Page 84 of Infinite
“Sweetheart,” he rasps between his teeth. “I can’t last.”
Good.
His fingers tighten, and he guides my head in a new rhythm. I move faster, breathing out of my nose as I use my tongue to apply pressure as I bob my head.
Then, when I take my hand and massage his balls, Quinn loses it.
He grabs the pillow, covering his face with it as I drink him in. He spills into my mouth and I don’t stop until he falls slack.
I wait for him to look at me, there’s sweat on his face and he’s struggling to breathe. “That was . . .”
“Quiet.”
He smirks. “Just think, once I get you home, I’m going to make you scream.”
“I look forward to it.”
“To what?”
“Us going home.”
Quinn must like that answer because he rolls back on top of me. Both of us are still naked and it’s very clear what he plans to do.
I love that he always wants me. Neither of us seem to ever be able to resist the other. His eyes stay on mine and then he lowers his mouth to mine.
“I love you,” I say before he can connect our lips.
“Not nearly as much as I love you.”
I don’t think that’s true, but arguing with him is not what I’d like to do right now. Our lips meet in the sweetest of touches before he places kisses on both of my cheeks, my nose, my forehead, and then over each eyelid. I run my fingers across his coarse stubble and then down to his chin, savoring each moment of this.
There are no thoughts of running away. Nothing haunting me other than the need to feel him inside me.
“Make love to me,” I say to him softly.
Quinn lines himself up and pushes gently. His eyes close as if he can’t help it and his lips part as a deep sigh comes out. I can feel his sense of contentment flowing through him. And I too have found my way back home.
Because with Quinn is the only place I belong.
* * *
“So, new job, back with Quinn, failure to call your best friend when you returned,” Gretchen raises a brow and waits.
“You’ll need to find a way to get over it.”
She grins. “I already have since you lost your mind and all, but it sucks that my husband was the one to tell me you were back.”
“I didn’t lose my mind.”
Gretchen leans back in her chair. “What do you call it, Ash? You were a zombie and Catherine and I were planning an intervention.”
I hate that my friends were worried, and if it were one of them, I probably would’ve already had the intervention or kicked their asses back to normal. In some ways, I’ve learned that while I love the whole tough-girl, say-what’s-on-your-mind thing, I don’t really walk the walk of it.
“I call it a refusal of reality.”
She smiles and laughs. “Did Carolina tell you that?”
“No, I made it up, thanks.”
