First and Tension (Summersweet Island 4)

I’m confident in my abilities to win this goddamn dare, because I deserve it.

“Is there a possibility of anyone joining us in here?” I ask Quinn casually, gathering all of my hair together and pulling it over one shoulder.

“Uhhh, no…” He trails off, still looking at me nervously, like I might bolt. “There are two security guards at the mouth of the tunnel. No one’s getting in until I let them know we’re done with the tour.”

“Excellent.” I nod, reaching up under my arm next to my boob and quickly unzipping my dress down to my hip. “Shit… what about security cameras? Didn’t really think of that.”

“Don’t know, don’t care. I’ll find them and burn them all to the ground—Holy fucking shit.”

Quinn’s mouth starts to slowly drop open when I push both straps of my dress down my arms, peel the corset over my boobs, shimmying and pushing the tight material down over my hips and thighs, until it falls off at my knees to a puddle at my feet, where I kick it off to the side with the toe of my stiletto.

“Whaaat the… fuck?” Quinn says in a near-panicked, guttural voice that almost makes me giggle, his eyes flying up and down my body, having no idea where to look first, now that I’m standing in front of him in nothing but my heels, a black G-string, and a black satin push-up bra that is defying the laws of gravity. “I thought you were just going to be real and maybe show me a secret tattoo or an old scar or something. Oh, sweet Christ… I was not prepared—”

“Oh, sorry.” I shrug breezily, crossing one of my ankles over the other and folding my hands together down in front of me. “You said the dress was torturing you, so I took care of that problem.”

“Good God, woman,” Quinn pants, messing up his neatly styled hair when he runs one of his hands through it. “I was trying to be a gentleman. You’re killing me here.”

“Be real—isn’t that what you said?” I ask softly, pushing down the panic that I’m opening myself up to him completely right now and letting him know that I really want him.

Quinn just nods.

“Then that’s what the fuck,” I tell him, my voice a little bolder. “Also, I know you said five minutes, but I really hope this is going to take more than that, or this was a complete waste of a new bra-and-panty set.”

“Oh, so you planned this, did you?” My favorite smirk is back on Quinn’s face, but his voice is raspy, and it sounds like he’s having a really hard time speaking or keeping his eyes off all the exposed skin I’ve got on display for him right now. The tent in his pants, and how he clenches and unclenches his hands down at his sides, tells me he’s having a really hard time not launching himself at me, and it makes me even brasher.

“Not really planned, per se. More like hoped. I mean, a woman can only take so much before she—”

Just like in my parents’ driveway, Quinn is on me in a heartbeat, his hands cupping my face and his mouth crashing to mine, before I can even finish my sentence.

CHAPTER 17

Emily

“You better hold on tight.”

My back slams into the wall behind me, right next to a flat-screen television, the bite of pain making desire burn hotter in my belly. One minute, I was standing alone, being my usual sarcastic self, and the next, Quinn was suddenly just on me, everywhere all at once. There’s so much to feel, so much happening all at the same time, that I don’t know what to focus on first.

Quinn’s hot, hard body pinning me to the wall with his powerful hips. His thick cock straining through his dress pants and pressing right up against my core with my legs wrapped tightly around his waist. His hands touching any part of bare skin he can reach. Warm, rough hands, gripping my thighs that cling to his hips, running up my sides, skimming over the tops of my breasts, over the side of my neck, before tightly cupping my face again. His urgent, hungry kisses attacking my mouth with a savageness that borders on crazy.

I feel crazy with every swipe of his tongue and with each rumbling groan he breathes into my mouth when I jerk my hips against him, needing more.

Reaching between us, I blindly grab onto Quinn’s tie and yank it loose from the knot, tug his shirt out of his pants, and make quick work of the tiny buttons, my hands shaking with each deep, swirling swipe of his tongue through my mouth. When I finally get the buttons undone and can push his shirt open, I slide my hands down the hard muscles of his chest and over his washboard abs, reveling in the feel of his hot, smooth skin under my palms. Quinn moans into my mouth again, his hips bucking against me, pinning me harder to the wall behind me as he deepens the kiss, when my hands move off his abs and quickly unbuckle his belt. My fingers move at the speed of light, wanting nothing more than to finally have this man fill the ache inside me he’s been building since the night I met him.