Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
ANORA
T he man gave me an hour to get ready? It would take me an hour just to decide which dress I wanted to wear.
Did I wear a blue dress, or a black cocktail dress? Did I go with my red dress, or did I just text Quentin, tell him I changed my mind, and refuse to open the door when he came to pick me up?
“Rory!” I hollered, needing an opinion other than my own. I couldn’t be trusted to make a good decision when my brain was so flustered. Which was likely how I got sucked into this date with Quentin in the first place.
“You rang?” Rory said as she stepped into my bedroom. I watched as her eyes widened at the disarray. “Good Lord, woman, what tornado went through here?”
“I need help deciding what to wear on my date tonight before my brain combusts,” I groaned, motioning toward the wreck of clothes caused by said tornado.
“You know you’d look stunning in absolutely anything, Nora,” Rory said matter-of-factly, and I laughed in wordless agreement. “ But , if I had to pick one dress over the other, it would absolutely, without a doubt, be this one.”
My smile grew bigger than I thought was possible and I felt the mischief begin to bleed into my heart at just how much torture Quentin Thorne was in for tonight.
* * *
As soon as I stepped outside the front door of my apartment building, I saw Quentin waiting for me, leaning lazily against his car.
I felt the breath leave my body as I took him in, and I relished the fact that I could see I had the same effect on him. I silently thanked Rory for her help in picking out the short and sexy little silver dress. It made my boobs look fantastic and my legs long and sleek, the simple heels I chose accenting it perfectly.
“Little moon, you aren’t playing fair,” he growled, prowling over to me like a predator to prey and grabbing my face with both hands. He crushed his lips to mine, searing them with one of the hottest kisses I’ve ever experienced. My panties were already soaked, and we hadn’t even left the parking lot. He nipped at my bottom lip, and I couldn’t stop the moan that escaped my mouth. Quentin responded by grinding himself against me, and I nearly moaned again at how hard he was for me.
“You are the one not playing fair,” I whimpered as his lips moved to my neck, staking his claim over every square inch of skin he could get to.
I’m not sure what happened to the fear I’d previously felt in his presence, when I wanted nothing to do with him, but I’d take this over the terror any day. Even though our relationship was slowly migrating away from the fear and light-stalking bits—as far as I knew, anyway—I still liked this little cat-and-mouse game he was playing with me. The anticipation of sleeping with him was going to send me into an early grave.
“I’ll make up for it, I promise,” he said, planting one last kiss on my lips before taking my hand and walking me to the car, opening the door so I could slip inside.
Was it healthy for me to flip so quickly from fear to lust? Did I need to make an appointment with my therapist? Should I still be afraid of him and his intentions?
If he was utterly obsessed with me and all he wanted to do was give me the best sex of my life, could I necessarily complain?
“You better be worth it,” I grumbled as I buckled my seatbelt and slithered down in the seat, trying to ignore the want coursing through my veins at an inhuman rate. I wanted to skip dinner altogether and just beg for him to take me back to his apartment and finish what he started. It had been so long since I had felt like this that I didn’t know what to do with myself or how to handle this influx of feelings for another human.
The things this man made my body feel were quickly becoming an addiction. Every buzz that his hands left on my skin when he touched me, the way his lips molded perfectly against mine…
He was a drug, and I was hooked.
Never able to get my fill.
Always wanting more.
Always craving him in any and every way I could get.
I felt like I had one foot cemented in fear when I was with Quentin and another planted in desire, and I was dangerously close to diving headfirst into the pool of lust he stirred within me.
I tried to gather myself in the short time it took for him to get from one side of the car to the other, but I could still feel the electricity zinging through my veins. Everything he was doing was turning me on: the way he held onto the steering wheel, even the way he’d side-eye the roads before he drove through a stop sign.
Was I dreaming when I thought I was scared of him?
“You’re staring again, Anora,” Quentin said with a smile.
I wanted to kick myself for getting caught. I felt like a puppy drooling over its new toy, and I tried to pretend it didn’t make me feel just a little bit pathetic.
“Sorry,” I grumbled, taking a deep breath and once again attempting to pull myself together.
“Don’t worry. If I didn’t have the road to worry about, I’d be staring at you too,” he said, and there went all my attempts to pull myself together as I melted into a puddle at his response.
He was not allowed to have such a smooth way with words.
It did not bode well for my heart or my panties.
“I’m glad you agreed to come out with me tonight,” Quentin said as we pulled up in front of one of the fanciest restaurants I had ever seen.
I tugged at the hem of my dress, feeling out of place already. Sure, I had high-end clients here and there who loved my quirky designs, but this was different. I was surrounded by people who were better than me—and knew it, too.
“This is where we are having dinner?” I asked, taking in the building with equal parts awe and anxiety.
