Chapter 31 – QUINN
QUINN
My hands rake up through his hair and I moan, pressing myself harder against him. I don’t think this was his intention when he picked me up and carried me inside my house, but we’re like a struck match to gasoline, burning hot and fast and without caution.
The food hits the entryway floor before I’m pressed against the wall and then lowered to the console table. The table rocks dangerously, causing a vase of flowers to tip into the wall before it goes the other way and crashes to the floor, sending glass, water, and petals everywhere.
“Shit,” he hisses.
“Did you get cut?” I ask, my mouth still consuming his despite the mess.
He starts to pull away to survey the damage. “No. But—”
“I don’t care.” I grab his face and haul him back to me, kissing him with abandon.
He groans and tears my scrub top up and over my head. It lands on top of the glass and water so hopefully it’ll soak some of it up. My bra is next, but as I drag his shirt over his head, I get a whiff of myself when my armpits are stretched.
“I need a shower. I’m gross.”
“I’m only going to make you dirty again. You can shower while I reheat dinner.”
“Okay.” Hard to argue that, and if he doesn’t care how I smell right now, why should I?
He works the tie on my scrub pants while I go for his belt, both of us fumbling and impatient as we kiss sloppily. We pull way for a second here or there to see what we’re doing before we dive back in.
I finally free his button and zipper, and his pants fall around his ankles.
My pants on the other hand, are proving to be a nightmare.
He slides me off the table toward the door and away from the mess.
My feet land awkwardly, and he grabs my hips to right me.
He crouches before me, his gaze cast up as he finishes my pants.
My hands land on the table behind me for support, my knees threatening to give out on me just from the dark look in his eyes.
Shoes and scrubs are gone, leaving me in only my thong. He grabs my ass cheeks and pulls my hips forward so he can bury his face in my pussy and take a deep inhale. My breath hitches, and I grip the table until my knuckles turn white.
“Magic fucking pussy,” he declares, almost to himself, before he shreds my thong from me and tongues my clit. My head falls back, and a moan escapes me. One knee is set on his shoulder to open me up further for him, and my elbows drop to the table.
We didn’t even make it past the foyer before we started mauling each other.
He lifts me and sets my ass back on the table, and my back meets the cold, narrow wood.
Both of my legs wrap around his neck, and he lifts my ass up so he can devour me.
His tongue slides into me, and he growls, pushing me deeper against his face.
His nose rubs my clit, the scruff from his groomed beard he let grow back out abrading my sensitive skin.
“Fuck,” I cry out as his tongue thrusts in and out and his nose rubs faster. The table is wobbling and shaking worse than I am, but I don’t care. The world could fall apart around us right now, and I wouldn’t notice.
“So fucking good,” he murmurs against me. “I can’t stop eating your pussy. I could do this all night. Rub yourself on me, baby. Fuck my face. Give it all to me. I want to taste and smell you everywhere.”
Jesus, he’s dirty, and I love it.
I roll my hips, dragging my pelvis up and down his face while his tongue and lips and teeth and nose go to town on me.
One of his hands snakes up my body and grasps my breast, squeezing it hard and shooting a fresh bolt of fireworks to my core.
My orgasm is building on me and not in a slow or easing way.
It’s rushing through me, making my skin hot—almost too hot—and my body flushed.
My heels glide up and down his shoulder blades, my back arches off the table, and I move my hips at an uncontrollable pace. Pleasure doesn’t just consume me. It fucking tears through me like it’s attempting to rip me in half.
A scream lurches from me, and his tongue goes wild.
He’s everywhere. All over my entrance and my clit, and he’s giving me the most perfect amount of pressure.
My orgasm clings, coming in waves that don’t stop.
Maybe that’s because Rhett doesn’t stop.
Not until he’s sucked and licked every drop of it from me.
My mind is hazy, and my limbs are heavy, but then he’s kissing me, licking around my lips and thrusting his tongue into my mouth the way he did my pussy.
“Hold on.”
“What?”
