Page 11 of Tin

“Quinn,” he says my name. Calmly. I don’t know if he’s making a point about knowing it, or just wants me to stop huffing and puffing around his bathroom like an angry five-year-old. Either way, it works, and I stop moving long enough to let him wrap a large towel around my soaking wet body.

“You know, just because we’re not going to have an emotional relationship, doesn’t mean our physical one wouldn’t benefit from a certain degree of communication,” he says quietly as he rubs the excess moisture from my hair with a smaller towel he pulled from the hook by the sink. I can’t help but notice how good he is at this. This nurturing thing. And how easy it is for me to let him. And then I quickly try to forget.

“I’m not good at that.” Not with people anyway. It’s one of the main reasons I’ve always been drawn to animals. They’re less complicated. And for some reason, they makemeless complicated. And then I realize that’s why I like being around Cowboy. He makes me feel the same way.

He unravels the towel from my body and uses it on himself before he tosses it into the hamper next to the door. “We’ll stick to the basics. For starters, when you talk to me, you call me Riker. Because that’s my name. And I hate goddamn nicknames.” He leans in and kisses the top of my head. “And when you want to come over, you knock on the door and let yourself in. You don’t pace back and forth outside and make me guess if you’re coming or going.”

I suck in my bottom lip. I’d rather chew it off right now than let him see me smile. “I can probably manage that.”

He gives me a sideways glance.

So I add, “Riker.”

He nods, satisfied.

Releasing my lip from my teeth, I turn around and bend over to retrieve my clothes from the floor.

“Whoa. What do you think you’re doing?” His arm slides under my chest, bringing me back into an upright position.

“Getting my clothes so I can get out of here.”

He turns me toward him, a telltale smirk on his face. “What makes you think it’s time to go already?”

Confused, I search the bathroom for anything that functions as a clock. “I thought you said you had to get ready to go to work, so I figured I better get out of here and let you do what you’ve gotta do.”

Riker grins like I said something funny, and I recognize the look in his eyes. It’s the one he gets right before he kisses me. “You’re not gettingoutof here until after I getinsideof you.”

I suck in a ragged breath just as his lips come crashing down on mine again. Next thing I know, his hands are reaching down to the back of my thighs and he’s lifting me up and setting me down on his bathroom counter. He can’t possibly be ready again. Although, truth be told, I am. Holy shit, I’m not just ready, I’m already desperate.

The intensity of his embrace ebbs as he pulls back, and through half-closed lids I watch him watch me in the aftermath of his kiss. His thumb gently brushes over my lips, and I flick my tongue out to catch it. He slides it into my mouth, and I softly suck the tip of it, imagining what it would be like to give him a blowjob and wondering why in the hell I haven’t done it yet.

He clears his throat like he’s trying to gain control of himself, and I open my eyes again. He cups my face in both of his hands, then rests his forehead against mine as he groans. “Jesus Christ, Quinn.” After a moment, he stands up tall again and flips open the door to the medicine cabinet. He wasn’t kidding the other day. It reallyis overflowing with condoms and toothbrushes. Not that I’m surprised. A guy doesn’t get this good at what he’s doing without practice.

He grabs a condom from the only open box, slides it between his teeth, and flips the door shut again. Then he grips my ass in both his hands and carries me into the bedroom where he drops me, rather unceremoniously, onto his mattress.

“Hey!” I try to sound indignant, but I’m giggling.

“What? I figured a hard-ass like you could handle it.” He’s doing the annoyingly sexy half-grin thing that makes me want to launch myself across the room and attach myself to his mouth. But I don’t. I just watch as he pulls up his jeans, covering up the nicest ass I’ve ever seen on a man. Rummaging through the pile of clothes on his recliner, he finally finds what he’s looking for and throws it my direction.

I catch it. It’s a t-shirt. “What’s this for?”

“Easy access.” He wiggles his eyebrows, dropping his gaze below my belly button.

“Pervert,” I mumble, but I’m putting the shirt on, so I clearly don’t have a problem with it.

Meanwhile, he’s still shirtless as he makes his way into the small kitchen. I follow him and find him bent over with his head inside his nearly empty fridge.

“Water?” He offers me a bottle and I take it. It’s ice cold and delicious.

“So what’s for breakfast?” Judging by the takeout boxes in front of him, it’s a choice between cold pizza and cold egg rolls.

But he closes the fridge without taking out either one. “You are.”

“Excuse me?”

He just nods, slowly backing me into his kitchen table where he lays me out flat before he spreads my legs and does that thing he does where he just takes in the view. Like I’m some sort of a natural phenomenon he can’t quite believe he’s witnessing with his own eyes.

Riker takes the water bottle I now have in an iron grip from the anticipation of what’s about to happen and moves my hands to the top of my head at the edge of the table.

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