Page 100 of The Best Part of Breaking Up

And then of course, Quentin.

I sink a little deeper with a sigh. When I run my hands through the silky water, it’s impossible not to think about being in that midnight pool with him. I draw lines through the suds, tracing the exposed tops of my knees, the half-submerged outline of my breasts. I only mean to lean into the sensual feel of it, to revel in the way the deep tone of his instructions made my skin tingle, teasing myself just enough to feel sexy, but I should’ve learned by now that thoughts about Quentin are a slippery slope. Slippery enough that my hands slip lower, that my movements get sweet and syrupy. By the time I hear the door, I’m outright aching with need.

When he appears in the bathroom, I don’t know how to pretend I’m not on the very edge, so I don’t try. Even in the flickering shadows, he seems to register the color in my cheeks, the sensual part of my lips, the breathless rise and fall of my chest.

“Oh, you perfect, greedy girl.” He drops to his knees beside the tub, sweeping a hand through my hair, kissing me deeply. “Did you come already?”

“Not yet,” I breathe. “I was waiting for you.”

The bath sloshes as I attempt to draw my knees together. He nudges them back open.

“Don’t stop.” His hand dips beneath the water, sliding down my inner thigh. He kisses my knee. “Seeing you horny like this is my new favorite fucking thing. You need it so bad, don’t you, baby?”

“Fuck,” I breathe. “You make me feel so dirty.”

“I love you dirty,” he says. His fingers thread between mine, circling my swollen center. “God, you kill me when you make that fucking sound.”

Another moan escapes me, and I realize I’ve been doing it ever since he put his hands on me. I can’t help it. I open up to give him more of me, pressing his fingers into the perfect spot, rubbing at the hot liquid ache between my thighs. He gingerly flicks a finger across one nipple. Up and down, innocently, like he’s testing a goddamn light switch. It scrambles my thoughts.

“I can’t… think when you…”

“Then don’t,” he says.

I let go, becoming only pleasure. This time he doesn’t tease and wander. He’s learned exactly how to touch me, and he coaxes me to my absolute breaking point. My breath comes in tiny, desperate pants. The waves of release rock through me as our intertwined hands press against my sex. It only makes me want him inside me.

“What else do you need?” he says.

I drag his face towards mine, punctuating my response with rough, desperate kisses. “You. Naked. In my bed. Now.”

We don’t make it to my bed. I push him back onto the tile, letting water cascade off of me as I free him from his pants. The element of surprise works in my favor. I take him inside me with a gasping moan. He’s so hard, and I’m so sore, and it feels so good.

“Fuck,” he breathes, grabbing my hips to slow my movements. “You are so… goddamn… fuck.”

I don’t slow down. I love the desperate set of his jaw, that subtle little growl he gives me when I take control, the way he kisses me when he’s close to coming completely apart. Another wave of pleasure is already building with every roll of my hips, and he just feels, so, good. The closer I get, the harder he becomes. My breaths come shallow and fast, matching his, and I realize now that all the time I’ve spent believing things like this never happen, it’s because I also believed ‘things like this’ took the kind of painstaking choreography they describe in magazines. This isn’t a coordinated production. There’s no great mystery. It’s so hopelessly simple.

When he goes, every cell in my body can’t help but follow.

***

I feel around, locating the pair of glasses I keep in the drawer of my bedside table. When I slide them on, Quentin comes into perfect focus. I can see his dark eyes, dancing across my face.

“What?” I ask.

“You look so hot right now,” he grins. “Like you’re going to send me to detention for not returning a library book.”

I laugh, snaking my arms around his neck. “Is that another fantasy of yours? Hot librarian?”

“If you’re the librarian,” he says, kissing me. “But first, fed librarian.”

We miraculously make it out of my bedroom and position ourselves on the floor between my couch and my coffee table. My mouth waters as he portions our takeout shrimp scampi into bowls for reheating.

“Well, hopefully by tomorrow I’m looking less like a hot librarian and more like a serious attorney who completely crushes this case. You know those three desperate messages I left for my optometrist on our drive home? The on-call doctor has emailed to explain that it’s been so long since my last visit that I’m basically considered a new patient. So if I plan to be able to read any of the court documents, these are my only option.”

I snag a stray noodle from the container and slurp it into my mouth. “Oh my god, this is divine.”

“You couldn’t wait ten more seconds?” he laughs.

“It was alone. I was rescuing it.”

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