Chapter 18 Sadie
EIGHTEEN
SADIE
She minded. She didn’t say that. Dale talked the entire drive.
About the truck. About the truck’s tires.
About how the truck handled snow like a dream but rain like an emotional challenge.
Sadie nodded politely, stared out the window into the endless black stretch of forest, and tried very hard not to replay the last two hours of her life on a high-definition mental loop.
Quentin’s hands. Quentin’s mouth. Quentin looking at her like she was something he wanted to devour, not someone he was contractually obligated to work with.
Absolutely not thinking about that, she told herself, while thinking exclusively about that.
When the truck finally lurched to a stop, Sadie all but flung cash at Dale like she was tipping a getaway driver, muttered a frantic thank-you, and speed-walked to her cabin
Inside, she kicked off her boots and let them hit the wooden floor.
She caught sight of herself in the bathroom mirror: flushed cheeks, wild eyes, hair tousled.
His damn hat, still perched on her head like some kind of mocking reminder.
With a huff, she snatched it off and dropped it onto the sink’s counter, watching it land with a lazy flop.
She needed her sanctuary. Her happy place.
Her emotional support bathtub. The water roared to life as she turned off the overhead lights and lit a few candles, because if she was going to spiral, she was at least going to do it in flattering lighting.
She let the tension in her shoulders drop, rolling her neck as she exhaled.
She needed this. She had just been spun around a dance floor like physics did not apply to her body.
Hauled in close. Dipped like he trusted gravity more than she did.
Nearly set on fire by the heat of his hands.
Frankly, after that level of manhandling, she had earned ten minutes of peace and quiet.
Even if a deeply annoying part of her would have preferred company.
She slid into the tub and let out a slow, shaky breath as the heat wrapped around her, soothing sore muscles and frayed nerves. She sank lower, water lapping at her shoulders, willing herself to relax.
It didn’t work. No amount of steam or candlelight could wash him away. Quentin lingered. His hands lingered, large and rough, commanding as they held her waist, guiding her like he owned her body, like he knew exactly how to unravel her.
And then there was the way his thigh had wedged between hers, grinding up with slow, delicious pressure that made her whole body ache. His fingers had slipped just beneath the waistband of her jeans, the rough brush of knuckles barely skimming the soft skin of her stomach.
Sadie sucked in a shaky breath, shifting in the bath as the water lapped against her flushed skin.
The warmth should have soothed her. Instead, it stoked the fire smoldering low in her belly.
Every brush of water against her bare nipples, every flicker of movement between her thighs, left her trembling, needy for more.
One hand drifted up to her breast, cupping it, her thumb circling the tight peak until it ached. She pinched it sharply, biting her lip to stifle the whimper clawing its way up her throat.
Sadie closed her eyes and gave herself over to the fantasy of Quentin.
The heat of his mouth closing over her nipple, sucking hard enough to make her cry out.
His hands bruising her hips, dragging her over his thigh, making her grind down until she was soaking him.
His teeth scraping a path down her neck, marking her in places no amount of makeup could hide.
A choked moan escaped her. Her other hand slid lower, skimming over her stomach, hips lifting instinctively in search of friction, desperate for something solid, something real.
Her fingers found her swollen clit and she gasped, her back arching sharply out of the water as she circled the sensitive bundle in tight, frantic strokes. Her thighs fell open wider under the water, the heat of the bath mingling with the molten heat inside her.
God, she could practically feel him between her legs, sinking to his knees, licking her until she was writhing, sobbing his name. His voice in her ear, low and wrecked: You taste like heaven, Sadie.
She whimpered, her fingers moving faster as tension coiled tighter and tighter inside her, ready to snap.
“Fuck,” she gasped, arching her back, chasing the high. She could feel Quentin's fingers replacing hers—rough, relentless, coaxing her closer and closer to the edge.
Just as she teetered on the brink, she heard a faint creak from the living room. Then someone was calling her name. She knew that voice anywhere, that smooth, low drawl that hit her like a jolt.
"I need my hat for the scene," Quentin muttered, voice muffled as he rummaged around the other room.
