Page 4 of Claiming His Reunion Obsession

They move away after a few more whispers and giggles, the only two words I catch cut my heart as deep as they ever did. Even after all these years, which surprises me.

“Lard ass.”

There’s a few seconds between the next wave of reunion goers and Quinn takes my hand in his, not even trying to hide the fact anymore.

“You okay?” he asks me, and I feel my lower lip tremble.

Leaning in closed he whispers in my ear again, spoiling me with so much attention but curing my blues straight away.

“I think your ass is perfect by the way,” he growls, touching my ear with his nose this time, squeezing my hand a good few times to prove his point.

I shudder another breath in and blush cherry red, feeling like a bride or something. Everyone who comes up to register is much friendlier than the slutty bullies from my miserable school past and most of them also assume that Quinn and I are already a couple.

“Mr. Quinn… and Michelle Baker? Wow! When did you two get together…?”

“Such a cute couple…”

“I always thought she had a thing for him…”

After the first few, Quinn’s blushing as much as I am, letting people know I’m just helping him out, but after a few more positive comments he goes out on a limb.

“Maybe this could be like a date…?” he asks me, then correcting himself.

“Maybe it should be a date. If you don’t think that’s too weird? I mean. I am a little older, your old school teacher and your dad’s friend.”

It hits me like cold water and Quinn’s face registers my expression as he struggles to greet the next wave of reunion attendees.

I remember my dad.

Shit!

My god! What would he say if he saw me holding hands, gushing over his old friend Quincy Quinn? I don’t have to think hard to know that. I know my dad better than anyone.

He’d send me to my room and have plenty to say about it, that’s what. Even though I’m twenty-one now and I’m sure Quinn’s his own man, doesn’t need my dad’s permission either.

I busy myself with helping a couple who have the same first name, spelled slightly different, then organize their name tags and get them signed in. Quinn’s busy with a few registration dramas of his own and it’s some minutes before we have a chance to say anything to each other again.

“Your dad, huh?” Quinn says more than asks. His mouth creasing down at one side as he breathes out heavy through his nose. He looks suddenly disappointed, like I know I’d look if he suddenly told me it’s just not gonna work. I’m too young, too fat… too much his friend’s daughter.

“I’m not my dad.” I tell him forcefully, feeling myself flush as my eyes narrow. I grip his hand again and although I know where I want to put it, I can only give it a squeeze.

Feeling his huge, thick fingers under my own makes me shudder again, like if this doesn’t get taken somewhere private and soon, I know I’ll just burst inside.

His low sound of approval makes me feel a little better, but I wish this registration thing would hurry up and finish so we can talk properly. It’s impossible for me to do both and I know Quinn feels the same.

Chapter Four

Quinn

“Well… I think that’s all of ‘em. A couple of no shows, but they never RSVP’d either.” I say, puffing out a breath through my cheeks, letting the table cloth I’ve been covering myself with slide away some, hoping she might want to sneak another peek at me down there.

I’ve managed to stay hard this whole time. Not intentionally either, I might add. Shit, if I was still a teacher, this is kind of stuff that would get me fired. But we’re all consenting adults here, and Chelle’s old enough to know what she wants.

She pleases me by looking down straight away, and I can tell she just can’t help herself as much as I feel like showing off a little in front of her.

I wish she’d lift up that dress some, let me have a little show and tell of her own, but it’s not even seven o’clock… we have hours of reunion together.

And hopefully for a long time too after that…

She bites her lower lip again, unable to take her eyes off my hardness, which just went up a notch, which I never thought would be possible. My dick’s so hard, it’s me who feels like the damned teenager all over again.

“You see what you do to me, Chelle?” I ask her, willing her to touch me, wanting to command her to touch me down there.

She makes that little sound again, like a whimpering moan, like she’s frustrated but about to come herself, any minute.

“It’s not my imagination, is it?” I ask her, point blank. Really needing to put this whole thing in perspective.

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