Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
ANORA
W ho did Quentin Thorne think he was, making me feel a tsunami of emotions and thinking he could mess with my head?
He was a literal thorn in my side, his surname fitting him perfectly.
My mind told me that this man was bad news, a walking red flag in the flesh. But my vagina and my body had another feeling about him entirely, especially when he decided to whisper in my ear. My knee where he had laid his hand still tingled, feeling like it had been electrocuted by his touch.
The chill in the air did nothing to calm my nerves, and it took until I was walking through my apartment door to realize I was still wearing his damn hoodie. It felt like a dress on me and smelled just like him: simply delicious. It was a mix of cedarwood and mint, and I hated him for having a scent that was so intoxicating. It was another thing about him that pulled me in, and I wanted to stop this rushing train before it crashed and burned.
I did not have good experiences with men, much less men who thought that light stalking was fun. Why couldn’t there be an attractive billionaire in this city who seemed grumpy but was nice around the woman he loved? Why was I stuck with the assholes and the crazy ones?
I reached down to the hem of the sweatshirt but paused, feeling like I couldn’t take it off. It was warm and cozy, and from the last several days and the walk home, I felt utterly exhausted. My limbs felt heavy, my brain foggy. Nobody would have to know I had slept in his clothing for the night, right?
I decided to put my feelings aside for once in my life and choose comfort over what someone else might think of me. Who would even see me anyway?
I pulled up my recent text thread with Rory, shooting her a text to let her know I had gotten back to the apartment safely. My phone would be ringing off the hook if I didn’t, and I was desperate for some uninterrupted, deep sleep.
After brushing my teeth and taking off my pants, I crawled underneath the covers and waited for the darkness to take hold of me.
* * *
I sat up quickly, feeling like my heart was going to burst straight out of my chest. I placed my hand over my sternum and peered around the room to try to figure out what had woken me. The shadows in the corner of my room seemed to move, reaching out for me, wanting to touch me.
I peeked at the clock on my bedside table and noticed the red numbers glaring back at me read 4:47 AM. I took a deep breath and waited for my heart to slow so I could relax and try to get a little more sleep.
Even when my pulse calmed to a regular rate, and I determined the shadows weren’t out to get me, I still couldn’t get back to sleep. My mind continued to race at an abnormal pace, mulling over everything that had transpired in the last week.
I pulled out my phone and put on my headphones, turning on some ambient music to try to soothe my brain.
There was one common denominator in almost everything that had happened during the week, and that was Quentin. His scent still lingered strongly on the hoodie even though I’d spent the night in it.
He was as frustratingly handsome as he was dangerously annoying, and I couldn’t for the life of me figure him out. How was it that we had never met before, even with our best friends being practically attached at the hip? What were the chances that we would meet at the coffee shop and then meet shortly afterward at a party? I didn’t know if I could chalk it up to coincidence or if there was something more sinister at work here.
What exactly could he want from me? I worked at a small boutique in the city, and commissioned fashion pieces for high-end clientele when I needed the cash. It had taken me forever to work up to this point in my life where people would turn around and seek my opinion, but I still wasn’t anybody special. Unlike other girls my age who went clubbing on the weekends, I enjoyed staying in on Friday nights and ordering Chinese food, putting on one of my million comfort shows.
I would like to think of myself as an attractive girl, but I wasn’t over-the-top, supermodel gorgeous. I could keep myself awake for the next three days if I continued to sit here and try to figure out what it was that drew Quentin in.
Why couldn’t I attract the nice, normal men?
Before I knew it, it was 7 AM and I had wasted over two hours lost in the land of my unbearable thoughts.
With a groan, I flung the covers back and decided I couldn’t stay here all day. I had a job to get to, and a business to help run. As soon as my feet hit the cold floor, I realized my mistake—I had no job to be at, at least until Charlie was ready to reopen the shop. Still, I couldn’t lie here all day and wallow in my thoughts.
I opened my bedroom door and started to walk toward the kitchen before I stopped dead in my tracks, spotting Quentin at the stove, preparing what looked to be eggs and bacon.
What in the actual fuck was this man doing shirtless in my kitchen at seven in the morning? Before I even had the chance to scream this at him at the top of my lungs and demand to know who the hell he thought he was, Rory and Joey stumbled out of her bedroom, laughing.
Rory’s eyes widened as her gaze traveled up and down my body, and it hit me that I was still dressed in only Quentin’s hoodie, and he was in our kitchen cooking breakfast half-naked. To the outside eye, it would look like we’d slept together, and he had stayed over, but the thing swirling between us wasn’t so easy to put into something that made sense.
“Good morning,” Joey said with a smirk, making the same assumption I’m sure his girlfriend had and nodding to Quentin.
I didn’t even know what to do: draw attention to the wild situation in front of our friends, or just go along with it and confront him in private?
