13. Reid
Reid
I am indifferent to what Quinn’s father does for a living.
It’s neither my business nor my concern.
However, the fact that he is a lawyer in NYC is a little different.
And depending on what field he works in leaves the possibility of it being concerning.
Because if we work in the same area of law, that means one of two things–
Either I’ve brushed shoulders with the man and possibly shared a drink. Or I’ve looked at him from across a courtroom and done my best to level him to the ground.
That said, when the rest of the room heads for the dance floor and Quinn heads for the bar, I am hot on her heels.
“You didn’t tell me your father was a lawyer,” I state.
“I didn’t know it mattered,” she says, drumming her nails on the bar top as she waits for a Riesling on her wine.
“Do I know him?” I ask.
“I don’t know. Do you?” she asks, thanking the bartender and taking a sip.
“What’s his name?” I drill.
“I don’t think that’s any of your business,” she states.
“How do you figure?” I ask.
“Crossing the boundary between professional and personal,” she states, trying to throw legal terms at me. It’s a cute attempt, but it’s also not gonna fly.
“Your last name is Delaney,” I say.
“It is,” she answers.
“There are no Delaney’s in law that I am aware of,” I state.
“Interesting,” she says, and I narrow my eyes.
“Is he really a lawyer?” I ask.
Quinn looks me dead in the eyes. “Why would I lie about that?” she asks, and her voice is level. Then she clicks her tongue. “Also, a lot of lawyers go by different names.”
The way she trails off makes me wonder if she knows I am one of those lawyers. So I decide to drop it. I can figure it out later.
I’m ready to change the subject, but Quinn talks first.
“We should dance,” she says, taking my hand. That’s not what I had in mind, but as Quinn takes off and pulls me along, I realize she doesn’t care what I think. And considering the mask we have to put on, I don’t really have a choice anyways.
The song shifts from something fun and bouncy to Despacito, and while I don’t love to dance, I do know how. Quinn takes the lead to start, her small frame suddenly growing curves I didn’t know existed as her hips sway to the smooth beat.
I watch her momentarily, the way she loses the tension from five seconds ago and is completely carefree, giving in to the music, letting the world go. And I follow her, because what else can I do at that point?
I come up behind her, my hips finding the rhythm of hers before taking the lead. My hands land on her hips, her arms raise, and I smirk at the movement, the contact, the ease.
How in the world can I clash with her so hard one second and then fall into such ease the next? It’s offensive and intoxicating and annoying and enticing.
The DJ reads the energy of the room and the song flows straight into a remix of a Shakira song and her ass finds the beat, grinding against my crotch, causing my smirking lips to part.
Sweat glistens on my chest, showing through the open top buttons of my dress shirt and her bare shoulders.
And as she continues to move, she pulls her hair up to cool herself down, but it only heats me up and my hand finds her torso, pulling her back into me.
Then my lips find her shoulder.
I kiss it softly, a trail of kisses along the arch of her shoulder and the nape of her neck. I want to devour her, right here, right now.
As we continue to grind into each other, I flex my hand that is placed on her upper stomach. My thumb rubs the swell of her breast, and as I move my hips, I feel her hardened nipple under the pad of my thumb.
Then I feel her moan.
I do it once more, twice more. It’s discreet enough to go unnoticed by anyone else, but as her body shudders under me, I know she is coming undone.
Suddenly, she pulls away, turning around to face me. Her legs straddle mine and she gyrates against me (to the beat of course, which has switched to a Pitbull song, amping the beat up a notch).
She is grinding against my cock and the next thing I know; I am hard as a rock, pointed north. I’m suddenly at a loss. She can’t keep doing that. It’s going to be a catastrophe if she does. But I also think it might kill me if she stops.
Again, Quinn flips around, backing her ass up into me. I’m half grateful and half fucked. On one hand, I need her to cover the obvious problem. On the other hand, with her ass parked against my dick, it makes me even harder.
“You are being a very bad girl right now,” I gruffly warn her under my breath, and I can hear the smile in her response.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
With that, she grabs my hands and clamps them onto her hips. Her hands stay clasped on top of them, fingers laced with mine so I can’t move. Then, as the chorus comes back around, she picks up the pace double-time, and the edges of the room start to blur.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I pray the end of the song comes before she ends me.
Although, at the pace she has this train running, if she stops before I get off it’s going to feel like running straight into a granite wall at ninety miles per hour, followed up no doubt by the worst case of blueballs I’ve had since I sat behind the cheerleaders at a Bills game when I was fifteen.
That didn’t end well, and I don’t think this will either.
Suddenly the music shifts to a slow song, and just as abruptly, Quinn stops moving and pulls away from me.
“That was fun,” she grins coyly back at me. “I’m going to use the little girl's room.”
With that, she sashays off, whipping her hair as she goes.
As predicted, my balls are blue enough to burst.
The room is fringed with white.
And I am seeing red.
I march towards the bathrooms, and some rando pops out of the men’s room, pressing himself against the wall so I don’t run over him.
“Hey bro, that’s the women’s room…” he says, but I ignore him.