First and Tension (Summersweet Island 4)

“You didn’t dare me,” I tell him, the corner of my own mouth curling up into a grin when laughter shakes his body, and mine along with it held securely in his arms.

“Honestly? I didn’t think it was something you actually wanted to do,” he finally says, all traces of humor gone from his face as he looks at me, my throat getting tight with emotion, his thumb brushing back and forth over the top of my thigh, making me shiver.

“I do really like you, Quinn,” I speak softly, a low groan rumbling in his chest, his eyes darkening as he looks at me, his arm tightening around my body, and his hand tensing into a tighter grip on my inner thigh as soon as I say his name. “I’ve really liked you for an embarrassingly long time. But you’re right. I’m scared, and that’s not something I’m used to. I’m not afraid of anything, and you scare the hell out of me. Because you deserve to fucking shine too, and I don’t want to get in the way of that. I don’t want to distract you, or take away your focus, or mess anything up with—”

My words are cut off when Quinn moves his head forward and presses his lips to mine. My fist grips his shirt tighter, tugging him closer, when he kisses me soft and sweet and with a gentle slide of his tongue through my mouth. It makes me squirm on his lap, feeling him hot and hard poking into my hip, until he ends the kiss, pulling back just enough to look at me.

“Say my name again,” he whispers with a smile.

“Be serious.”

“I am being serious. I just want to hear you say it again when I’m not balls-deep inside you.”

The memory those words illicit make me instantly wet and an ache pulse between my legs as Quinn’s hand on my thigh inches higher before stopping, still brushing his thumb back and forth on top of my leg, teasing me, like he knows exactly what those words did to me.

With a laugh as I try to regulate my breathing and remember we’re supposed to be having a serious discussion, I move my mouth to his ear and whisper, “Quinn, be fucking serious.”

Even through his laughter at my whispered words, he lets out a satisfied groan and nuzzles his face into the side of my neck when I say his name again, warming everything inside me. Along with his hand that has inched up even more between my thighs, stopping just shy of touching me and finding out I’m not wearing anything under this cheerleading skirt.

“I will always be serious when it comes to talking about how I feel about you. And you will always fucking amaze me that you think of everyone else and their happiness before your own. You are the best kind of distraction I’ve ever had in my life,” Quinn tells me, pulling back to meet my eyes. “Please, just trust me, Emily. I never would have approached you or started anything with you if I knew I didn’t have the time to be with you, or if it was going to do anything to the focus on my game. You’ve only made it better. You’ve only made me want to be better, and play better, and make you proud.”

He says something similar to what Shepherd said to me earlier in his basement, and once again, I’m annoyed with myself for wasting two days worrying over nothing.

“I do trust you,” I reassure him, leaning forward and giving him a soft, quick kiss before I pull back again, my breath hitching in my throat when Quinn’s fingers inch a little closer, wondering if he can feel the heat that’s surely radiating out of me from how close he is to soothing this ache he left me with two days ago.

“Good. Let’s see what happens when a ridiculously hot and talented quarterback gets serious with a ridiculously hot and talented cheerleader. I see nothing but good things ahead for us.” Quinn winks at me, making me shake my head at him with a laugh, even though my body is about ready to go up in flames.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You really like my ridiculousness,” he fires back with a smirk.

“It seems I do.”

Quinn leans forward and kisses me again. Soft, slow, and sweet, but it doesn’t last that way long. Two days away from him felt like an eternity, especially when I let him walk away from me, when he’d been thirty seconds away from giving me an orgasm with his magical fingers. Not only have I been on edge worrying about Quinn being mad at me, but I’ve also been on edge from a denied orgasm.

Within seconds, the kiss has grown hungry and desperate. I’ve turned more in Quinn’s lap until my chest is smashed up against his, and my hand is fisting his shirt so tightly my knuckles are starting to hurt. The force of my kiss and how desperately I’m clinging to him finally gives Quinn the green light to cross the finish line, his hand sliding the last few inches up until his fingers come in contact with my wet, bare skin.