“What’s for breakfast?” I said with a smile, hoping Quentin could read the murder in my eyes. I knew without a fact that I had been alone when I returned to the apartment last night. Our friends obviously thought that he had stayed the night here with me and we had sex, but there was something missing in this equation that I couldn’t figure out. He was in my apartment, making breakfast for all of us, and neither of our friends thought anything of it.
How did he even get in?
I felt completely spooked being in the presence of this man, and a terror I had never experienced before coursed through my body. I was both attracted to him and scared to find out what his next move was going to be. It was similar to what I felt when I watched one of my favorite horror movies: exhilaration as much as fear. Quentin was unpredictable and borderline dangerous, and I was still no closer to finding out what his intentions were with me.
Why did he have to look so devilishly handsome while he was being so intensely disturbing?
“Have a seat and find out, babe. I’ll bring you a plate,” he said with a kind smile, and I had to grit my teeth to prevent myself from giving him a well-deserved witty comeback. Who did he think he was calling me babe ?
I wordlessly took a seat at the table across from where Rory was already seated, whilst Joey stood next to Quentin and made a plate for her. The boys talked and laughed amongst themselves while Rory gave me a look that was a cross between a death stare and an I-told-you-so smirk.
Frankly, I wasn’t sure which look scared me more.
“I want all of the details,” she said with a wag of her eyebrows, and I couldn’t help but laugh because she was going to be sorely disappointed when we were alone and there was no juicy gossip to give.
“There’s nothing to tell, Rory,” I said with a roll of my eyes. If there was one thing to know about Aurora Alcott, it was that she liked her gossip as much as the next person. I teased her endlessly that she belonged in the world of journalism or at least trashy gossip magazines, but I knew her favorite tea was poured by people she knew well.
“Breakfast is served,” Quentin said, saving me from having to suffer any more of Rory’s interrogation.
I gave him a tight-lipped smile and took in the plate of food before me. Sunny-side-up eggs, crispy bacon, and buttered toast. It was one of my favorite things to eat for breakfast, but nausea coiled through my gut at the sight.
How did this man, practically a stranger, know so damned much about me? It felt like the beginning of the war, and I planned to fight for my life.
* * *
Quentin and Rory’s necks had my hand’s names all over them.
Rory because she insisted on double dating for dinner once again, and Quentin because he continued to let our friends think that we were dating or at least sleeping together.
The only reason I was keeping my hands to myself was because Quentin had chosen the new ramen place downtown that I had been wanting to try, and he had been nothing but polite since we had been here.
“Anora?”
I hadn’t realized I had spaced out until Rory’s voice cut through the static in my head, and I looked up to find all of them staring at me.
“What?” I asked, making eye contact with Quentin to make sure he hadn’t pulled anything while I’d been consumed by my thoughts and ramen. He looked innocent, but his eyes twinkled with mischief.
“I asked if you wanted to go to brunch with the boys this weekend,” Rory said, and my fingers twitched against the table because how in the fuck was I going to continue to keep this up?
“Come on, babe. You know you want to drink mimosas and spend time with your two favorite people,” Quentin said, putting his arm around me and placing a kiss on the side of my head.
This man has just made it to the top of my shit list.
* * *
Over the next several days, I did everything I could to piss Quentin off to the point of no return. It was the least I could do in exchange for his light stalking, which began to feel way more than surface level as time went on.
I tamped down the part of myself that felt excited that he knew so many things about me, and that he was toying with me like a dog with a bone. A tall, delicious, muscled bone of a man with dark hair and endless tattoos.
Against what was probably my better judgment, whenever Rory and Joey decided to go on a date, Quentin and I were there. For some reason he wanted our friends to believe we were together, and, oddly, neither of them questioned it, so I would play along and use it to my advantage. I wanted him to be damn near sick of me after the roller coaster of emotions he’d put me through in such a short amount of time.
But the ugly truth was I was enjoying his company. I even felt like I could consider him a friend.
I couldn’t exactly pinpoint the moment I began fearing him less and feeling more grateful for his company and cared for by him in some weird, twisted way, considering he was the creep I had tried to warn Rory about.
I tried to conjure up the old fear that I used to have for him, feeling embarrassed that it seemed to be gone so suddenly, but every time a ghost of a smile graced his face, or he held the door open for me or made me laugh with some stupid joke, it made it that much harder to be afraid.
There were moments when I was alone, pleasuring myself, and he would pop up in my head, whispering things in my ear and making me yearn for him. R-rated images flashed through my mind at every spare moment. I worked myself up over the image of him, the images of us together. Craving him.
It made me feel like I needed to schedule an appointment with my therapist. That or get a fucking exorcism.
I had a feeling that if I really wanted to give in to my desires, he would let me. Which is what made this time between us currently so dangerous.