He looked at me with an easygoing smile, telling me to relax without saying a word. “I had to top our last date because it went oh-so-well,” he said playfully before opening his door and being greeted by a valet.
This place was fancy enough to have a fucking person to park your car.
I had never seen such luxury in all of the years I’d lived in Portland, and I wasn’t sure how to feel about it. My body felt like it was wound with undiluted tension, and it didn’t know where to go.
When Quentin came around the car to my side, I put my hand in his offered one and felt the warm, rough skin of his fingers on mine. It felt like a perfect fit, and just touching his skin made me feel safe. Fuck, this man was a phenomenon I couldn’t crack. It shouldn’t have been possible for him to make me feel like my life was in danger one moment and then perfectly safe the next.
I was really beginning to think I needed to schedule a meeting with my therapist because there was no way this kind of emotional switch so quickly was normal.
“Come on, little moon,” Quentin said gently, easing me out of the car and toward the restaurant.
The place was magnificent, and I wanted to remember every detail so I could explain it to Rory later—I knew she was going to have a million and one questions. I planned to be ready to relive every single second of one of the nicest dates I had ever been on.
“You and that nickname for me,” I said with a shake of my head, trying and failing to come up with one for him in return. There wasn’t anything I could see suiting him besides his name.
“You’re just jealous of how creative I am,” he teased, and I rolled my eyes at his cockiness. He was such a smooth and controlled person, and damn it, yes, he was beginning to show just how creative he was.
“Whatever you say, Thorne,” I replied, settling for his last name as he opened the door and led us inside. He gave his name to the hostess, and we were led to a table in the back of the restaurant that felt secluded and intimate.
The lighting was dim, chandeliers hanging from the ceiling only offering a small amount of light to see by. Though it was busy with many of the tables filled, the hum of conversation wasn’t too loud, and I didn’t feel like I would have to yell to be heard. I could smell food coming from the kitchen, which was fully visible from our seats. I had always loved watching people cook, binging Food Network and anything Gordon Ramsey when I had the chance. I wasn’t much of a cook myself, but damn did everyone else make it look so easy.
“Quentin,” I breathed as I took in our surroundings and watched the hustle and bustle of the kitchen. “This is amazing.”
“I had a feeling you’d like it,” he replied, taking his cloth napkin and placing it in his lap. He sat across from me, his back to the kitchen, giving me full access to watch. It was eerie how well he seemed to know me, and I tried not to think too hard about it. He was the best friend of my best friend’s boyfriend, so it wasn’t hard to believe he could have found out things about me from Rory or Joey.
But he didn’t strike me as someone who took the time to ask questions, instead doing what he could to find out things for himself.
“You seem to know a lot about me,” I said with a smile as I looked over the menu and debated what I wanted. The options were endless, and it made my mouth water just thinking about what I could eat.
“I make it my business to know everything about you,” Quentin replied with a smirk, my mouth opening to reply but not letting anything come out.
“Good evening. Can I get you guys started with a glass of wine or an appetizer?” The waiter who approached us was dressed in a crisp, black button-down shirt and trousers to match. He carried a seriousness about him but seemed polite enough.
Though the look of his eyes wandering to my cleavage is anything but polite.
“We’ll take two orders of shrimp risotto as well as two glasses of your best red wine,” Quentin answered, looking at me for approval, and I clenched my thighs together at the way he took control of the situation, knowing without having to ask what I would like. I gave him a small nod, pretending I wasn’t already close to jumping over the table and into his lap. “I’ll also take an order of you keeping your eyes on me and away from my girlfriend’s breasts.”
Girlfriend?
We had never discussed labels, or what our situation even was, but hearing him refer to me as his girlfriend and getting jealous over the waiter’s stray gaze was almost erotic.
I watched as all the color drained from the waiter’s face before he cleared his throat and physically turned his body, so his back was to me.
“I’ll bring that right out for you, sir,” the waiter replied, rushing away quickly to place the order and grab our wine. He came back moments later and poured generously into our glasses. He turned to walk away, but Quentin stopped him with the raise of his hand, and I shot him a questioning look.
“You can leave the bottle,” he said smoothly. The audacity that he oozed was beyond attractive.
The waiter left the bottle without a word, and I couldn’t even understand what the label said, proving further how fancy it was. The nicest wine I had ever had was from the liquor store in the city that Rory bought me for my birthday. Quentin and I wordlessly toasted our glasses, and in that first sip, I knew I had no chance of being able to go back to cheap liquor-store wine again.
“This is delicious,” I said, feeling the alcohol begin to flow warmly through my veins. “You have good taste, Thorne.”
“I know I do,” he said with a suggestive wink.
I swear this man knew every single sexual button to press. He thought I wasn’t the one playing fair, but he could make me swoon with just a few words.
This little unspoken competition between us to see who would break first was going to be interesting, and I was determined to win.