.
That I won’t be a good enough man for Quinn, because I can’t live up to being the man who always makes her feel as special as she deserves.
“I just need you to be in this with me,” she says.
“Be in whatever this is. With me. As you are. Without pretense and bravado. Without running away if it gets tough and we ask each other difficult questions.”
I cup the back of her neck and tug her to me.
“Then, I’m here. I watched my mother’s constant daily battle with depression. I watched it ruin my father as he struggled as the solo participant in a marriage. If I’m being honest, I’m struggling right now. Survivor’s guilt I’m not ready to talk about. Not knowing what I’ll do next. Struggling to dig my way out.”
“I’ve got a shovel. I’ll help you dig.”
“Quinn.” The word comes out on a heartfelt sigh.
Kissing her takes away the ache that had been in my chest since she called me out.
“I want that.”
“Good.”
“You should also know,” I say between kisses, “I got the snip, a vasectomy, because I’ve always known I don’t want kids.”
“That’s actually very hot,” Quinn says, her lips curling into a smile against mine.
“And I got tested for just about everything when I was in the hospital and have a bill of health that says I don’t have any diseases.”
She places her palm on my cheek.
“That’s even hotter. I haven’t had sex in seven months, but I’m always safe.”
I look down between us, and Quinn looks where I’m looking.
At my aching cock. “So, if I were to put some oil on that right now and fuck you right there on the swing, it wouldn’t be a problem? It’s definitely safe for inside of you.” Then, I remember why I was massaging her feet.
“No. Don’t think about that.”
A small wrinkle appears on the bridge of her nose.
“Why would I not think about that? In fact, being told not to think about that makes it all I can think about.”
I shake my head.
“This was part of my apology. Massaging your feet, making you come. Nothing for me, as it should be. There shouldn’t be a reward for being a dick.”
“Unless your dick is my reward.” She looks back at me and pierces me with her eyes.
“Then, ask me, sugar. Tell me what you want.”
Carefully, she unzips my jeans the rest of the way.
“I feel like it would be wrong to leave you in that condition, and I would very much like to enjoy it rather than let it go to waste.” She reaches for the oil, pours some into her palm, and then rubs the length of my cock.
Her grip is firm and forces me to take a deep breath.
She twists slightly as she reaches my head before stroking back to the base.
My thick head glistens with oil and pre-cum.
“Take me, please,” she says breathlessly against my ear.
Playfully, I shove her back onto the swing, and she wiggles so her butt is right at the edge.
Her pussy glistens with her arousal.
We both groan when I thrust into her.
“Hold on to the back of the swing,” I instruct, and her hands go right there.
Makes her tits sit high and proud.
“Fuck, you look good enough to eat.”
I use the edge of the swing to nudge her back and forth along my cock, coating it with a white trail of her cream.
It feels so fucking good.
I haven’t ridden a girl bareback in decades.
Might have gotten the snip, but that doesn’t mean I’m reckless when it comes to other sexually transmitted diseases.
“Please, Ronan,” she says, lifting her feet to perch them on the edge of the swing.
“Love the way this opens you up to me, sugar. Fuck, we look hot together.”
We both watch as I speed up the swing.
“Smoke, Quinn. You back here?”
Dice’s voice echoes through the yard.
I know he’s gonna walk back here and up the steps to knock on the rear door, like he’s done a million times.
I glance across the yard, then back to Quinn.
“He’ll see you.”
But what she says is way hotter than any response I could have imagined.
“Don’t stop.”
“We’re going to have to have a conversation about exhibitionism at some point, because I love a fucking audience. I’m gonna fuck you until you come, no matter how close Dice gets.”
“Then we’re about to give him a show,” she says, and flops her head back against the bench.
She runs her hands over her breasts.
“Tug on your nipples for me,” I instruct, “and put both your feet on my chest.”
She does as I ask, and the position changes for both of us.
It feels so much deeper, lighter.
Fuck, if the change in sensation doesn’t put me a minute from coming so deep inside her.
“God, Ronan, I’m so close,” she says, as I slide one hand between her legs to massage her clit.
“So am I, sugar. So am I.”
And I feel her squeeze the fuck out of my cock as I come.