We had spent the last several nights double-dating with Rory and Joey, but for the first time in a week, tonight was the night they had decided they wanted some alone time. Wanting to keep up whatever ruse was being played, I decided to stay at the apartment with Quentin until they got back.
Which would be God knew when.
It still terrified me, not knowing exactly what he was capable of. But I was finding it harder and harder to resist the pull that was inevitably bringing us together.
As I watched him sitting across from me on the loveseat eating Chinese food with chopsticks, I realized he even made that look attractive. The way he held the delicate utensils between his fingers; the way he licked his lips after taking a bite of his sweet and sour chicken…
I ate my beef and broccoli in silence as I watched him. His eyes were glued to the game that he’d turned on for what I had assumed to be background noise. That or he was using it to keep a conversation from starting between us.
“Are you going to stare at me all night?” Quentin’s voice broke through my mental fog, causing me to jump the tiniest bit and drop rice down my shirt.
“I was not staring at you,” I argued, even though I totally and shamelessly was. The little pieces of food now stuck down my shirt were an obvious indicator of that. Maybe if he wasn’t tall, dark, and handsome with tattoos littering his body, I wouldn’t have an issue.
But he was 110% my type.
And apparently, I was his.
If I was truly, brutally honest with myself, I had always been into Quentin, since the first moment that I laid eyes on him. He had fall for me hard and fast written all over him, and the thought of diving headfirst without a parachute into the abyss that was him scared the shit out of me, especially given my failed dating history.
“Yeah, okay,” he laughed, loading another bite into his mouth.
I glared at him, stuffing food angrily into my mouth, using the time to straighten my thoughts, dig the rice out of my bra, and work on giving him some modicum of a response.
“You’re a pain in my ass,” I grumbled. Apparently, that was the best thing I could come up with. I took my chopsticks and stabbed around into the takeout container, imagining it was him.
“I could be,” he quipped, pinning me with the most lust-filled gaze I’d ever seen. I couldn’t grasp words to respond, and he used a cough to cover his laugh before speaking again to fill the silence.
Why must he speak to me like that when I don’t have proper control over my vagina’s reactions?
“You’re the one who keeps coming around here with your ‘fuck me’ eyes,” he said calmly, as if he didn’t just accuse me of eye-fucking him.
“It’s not my fault you have nothing better to do than spend time with me,” I said with a huff, putting my food down and slouching against the couch.
“You’re so cute when you’re flustered,” he laughed after taking in what I had hoped to be a pissed-off glare.
“I don’t have ‘fuck me’ eyes,” I said, making air quotes with my fingers.
“You do though, and I could fix that,” he challenged.
We both knew I wanted to take the bait. Just like we both knew that he wanted me to.
Being around each other after the fake double dates had created a high level of sexual tension between us, and it was getting harder to keep my hands to myself and my mind free of what I imagined a naked Quentin to look like.
“Oh yeah?” I challenged back, silently deciding that if he said fuck it, so would I. My eyebrows were raised in question, waiting for him to take the temptation I’d laid before him.
“Don’t tempt me, little moon,” he growled, putting down his container of chicken, the Chinese food long forgotten.
My heart was pumping so loudly in my chest that I couldn’t hear the TV, let alone my thoughts.
“I would never,” I breathed as he stood up from the loveseat and made his way over to where I was sitting, stalking like a predator toward his prey, a fire in his eyes that I’d seen before. A fire that he only seemed to have for me.
He stood over me, not breaking eye contact, his crotch level with my face.
I was tired of him scaring me, thinking he could get away with it. I wanted to take matters of our weird relationship into my own hands.
“Instead of wearing those cute fuck-me eyes, why don’t you use your words, Anora?” he demanded, and he looked so powerful standing before me that if I wasn’t sitting down, I’d be afraid my knees would buckle under me.
“I want you to fuck me, Quentin,” I said, bringing as much confidence to my voice as I could. “Fuck me on this couch where our friends could walk in any moment and see your cock inside me.”
I watched as any bit of resolve he may have had exploded.
He grabbed my arms, standing me up before taking my spot on the couch and bringing me into his lap so I was straddling him.
Our breath mingled; our lips so close it was torture not to feel them against mine. He just held me there, his thumb mindlessly rubbing the skin on my hip, staring me down and peering into my soul. As if he could see everything I’d ever done or said written on the walls of my very being.
We hadn’t so much as held hands yet, let alone kissed, and here I was telling him I wanted him to fuck me. I had been so terrified of him and now all I wanted was him inside me. Did that make me fucked up in the head?
In this moment, I honestly didn’t fucking care.
It was a battle of wills to see which one of us would lose first and make contact. I was throbbing, aching for him. Aching for his hands to move on my skin. To feel him inside me. I don’t think I had ever been more wet or turned on in my life.
