Losing It

I pull back to groan.

He reaches around my back.

In one swift motion, he unhooks my bra, slides it off my shoulders, tosses it aside.

He rolls onto his back and motions come here.

I do.

I’m out of my fucking mind.

I’m crawling on top of Wes Keating.

There.

I’m straddling Wes.

I’m topless and I’m straddling Wes.

I’m topless and I’m straddling Wes and I’m grinding against his hard-on.

What the hell happened to my life?

He stares up at me as he toys with my breasts.

I lean down to brush my lips to his.

At first, I focus on my technique. Sucking on his lip. Swirling my tongue around his. Hitting that perfect mix of aggressive and patient.

With every flick of his digits, I lose a little focus.

Stop thinking.

Feel.

Fuck, I feel everything.

He winds me tight.

He makes me so fucking achy.

Then he brings his hand to my thigh.

He looks up at me, asking for permission.

I nod.

He nods back. Pulls me into a kiss. Drags his fingers higher, higher, higher.

Over my panties.

Fuck.

Pleasure floods my body.

It’s so much.

It’s too much.

I…

I try to go back to technique. To kissing him right. To touching him right.

But it’s so much.

He’s so close to touching me.

And I…

I can’t do this.

I pull back. Mumble something about the bathroom. Dart to said room.

It’s bright and white and quiet.

I pee. Wash my hands. Pull my dress back on.

Deep breath.

Slow exhale.

I can handle Wes touching me.

It’s not a big deal.

It’s really not.

I just have to breathe.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

“Quinn?” His footsteps move into the hallway. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Totally.” I pull the bathroom door open. Step into the hall.

He’s standing there, his jeans doing nothing to hide his hard-on.

It’s still thrilling.

But the terrifying part?

Yeah, that part is winning.

“I just, um, I have work early and I… I should probably go.” I don’t wait for him to reply. I move to the main room. I grab my purse. I slide into my shoes. “Good night.”

“You okay?”

“I’ll see you next week.”

He says something in response, but I don’t hear it.

Only this voice in my head yelling Quinn Thorn is going to die an awkward virgin.

Chapter Twelve

Wes

I stare at my closed door for way too fucking long.

It fails to illuminate Quinn’s mental state.

I shoot her an are you okay text.

When she doesn’t answer, I escalate.

Wes: Come by the shop tomorrow.

Quinn: I have work.

Wes: I have your glasses.

Quinn: Oh.

Wes: Oh? How’d you get home?

Quinn: I walked. I have backups in my apartment.

She does live close.

But still.

Was she really so nervous she’d rather walk home without glasses?

I need to change my approach here.

To go softer.

Or harder.

Or from a different angle.

Or—

Fuck, all these metaphors are sending my head straight to sex.

Wes: I’ll be there all day. Ten to ten.

Quinn: I don’t know.

Wes: You want me to teach you?

Quinn: Yeah.

Wes: Then be there sometime between ten and ten.

Quinn: There’s nothing to say.

Wes: This isn’t a negotiation, Quinn. Come by tomorrow if you want this to happen.

Quinn: When did you get all demanding?

It’s not the carefree impression I cultivate.

But I’m getting worse and worse at pretending I’m that guy.

I toss my phone on the couch. Try to find solace in an action flick.

For a while, the explosions entertain enough.

Eventually, my mind starts wandering.

To my visit with Mom last weekend—she was drunk, of course. The lecture Hunter gave me about enabling bullshit. Then follow-up from Chase about boundaries.

For two people who barely communicate, my brothers are really on the same wavelength.

I give up on the movie. Brush my teeth. Wash my face. Strip to my boxers.

The sheets still smell like Quinn.

My body doesn’t care that she ran away.

It’s already raring to go.

I ditch the boxers. Close my eyes. Wrap my hand around my cock.

She fills my head.

Soft red lips. Perky tits. Hard nipples. Big hazel eyes.

That groan—

Fuck.

I come so fast it’s embarrassing.

“You know Brendon has a lot of advice about deflowering virgins.” Dean slides onto the counter and pats the space between his legs. He looks to his girlfriend slash apprentice and motions come here.

Chloe gives him a long once-over. She brushes a short, dark strand behind her ear. Slides one hand into her black jeans.

She only wears black.

It suits her.

She’s sixty inches of badass babe.

She’s an aikido expert who could kick my ass like that.

Usually, that would be a turn on.

But Chloe is so… Chloe, I guess.

“Brendon has advice on deflowering virgins?” She shoots Dean a cutting look. “And you don’t?”

“Go on, sunshine.” His smile gets wicked.

Well, more wicked.

Dean’s smile is always wicked.

Chloe shoots me a can you believe this look.

I shrug.

I’ve been working here for nearly a year and I’ve known Dean for longer—he and Hunter were friends back in high school.

His effortless party boy act—

Well, it’s kinda getting in my grill.

Even worse, he pulls it off better than I do.

He’s happy.

Everything is easy for him.

It’s fucking annoying.

Don’t get me wrong. I like the guy. I really like Chloe (though I’d never tell her in such plain language). I wish them both the best.