Nothing makes sense until I realize my legs are around his waist and he’s lifting me off the table. “Arms around my neck, baby girl. Hold on. There’s too much glass on the floor, and I need to fuck you from behind so I can watch your ass while I do it.”
That’s impossible to argue with, so I do as I’m told, being a good girl for once in my life.
We don’t go far. My living room is just beyond the foyer, and I’m set down and spun around so my chest topples over the back of my sofa. A hard smack meets my ass, and my clit pulses with it.
He’s going to give it to me so good.
I can feel it.
The anticipation ripples through me, and I hum, my toes curling into the carpet beneath my feet before he even—
“Oh fucking hell, Rhett!” catapults from my lips as he slams his cock straight to the hilt, bottoming out in me and nailing into my cervix at an angle that almost has me crying, it’s so good.
His chest meets my back, and his hand wraps around my neck.
He pounds into me like this, taking no prisoners.
The couch is sliding along the carpet until it bangs into the coffee table, but that’s as far as it can go because the coffee table is solid wood and took three giant moving men to get it in here.
He’s grunting and groaning and making noises I’ve never heard from him. He’s so worked up, so focused on fucking me, there’s nothing else. No words. No roaming hands. Just his cock pistoning in and out of me with sweet brutality.
His sweat drips onto my back, and I smile at that. He’s going to need a shower too.
Forget making me dirty, we’re both filthy.
My neck is squeezed, and I gasp as my eyes roll back in my head.
“Quinn?”
It’s all he says. All he can get out.
It’s a question and a nervous energy, but there’s so much raw, intense heat to his voice that I clench around his cock. I draw a hand away from the cushion of the sofa and cover his hand. Then I press on his fingers and thumb over my carotids.
“Fuck!” he rasps and kisses my spine up to my neck beneath our fingers as our hands limit the blood supply to my brain.
My breathing isn’t altered, but hell, if I’m not seeing stars.
His lips don’t stop kissing me everywhere they can, and it’s such a sweet juxtaposition to the way he’s savagely fucking me.
“Fuck,” he says again. “You’re everything. ”
That’s how he makes me feel.
He’s pushing my limits, but I’m pushing his too.
That’s what this says.
His other hand loops around my front and finds my clit. Hard, tight circles are rubbed, increasing the pressure, making everything float a little higher. I already know this will be the most intense orgasm of my life, and I both long for it and fear it.
His ragged breathing is by my ear, his sweaty chest at my back, his dick fucking me with precision, and his hands are holding me, playing with me, working me.
And with all of that, there’s nothing else.
No holding back.
I come on a garbled cry, and his hand releases my throat, sending a geyser of blood back to my brain.
I’m dizzy with it. Euphoric. So totally and completely lost, I’m in another realm.
Absently, I hear him grunting and groaning and cursing as he comes.
But suddenly I’m on the floor, resting on top of him, my head on his chest, and his arms around me, his lips in my hair.
“Quinn?” he says after a long, quiet moment of simply breathing.
“Yeah?”
“Baby girl, are you okay?”
I would laugh if he didn’t sound so worried. “I’m fantastic.”
He releases a shaky breath. “I’ve never… I’ve never done that to a woman before.”
“I’ve never had it done, so that was a fun first for both of us.”
“I didn’t hurt you, though, right? I got scared at the end. I thought you were passing out.”
“No. Just an insane orgasm.”
He chuckles lightly and runs his hands down my hair. “I’m going to take you upstairs and shower you.”
“Okay.”
“Good. I thought you were going to argue with me.”
“Nope. No arguing from Quinn tonight.”
He laughs and pulls me in closer. “Come on. I’m starving.”
Same. So same.
He walks behind me, holding my hips as we go upstairs. “I love your place,” he says, and I can tell he’s looking around. “What’s that room?”
He’s referring to the bedroom beside mine. The door is open, and though the lights are out, it’s clearly a little boy’s room. “That’s Nolan’s room when he stays with me.”
I get a kiss on the neck, but he doesn’t ask more questions because now we’re in my room, and then my bathroom. I turn on the water in my shower, and while it comes up to temperature, I go to the mirror to check my neck.