“Fuck it.”
As if he could read my very thoughts, he crashed his lips to mine, eliciting a moan from my core, which he swallowed happily. Teeth clashed, and he broke away from me, lips swollen and red. His eyes hooded, desire clear on his face. He pulled up my shirt and tugged down my bra in one swift motion, palming my breasts before taking one of my nipples in his mouth, moving his tongue painstakingly slowly around it.
“Quentin,” I moaned.
“Yes, little moon?” he asked, his voice muffled against my chest, vibrating my breasts.
“Stop being a tease,” I whimpered.
“You’re one to talk, love,” he laughed. “You’re the one always coming around my apartment, flaunting your sexy body when you know I can’t control myself around you.”
“Funny, it seems you’ve been doing a pretty good job of it lately,” I said, poking the bear, hoping he’d snap like he had a moment ago and show me what I knew he was capable of—the side I desperately craved when I was alone in my thoughts. When I lay in bed at night, vibrating with need, using my hands to do what I knew he could do better.
No orgasm I could give myself was anything compared to the ones I knew Quentin could if I gave him the chance.
He chuckled darkly, and a chill ran down my spine, waiting for the consequences of my smart mouth.
“You want me to lose control?” he said, gripping my throat in his hand and squeezing, causing black spots to flood my vision.
“Yes,” I rasped.
“Yes what?” he demanded.
“Yes, Quentin. Please ,” I practically whined, wetness pooling in my panties at his roughness. But I knew this was only a small preview of what was to come. No man lightly stalked a woman and then didn’t give her the most mind-blowing sexual experience of her life.
I wanted the tables to turn. I wanted to be the one in control. He thought he ruled over me, but he didn’t know I planned to bring him to his knees for ever thinking of me as anything other than in control.
I’d have him wrapped around my fucking finger.
Let him think it was the other way around. Let him think I was submissive to him now, before I gradually pushed for control. The more I fought him for dominance, the more I knew he’d do everything he could to prove he was the one with all the power.
Exactly what I want.
“Good girl,” he praised, his eyes burning with heat, the darkness from before now a blip.
His approval was like a shot to my core, my biggest kink, which I’d never had to even tell him. Like everything else, it was as though he could sense it on me. Could sense I wanted him to tell me how good of a job I was doing for him. I knew he’d peel back every layer of me and learn every little kink I had. Even the ones I didn’t know about. It was his specialty as of late, and I couldn’t believe I was beginning to enjoy it.
He brought his lips to mine, kissing me at a slower pace than he had a moment ago. Continuing to do exactly what I told him not to.
I threaded my fingers in his hair, pulling it tight, hoping to jumpstart his speed.
He laughed against my lips, putting his fingers in my hair and tugging, returning the favor.
“You’re not the one in control here, Anora,” he growled, yanking my head back so my eyes met his.
“If you say so,” I challenged, standing from his lap and kneeling before him. As much as he tried to hide it, I could hear his breath hitch, our eye contact not breaking as my hands went to his belt, undoing the buckle before pulling down his zipper.
“Anora,” he warned as I gripped his length and pulled it out of his pants, his cock painfully hard in my hand. I licked my palm before I started stroking him slowly and tortuously up and down, teasing him just as he had me.
“You’re not the only one with control here, Quentin,” I said, bringing my mouth to his tip, rubbing my lips gently against him.
A hiss left his lips, and I could see his patience waning, the thread fraying, just about to break.
I chuckled, then fully took him in my mouth, causing him to groan and throw his head back against the couch.
I worked him up and down slowly, taking him in the back of my throat and gripping what didn’t fit into my mouth with my hand.
“Fuck this,” he growled, fisting my hair in his hand and fucking my mouth.
Finally .
The only sounds that filled the apartment were those of him choking me with his dick, thrusting so hard into the back of my throat that I knew it would hurt later.
He didn’t relent until he was releasing his cum down my throat, spasming and shouting my name while he did so. He laid back, panting, losing his cool for the first time since I’d met him, before casually putting his cock back into his pants and staring daggers at me. As if he had just processed what happened, what he’d done.
After all of the hard work he’d put into intimidating me, trying to show me just how much control he thought he had over me, I had unraveled him in a matter of moments.
I stood up and grabbed my shirt from the floor, tugging it over my head and making my way to where he was seated on the couch, crossing my legs and giving him my best shit-eating grin.
“You’ve started something you won’t be able to stop, Anora,” he threatened. His eyes never left mine as a key turned in the front door of his apartment, and Joey and Rory came in, oblivious to the sexual tension filling the air.
I leaned back, wiping the corner of my mouth with my finger and smirking, reminding him of what had just happened, ignoring the voice in my head telling me that I made a mistake.
Challenge accepted.