Chapter 28 – QUINN
QUINN
“No country then? I’m a country boy at heart.” Rhett is a little crestfallen.
“Can we negotiate the music? I’m just not a full-on twangy country girl.”
“Classic rock?” he proposes as he puts the lamb in the oven now that it’s seared and checks on the broccoli and potatoes. I’m simply here on his counter, drinking wine and loving the show.
I smirk. “That may mean something different to you than it does to me.”
He narrows his eyes as he closes the oven door and folds his arms over his chest as if this were nonnegotiable. “The sixties and seventies are classic rock.”
I shake my head. “Eighties is. Possibly even nineties at this point.” I’m playing with him. My father would kick my ass for saying that, and he’d be right.
He looks like he’s about to throw up, and I laugh.
“Alexa,” he calls out, raising a challenging eyebrow, “play classic rock.”
Led Zeppelin’s “Fool in the Rain” comes on, and I get an I told you so grin.
I roll my eyes, but I doubt I’m selling it. “This is at least better than the twang, though there is something to be said for that “Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy” one.”
He stands before me, his hands on my thighs. “I’m not a cowboy. I’m a country boy. There’s a difference.”
I sigh dramatically. “That’s a bummer.”
He tickles my side, and I shriek.
“Ah! Stop. I’m kidding.” I swat his hands away. “We’ll improvise. I’ll ride you all night until your cute little di—ah, no, put those hands away.” I smack his grabby hands. “Big dick, big dick. That’s what I meant.”
“Better have.”
“The biggest. So big I can barely take it without my vagina writing her own obituary.”
“Huh?”
“I don’t know. It just came out. That’s what he said.
” I cackle, clearly losing it. “But get the food because it smells ready and I’m starving,” I emphasize the last word.
“Then I want you to keep your promise and eat me for dessert. If you have ice cream of the vanilla variety, all the better. And before you say anything, I like my ice cream vanilla, not my sex.”
He chokes out a harsh laugh, his forehead falling to my shoulder as he shakes with laughter.
“Fuck, there will be no coming back from you, will there?”
“Nope. I’m a goner for life kind of girl. But I’m also serious about the food.”
His teeth scrape my shoulder, but he starts pulling things out of air fryers and ovens, and I get more wine even though I may not need it with how things are already going.
He plates everything up and sets the dishes on the counter. But because it’s Rhett and he’s my country boy, he picks me up off the counter bride style.
“Grab your wine.”
I do, and he carries me over to the bar stool where he sets me down so we can eat this incredible meal he made. He even made sourdough rolls and has really good salted butter from France.
“Do you normally eat this way?” It seems like a lot of specialty food for a single guy to have in his home.
I mean, other than Roman when Roman was single, but he’s a celebrity, a Michelin-starred and James Beard Award-winning chef, and we’d always go to his place to mooch off his cooking.
Crew has like six or eight condiments in his fridge, a bottle of vodka he hardly touches in his freezer, eggs, protein shakes, and questionable takeout containers, and Forest and Hayes aren’t so different from that.
“No. I stopped at the gourmet grocery store on my way home. I heard the shower running and did some prep work before I came upstairs.”
“You’re trying to woo me,” I tease.
He grins as he sprinkles my potatoes with pepper, parmesan, and freaking truffle salt.
“I’m definitely trying to woo you. But more than that, these are the kinds of things I thought about doing during those months when we were texting.
When you’d tell me about the Boston sky from the rooftop of your hospital at three in the morning and what the OR was like for you and I’d tell you that I was an only child and that my son is as well but that I secretly always wished for more kids and how I love mountain biking in the spring and fall but hate it in the summer because in Colorado it’s too dry and not messy enough. ”
I stare down at my plate, at this perfect meal this perfect guy made for me. “I loved how we talked to each other. Like we were secret friends who shared truths and yet had this underlying layer of more.”
I cut into my lamb, and it’s amazing. Not the tiniest bit overcooked, and it melts in my mouth with the rosemary and garlic hitting just right.
“I’ve wanted to text you,” he continues. “I’ve wanted to call or FaceTime. I’ve wanted to walk down the stupid block and break into your house like the stalker you accuse me of being just so I could see the house and all the spaces you live in.”
“And crawl into my bed in the middle of the night, right? Possibly tie me up as you do.”
His head swivels in my direction, his eyebrows tickling his hairline. “Um.”
“I mean, that’d be a red flag in real life but a green flag in fiction and with the right guy…”
He swallows his bite of food and wipes his mouth with his napkin. “I could do that. I could do all of that.”
My heart pounds, and holy shit, I’m practically panting.
I stare down at my food, suddenly all of my hunger focused on the man beside me and not the food in front of me.
“Not tonight, Quinn. We have plenty of time for all the fun and dirty things. Tonight is for us.”
And it is.
We morph into easy conversation. The kind we used to have over text.
The kind that’s us talking and learning and nothing extra.
We clean up the kitchen together, still compromised on music.
But the moment my hip pushes his dishwasher closed, and it starts up with a whirl, I’m whisked off my feet and straight into his arms.
He smiles at me, and my heart leaps in my chest, but there’s a darkness to his blue eyes that makes my belly flutter too.
