A Serving of Forever (Lights Camera Insta-love 3)

“No,” she murmurs. “The opposite. I think the best part of the show was watching you and your sisters tease each other.”

“Then you’d love Sunday dinner at my mother’s house.”

Her attention flashes to mine and I clear my throat hard. Too far, moron. Suggesting she’d enjoy meeting your mother? Why don’t you just propose and really freak her out?

“Um.” She shifts and crosses her legs, revealing a mouthwatering view of her thigh. “What does your mother cook for Sunday dinner?”

“Roast chicken, usually. Potatoes.”

Her sigh is drawn out. “I bet it’s amazing.”

“We fight over every last bite.” Reminding myself of her profession, I shake my head. “It might not be what you’re used to—”

“It might be better.” Does she realize she’s rubbing the pad of her thumb against my hand? I don’t know, but I’d die before calling attention to it, in case she stops. When she speaks again, her voice is kind of dreamlike. “Sometimes, I wish the chefs I review would stop trying to outdo each other and strip back to the basics. I don’t need food to be scientific, just good.”

“If it’s not broken, don’t fix it.”

Her smile brightens the back of the dark car. “Exactly.”

Christ. My mom would eat her up.

She’d give me her wedding ring and beg me to propose to Quinn with it.

And I would. I’d be on my knee a second later.

“So…” I realize I’ve been staring at her too long when she bites her lip, the moonlight highlighting her flushed cheeks. “You’re not a mean brother, then?”

“I’m a protective one. Though it might be hard for Melissa and Steph to tell the difference sometimes.” I push my free hand through my hair. “They date these assholes, you know? It’s as if they forget men can’t be trusted—and it’s my job to remind them.”

Quinn’s eyebrows are near her hairline, a smile playing around her beautiful lips. “Does that mean you can’t be trusted?”

“No.” Before I can second guess myself, I unbuckle my seatbelt and move closer, tickling her ribs gently. “That’s not what it means, smart ass.”

“Why not?” she giggles. “Why are you the exception?”

“Because I’d give up everything before I put tears in your eyes.” By the time I finish speaking, our mouths are an inch apart.

Her breath is hitting my lips in soft, little puffs and her eyelids seem to grow heavy. Yeah, this is a woman who wants to be kissed, and I have no choice but to oblige her. Because if I don’t taste her, I’m pretty sure I’m going to explode.

I reach up and press my thumb to the center of her lower lip, tugging it down gently, so I can lock our mouths together. She makes a mewling noise, shifting closer, as if needing to get close as possible. In the process, her tits graze my chest and I feel her pointed nipples. As if I didn’t just come harder than all of my previous orgasms combined, my cock stiffens in my pants and I have to fight the urge to pick up Quinn and settle her on my lap in a straddle. But no. I’m not fucking her in the back of this Uber—and that’s exactly what would happen. I’m more and more desperate to be inside her with every moment that ticks by.

Instead, I sip at her upper lip, tracing the seam of her mouth with my tongue, loving the way she melts toward me, her fingers curling in the neckline of my shirt.

“Desmond,” she whispers.

The animal inside me is starved for the taste of my name in her mouth. Need. One second, the kiss is gentle, the next I’m wrapping her hair around my fist, slanting her head so I can get my tongue deep, taste every inch of her. Fuck. This woman is addiction and love and home and sex, all rolled into one. I’m rock hard and throbbing behind my zipper, my balls tight and aching.

“Tell me you’re going to open your thighs for me tonight, Quinn.” I kiss her again, long and hard, our tongues lapping together. “Tell me you’re going to scream for this big cock.”

“I want to take it,” she moans, her head falling back, gifting my mouth with the long, luscious line of her throat, which I greedily lick. “I need to take it.”

Precome gushes from the tip of my dick. Goddamn, I’m not going to make it home. I’m actually considering throwing her down on the seat and pounding one out on top of her sweet, perfect body, but the driver clears his throat hard—and I realize we’re idling at the curb outside my house.

Quinn realizes it at the same moment, her gasp turning into a giggle.

Before I know it, I’m amused along with her, my crack of laughter filling the Uber.

We’re still laughing as I take her in my arms and carry her up the pathway to my house. When we reach the front steps, she tries to wiggle free of my grip, but I hold fast, maintaining eye contact as we cross over the threshold.