Sadie's eyes flew open, her heart racing. For one breathless moment, she froze, caught between sinking deeper into the water or the reckless, wild urge to be caught.
The water lapped against her bare skin as she trembled, her body thrumming with a heat that had nothing to do with the bath. She could almost see it, Quentin pushing the door open, his gaze sweeping over her, darkening with raw hunger.
The thought sent pleasure crashing through her, and before she could stop herself, the words slipped out on a broken breath. “Oh my god, Quentin…”
Her toes curled tighter, her body trembling violently as she worked her fingers in desperate, hungry circles, pushing herself closer until she heard it.
"Sadie?"
Her heart slammed to a dead stop. She saw his shadow shift at the doorway—tall, broad, his shoulders taking up the entire frame. Even in the flickering candlelight, there was no mistaking him.
“What are you doing?”
His voice was low and rough, edged with something sinful, sliding over her skin like a touch. He already knew. The sound of it sent another rush of heat spiraling through her, settling deep and dangerous in her belly.
“Quentin,” she gasped. Her chest heaved, her nipples tight and aching above the surface of the water, the cool air kissing her flushed, exposed skin. She didn’t stop. The sight of him watching, his eyes already eating her alive, only made the ache between her thighs grow sharper, filthier.
Her fingers slipped faster over her swollen clit, the pleasure sharp, almost painful.
She caught his silhouette moving closer, looming over her.
“Fuck,” he muttered, eyes locked on where her hand moved beneath the water. The candlelight danced across his face, cutting shadows over the sharp line of his jaw, his eyes dark with want.
“You were thinking about me?” he asked, voice thick. “While you touched this pretty cunt?”
She moaned, hips jerking under the surface, fingers never slowing.
“Yes,” she breathed, broken, desperate. “I couldn’t stop—”
Quentin knelt beside the tub, close enough that she could feel the heat rolling off his body, could smell the faint scent of leather and musk that clung to him.
"Tell me," he demanded, voice rough. “What was I doing in that filthy little fantasy of yours?”
Sadie whimpered, her hand moving faster beneath the water, thighs parting wider.
“You—” her voice caught on a gasp, “your mouth... on me. You were teasing me. Then licking me. Then, God, you wouldn’t stop until I screamed.”
A dark, guttural sound rumbled from his chest.
“Yeah?” he said, leaning in so close she could feel the scrape of his breath against her damp skin. “You were thinking about my fingers spreading you wide, fucking you open until you couldn’t take it. My mouth locked on this tight little clit, sucking until you screamed my name?”
The words slammed into her like a punch, made her pussy clench hard around nothing. She nodded wildly, her head hitting the rim of the tub with a soft thud, eyes fluttering shut as her fingers worked her slick flesh faster, tighter, chasing that sharp edge like it was oxygen.
“I bet you were grinding down on my mouth,” Quentin murmured, voice dipping into something rougher, filthier. “Fucking that needy cunt against my tongue, using me like a toy. Like a good little slut who knows what she wants.”
Sadie moaned, loud and unrestrained, her hips rocking against her hand. The water churned around her, sloshing over the edge as her thighs spread wider, trembling with every desperate flick of her fingers.
“I bet you taste fucking divine,” he went on. “All sweet and soaked and messy, dripping all over my tongue. I’d lick up every drop. Wouldn’t stop until you were sobbing, begging me to let you come.”
“Please,” she gasped, eyes flying open, pupils blown wide as they locked on his. Her voice was ragged, half a sob, half a prayer. He was staring at her, chest rising hard and fast, jaw clenched tight, watching her fall apart like he could feel every pulse of it in his bones.
“Please what, Sadie?” he asked, soft as a sin. “Say it.”
“Please...” she whimpered, hips jerking under the water, her fingers working her clit in frantic circles. “Make me come. Please.”
Quentin’s grin was slow, wolfish. He leaned in so close his lips nearly brushed her ear, but still never touched her.
“You don’t need my hands, baby,” he whispered, low and lethal. “Look at you. So fucking wrecked already. So desperate you’re about to come all over your own fingers just from the sound of my voice.”
His voice slid inside her deeper than touch ever could, and it detonated something inside her.