No bruising. Thank freaking god. That I was a little worried about. There are a couple of red marks, but they’re already fading.
We don’t linger in the shower. We wash up quickly, though Rhett shampoos my hair. He doesn’t ask, he simply does it, and like with everything else tonight, I don’t argue. We clean up the shattered vase, which made a hell of a mess. We’re lucky we didn’t get hit with any of the glass.
Rhett got us stir-fry bowls, and it makes me smile because he ordered it for me based on one of our this-or-thats. Chicken over steak.
“Let’s watch something,” I offer, and we end up sitting on my sofa, which we moved back to its proper place with our bowls and chopsticks, watching There’s Something About Mary of all things because it happens to be on.
“Is this meant to be a dig at me?” he asks before he scoops some steak, rice, and avocado into his mouth.
I quirk a brow at him.
“Stalking.”
“Oh.” I snort. “No, these guys are actual stalkers and scary for it.”
“Nice to know I haven’t hit that level.” He’s quiet for a minute, not eating or drinking or even watching.
I nudge his flank with my elbow. “What’s up?”
His lips dip down, and discomfort creases his forehead. “I was thinking about something earlier, but I’m not sure if it makes me shitty or not to ask.”
“What?”
He sets his bowl down on the coffee table and twists to me. “I don’t know what to do about telling anyone.”
I think about that for a minute. All that it entails.
I get it.
Telling my dad, my brothers, and Russel will create tension. Arguments. Drama and distractions that can negatively impact everyone and the team. I don’t want that, and not just for Rhett but for my brothers and my father.
It’s my father’s first season as general manager, and he’s the one who brought Rhett in. This is also Crew’s first season with the team. My father brought him over from LA at the end of last season so he too has something to prove here.
And I know Mason wants to win another championship. He wants to solidify his legacy as one of the greats.
“What if we don’t tell anyone until the season ends?” I suggest, even if lying to Crew and Mason and even my dad really doesn’t sit well with me.
I think in the long run, it’ll be better for them.
If they don’t make the playoffs, we can tell them in December or early January.
If they do, well, I suppose it depends on how deep they go, but I’d want them to focus on that and not on me.
Crew punched Russel the moment he saw him.
He’s all emotion and extremely protective of me.
I can’t let him risk anything, especially with his coach.
And I don’t want Rhett to lose his job or my father’s confidence.
I also don’t want him to lose Russel.
Truthfully, it seems I need more time to figure out that mess with him since he’s still texting me as if I didn’t tell him it’s never going to happen.
“Let’s do that,” I continue when he doesn’t say anything. “It’ll give us time to see if this works between us. Isn’t that what you said? That we need time? This hasn’t exactly been the most traditional beginning to anything, so time is probably a good thing.”
“You mean like to see if we’re still crazy about each other once we hit the we can finally keep our hands to ourselves for longer than ten minutes stage?”
“I guess, though that stage sounds boring.”
He smiles, complete with dimples, but I can see how uneasy he is.
“There is also something fun about keeping you my dirty little secret.”
He arches an eyebrow. “Is that what I am?”
“I think it’s what I am to you too.”
He frowns. “That’s not how I want us to be.”
“I know. But it’s how it has to be for now. I want you all to have a great season, and I don’t want to be the thing that disrupts it.”
“All right,” he says with some reluctance. “We’ll keep it a secret until the end of the season.”
After that, it’s easy and relaxed. Some of the tension slips from his shoulders now that we have a plan. We laugh and cuddle and talk and sleep. Sweet merciful Jesus, we sleep. It’s everything I don’t think I’ve ever had. Not even with Russel.
He and I would have nights in and eat in front of the TV, but it wasn’t ever this easy. This effortless. This content.
It was always me ordering the food because I knew what he liked to eat, but he never paid attention enough to know what I’d want. We’d watch some sports network or show he liked, and he never asked if I wanted to watch anything different. It was goodnight, not kisses that spoke the words for him.
Keeping this a secret won’t be easy. But something tells me Rhett will be worth it. If we can stop people from finding out.