It’s hard to think about what we’re doing as wrong. Especially when everything about him feels so right.
We’re both adults. We’re both single. I’m not a teenager, so the age gap, while not ideal, isn’t exactly inappropriate. But more than that, we liked each other before we knew who the other was. There’s so much to be said for that, and with it, it’s skewing my thoughts and mentality on this.
But it’s still wrong, and I have no clue how we’ll explain it to anyone when the time comes. If the time comes.
He dives in to kiss me, but I dodge his advance and wiggle out of his arms. He gives me a curious look, and I wink at him as I turn around and go toward his stairs. The hoodie comes off first, followed by the sweatpants, leaving a trail behind me.
I hear him at the base of the stairs, and I know he’s looking up my shirt as I ascend. I know he can see a glimpse of bare ass beneath his T-shirt. He exhales sharply when I lean forward ever so slightly, and with long, heavy strides, his chest is at my back by the time I reach the top step.
He forces me against the hallway wall, my hands up on either side of my head, and my cheek pressed against it. I barely manage a breath before my shirt is ripped up over my head and I’m completely naked for him.
He must have ripped off his shirt at some point too because his bare chest is tickling my back with all his weight pushing on me, but I don’t care.
It feels so good, his heat such a juxtaposition against the cold wall.
His mouth is by my ear, and he’s panting so hard.
It’s heady, and it’s making me high. His smell is only adding to that.
“I’m going to fuck you quick and hard. So hard,” he adds almost as if it’s a warning, and I shiver at the promise. “Then I’m going to take my time with you in my bed.”
I gulp when I feel his track pants slide down his body.
“Everyone can say whatever they like, but we lost the game today because I was thinking about this.” His fingers rub my pussy. “I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t get you out of my head.”
I rock into him. “You can have it whenever you want now, Coach.”
He groans against my ear as he pushes two fingers into me. I close my eyes and moan, squirming against how thick and long his fingers are. My palms press harder into the wall as heat coasts over me. My clit throbs, and my nipples rub against the wall, desperate for friction.
“Were you this wet all evening?”
I nod, unable to form words with the way his fingers are fucking into me and pushing right on my front wall. His feet shift mine farther apart, and his fingers slip out of me only to be replaced by the blunt head of his cock.
“Hold on.”
“To what?” I half joke.
“The wall,” he rasps in my ear just as he slams himself inside of me.
And yeah, I need to hold on to the wall or at least press my hands harder into it.
His hand wraps around my throat, and he pulls my face back with it, turning my head and kissing me as he pounds into me with abandon.
His hand stays on my throat, his other on my hip, which he uses to pull me back so he can slice me onto him as he thrusts forward.
“Jesus,” I hiss. “God, Rhett.”
I’m so full of him I feel him everywhere.
He doesn’t give me time to adjust to his size.
He starts a relentless pace that makes words impossible.
I’m only moans and whimpers and desperate cries.
I lift my right leg up onto my tiptoes and angle it farther out, bending my knee as much as I can to give him a deeper angle.
And fuck me sideways, it works. Holy shit.
He’s everywhere, his chest against my back, his pants and rough grunts by my ear and over my cheek and lips, his hand on my throat, his other gripping my hip, his taste and smell consuming. He’s consuming.
All the while, his cock slides in and out of me.
He controls how my body moves and fucks him back.
I’m getting pounded, totally at his mercy, and it’s the best thing I’ve ever felt.
My orgasm builds, growing stronger. His hips smack into my ass, a constant slap, slap, slap while his cock jabs at my front wall, right at that spot that’s already making me see stars.
“Are you going to gush for me again?” he breathes in my ear. “Cover my cock with your sweet cum?”
Oh god. I’m so close. So fucking close. I can’t even respond. That’s how close I am.
“I come so fucking hard when I feel it. Your pussy is like magic. It’s so fucking good.”
His hand on my throat slides down my body. He gropes my tits and pinches my nipple, but he doesn’t linger. Greedy fingers continue south until they find my slick clit and rub it in tight, fast circles that go in time with his dick nailing me so hard I swear, he’ll break me in half.
“Oh fuck!” I cry out, my head flying back and landing on the upper part of his chest by his shoulder. I spread my legs wider, wanting more of that.
It shoots me straight over the edge.
My hands cling to the wall, my fingers scraping while my knuckles turn white as I hold on. By some power, he fucks into me harder, chasing his orgasm, and I love that. I love feeling him lose control inside of me.
“Christ. God, Quinn, your cunt...” He trails off, unable to finish what he’s saying because now he’s coming too. He pulses inside of me, his palm slapping the wall as he bellows out a harsh expletive followed by my name.
His teeth sink into my shoulder, and I gasp. It makes my pussy spasm, and he groans, almost as if he’s in pain. He slows his pace to a gentle rocking, still feeling me now that the brutality of our sex is done.
His forehead meets the back of my neck, and he wraps his arms around me, holding me tight with his cock still inside of me.
“Nothing better than being inside of you,” he murmurs before he pulls out, scoops me back up into his arms, and takes me straight into his bedroom for round two.