Her thighs clamped tight, trapping her hand, her back arching with force as the orgasm hit her like a freight train—sharp, wild, white-hot. She screamed as her body shook, as every muscle seized and snapped beneath the weight of it.
Sadie collapsed into the water, gasping, boneless, every nerve flayed open and humming. Her whole body ached with release and need.
Quentin shifted back on his heels, hands clenched into fists against his thighs like he was barely holding himself together.
“How does it feel?” he rasped, his voice like velvet dragged across grit.
“What?” she whispered, barely able to speak over the sound of her own thundering pulse.
He leaned in again, his breath scorching her neck, his mouth a hair’s breadth from her skin. “That the man you claim to hate,” he said, voice a rough whisper, “just made you come that hard without even touching you.”
A violent shiver tore through her. Her skin prickled, flushed and hypersensitive, her mind still spinning from the aftershocks but her body responded instantly. Another flash of heat surged low, curling tight and relentless in her gut.
She opened her mouth to throw something back at him, something biting, something sharp, but what came out was a soft, breathless sound that was nowhere near defiance.
Quentin’s smile turned razor-sharp, and he leaned in, brushing his mouth just close enough to her ear to make her ache all over again.
“You’re gonna be thinking about this later,” he whispered. “When you’re alone. Wet. Wanting. And you’re gonna come just like that again. Just from remembering the way I talk to you.”
God help her, she knew he was right. And that made her furious.
With a breathless little scoff, she gripped the edge of the tub and stood up.
Water cascaded down her bare body in rivulets, catching the soft flicker of candlelight like liquid gold.
Her nipples were still hard, her thighs slick, her skin flushed with heat that hadn’t finished working itself out of her system.
His eyes dragged over her like a physical thing, raking from her parted lips, down the curve of her throat, the swell of her breasts, the drip of water sliding down her belly, to where her thighs were still trembling from the orgasm he’d coaxed out of her with nothing but his filthy mouth.
She stepped out of the tub. The water hit the floor in soft splashes, pooling around his scuffed boots. She heard his breath hitch.
His fists were clenched at his sides, like he was holding himself together by fraying threads, like one wrong move would have him slamming her into the nearest wall and fucking her senseless.
She crossed the room, every sway of her hips was a taunt. She grabbed his hat from the counter.
And then she stalked right back to him. He was still kneeling, head tipped back, eyes level with her bare, wet breasts. Close enough that she felt the heat of his breath ghost across her skin. Her nipples tightened in the cool air, water dripping in lazy trails down her stomach.
She settled the hat back onto his head, fingers sliding through the hair at his temple. His jaw flexed under her touch, every muscle in his body drawn tight beneath the cotton of his shirt.
His gaze dropped, to her mouth, then lower, to the slick heat between her thighs. She felt the shift in him instantly, the desperation.
She pressed her palm to his throat, fingers curling around the thick column of it. His pulse thundered beneath her hand.
“You came here thinking you’d fuck me. Didn’t you?”
She leaned in closer, lips brushing his ear. “But instead, you’re on your knees in my bathroom, cock straining in your pants, panting like a dog.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. His nostrils flared. His fists curled tighter against his thighs. He looked pained. But he didn’t move.
Her voice dropped to a whisper, low and cutting. “Poor baby. Did you think just showing up was enough? That I’d make it easy?” Her tone dropped to a purr, dark and edged. “You don’t get to have me. Not after everything. Not without earning it.”
Her fingers slid down his chest, nails scraping lightly through the thin cotton.
She could feel the heat of his skin underneath.
Feel the twitch of muscle, the tremble of restraint.
Her palm grazed lower, down his abdomen, stopping just above the bulge in his jeans, so swollen it pressed hard against the zipper.
Then with a slow, mocking smile curving her lips, shoved him back. Not hard. Just enough to force his balance to tip. Just enough to prove he wasn’t in control of a goddamn thing.
“Now get the hell out,” she whispered, soft and lethal.
His chest rose and fell in hard, shallow breaths. He looked wrecked by it. A man one second from breaking.
But she didn’t wait to see if he would. She turned, hips swaying with each step as she disappeared into the bedroom. The door slammed shut behind her.