Chapter 26 Sadie #2
Before she could even process the command, he sank two fingers deep inside her. She cried out against the makeshift gag, her back arching off the rug as he fucked her with relentless pressure, curling his fingers in a way that made white heat explode behind her eyes.
She tried to close her legs, trembling and overwhelmed, but he grabbed her thigh and forced her wider, keeping her spread open for him as he moved down her body.
“Fuck, look at you,” he muttered, his breath hot against her slick skin. “So greedy and desperate.”
Then his mouth was on her. But it was just a maddening flick of his tongue across her clit, so light it felt like punishment. Her whole body jerked like he’d shocked her, a strangled moan caught behind the lace.
But the contact vanished just as quickly, replaced by his fingers again, dragging slowly up her slit. Only teasing her.
“You want to come so bad it hurts, don’t you?”
Her only answer was a helpless whimper and the frantic roll of her hips against his hand. His fingers skimmed her folds, circling everything except the spot she needed most.
He kept her right there, edged and aching, twitching with every pass of his hand. She ground against him, begging in every way her body knew how, but he only smiled and gave her nothing.
And when she was close, hips straining, thighs shaking, mouth full of muffled cries, he stopped. The absence of him was so sudden, so sharp, it felt like a slap.
Quentin just watched, eyes drinking her in. Her thighs were still spread wide and glistening, the lace between her teeth soaked.
“I’ll give you what you want,” he said, voice low and dark, “when you’ve earned it. Not a second before.”
She writhed beneath him, the heat between her thighs pulsing with every beat of her heart, slick and aching and unbearably unsatisfied. The panties gagging her were soaked through with spit and arousal and she whimpered, eyes pleading up at him.
Still, he didn’t move. He just watched her unravel in silence.
Then, finally, he reached out and dragged his fingers up her inner thigh, tracing the skin just beside where she needed him most.
“You look so fucking perfect like this,” he murmured, admiring her like a masterpiece. “Mouth full. Legs spread. Begging without a single fucking word.”
She bucked her hips, desperate for contact. He raised an eyebrow.
“You come when I say. Not before. You understand me, sweetheart?”
She nodded frantically, a sound slipping out that was half moan, half sob. Then he was between her legs again, but this time there was no teasing.
His mouth latched onto her clit, hot and wet and merciless.
No soft strokes now, just hard, devastating suction that made her vision blur at the edges.
As soon as her body began to tremble, he pushed two fingers back inside her, curling, stroking, fucking her deep and precise, right where she was most sensitive.
Her cries turned frantic, muffled and wild, as he worked her over. When she spat the panties out and tried to curse at him, Quentin only growled and dragged his tongue over her clit, hot and precise. She arched violently off the rug.
His fingers pumped into her hard and fast. His mouth locked onto her with ruthless focus.
“Come for me, sweetheart,” he rasped, voice dark with command.
He moved with perfect sync, tongue and fingers working together, dragging the orgasm out of her so sharp it bordered on pain. It slammed into her, violent and endless. She screamed, raw and broken, as her body seized up, every muscle locking.
But he didn’t stop. He kept going, fucking her through the aftershocks, wringing every last spasm from her until she was sobbing into the rug, completely undone. Her thighs twitched uncontrollably around his head.
She came so hard she saw stars. Her whole body locked around him, legs trembling, a cry ripped from her throat. Quentin held her there, working her through every last pulse, savoring each broken sound.
When she finally collapsed back against the rug, panting and ruined, he kissed the inside of her thigh softly before rising to his knees.
The bulge in his jeans was thick and straining, hard enough to look painful. The look in his eyes was pure sin. She licked her swollen lips and stared up at him, hungry.
“Don’t even think about it,” he warned, voice dark. “I’m gonna make you beg for that too.”
“Tease,” she breathed, glaring at him, but her body already ached for more.
In one smooth motion, he scooped her up. She yelped, then laughed despite herself, arms looping instinctively around his neck as he carried her through the cabin toward the small bedroom tucked behind the kitchen.
He laid her down gently, easing her back against the pillows like she was something precious. Then he pulled the blanket over her and leaned in to press a slow, lingering kiss to her forehead.
Something in her chest pulled tight at the tenderness of it. No. She did not like this. She did not like tenderness. Tenderness was how you got emotionally compromised and ended up crying in an airport bar.
“I’ll be in the main house if you need me,” he said softly, already straightening like he meant to go.
“Wait,” she murmured, her voice rough and low. Her hand reached out without consulting her brain, fingers curling around his forearm. “Stay?”
Perfect. Now she was that girl.
He paused, one eyebrow cocked. “Did I break you? Because you asking me to stay feels like a serious medical emergency.”
“If I was broken,” she said, giving his arm a tired tug, “it’d be entirely your fault.”
“Damn right it would,” he said, letting her pull him down beside her.
She elbowed him weakly. “Don’t get cocky.”
“Sweetheart,” he said, voice dipping low, “I think we’re about three orgasms past that point.”
The bathtub, the tree, and now the bear rug all flashed through her mind. Her brain replayed the highlights reel like a hostile witness. She groaned and buried her face in the pillow. “You’re lucky I’m too exhausted to slap that smug look off your face.”
“You love it.”
“Highly debatable.”
“You sure?” he asked, brushing his thumb along her bottom lip. “Because you were making some very convincing noises three minutes ago.”
Her pulse jumped traitorously at the touch. She wanted him to stop touching her so sweetly—immediately, for the sake of her dignity. Unfortunately, she also wanted him to keep doing exactly that forever. Her brain and her body were clearly no longer on speaking terms.
“I was gagged three minutes ago,” she muttered, choosing sarcasm because it was the only thing still under her control.
Quentin raised a brow, his lips twitching like he was fighting a grin. “So what’s the official excuse for why you’re letting me stay?”
Her brain scrambled. Anything but because I don’t want to sleep alone tonight. Anything but because I feel safer when you’re here. Anything but because when you’re not touching me, the room feels colder.
She stared up at him, heart doing something reckless and stupid and entirely unsupervised.
“Bears,” she said flatly.
“Bears,” he repeated.
“They can smell fear,” she added, nodding solemnly like she hadn’t just made that up on the spot.
He stared at her for a beat, then a slow smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Is that right?”
“Scientific fact.”
He shook his head, laughing softly as the smirk bloomed into a full grin. “Well, in that case…”
She rolled over to face the wall, but the smile sneaking onto her lips sold her out completely.
Behind her, Quentin settled with a contented sigh, his hand finding her waist beneath the blanket. He didn’t say anything. Just warm and solid and there.
Sadie told herself she still didn’t like him. She also didn’t move an inch when he pulled her closer.