Page 23 of The Fire We Crave

Not even because the two of us are naked.

But she’s smiling up at me like I hung the fucking moon, and that alone is the reason why nothing about this is real.

Running my nose along her neck, I can smell lemons. Every time I ever smell that goddamn citrus, I’m going to think of her. But I lose myself in the scent so visceral, I swear I can smell it for real.

And then, I move.

Fuck, my cock is already buried in her tight pussy.

My hips move…in the dream or reality, I’m not certain.

“You’re so fucking wet for me, Quinn,” I say.

“It’s you. You do that to me.”

Normally, sex needs an edge for me. Something to make it kinkier. But this is as vanilla as it gets. Just me and her, naked, fucking missionary style. And it feels like the best sex I’ve ever had.

Simply two bodies wrapped around each other.

As I slide my hand beneath her thigh and lift it slightly in the dream, I slide my hand beneath the bedding and grab my cock in reality.

I’m hard.

Leaking.

And the pressure of my palm feels really fucking good.

“Look at me, sugar,” I say, wanting her eyes on me.

What I see in them rewrites our history.

She loves me.

Wants me.

Needs me.

And I want her, need her, and love her more.

I can feel myself waking. My eyes start to flutter. But I want to stay immersed in her. I want her to stay with me while I coax an orgasm out of her in the dream, and my own here in bed.

I roll onto my back and stroke my cock more firmly as Quinn slides her arms around me, pulling me close to her.

“Kiss me,” she says softly.

And I do. Her lips melt against mine. Inviting. Needy.

I let my tongue drift into her mouth, savoring the taste of her.

I smile to myself as I taste sugar and sweetness on her tongue.

And I continue to thrust deep inside her.

Music suddenly fills my room, and I open my eyes.

Madonna.

Quinn is singing about being a virgin in the kitchen.

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