Chapter Twenty-Four
QUINN
There was something almost dangerously unpredictable in the way that Sawyer took to me. I never knew whether to count on him losing his inhibitions, snapping and pulling me roughly, whether he would be gentle, almost timid, or whether he might blend the two. After only two encounters with him, I found myself blissfully unsure of what he might do.
I didn’t want to waste time fumbling towards my bedroom, so when I pulled away, I led him by the hand. He didn’t say anything, but when I got the door closed, his hands were on me faster than I could have prepared for.
I skimmed my fingers along the buttons on his shirt, attempting to gain some sort of self-control while he claimed my mouth. His tongue pressed to mine, and he starved me for breath, and when I nearly had to break away, he broke away, mouth to jaw, mouth to neck, and I could only try to hold on.
He sat down on the bed with me. I was more than eager to help him slide the dress from my shoulders, and I didn’t have to help him with the bra straps. My hands glided along the smooth yet tough muscle on his abdomen, and when he pulled my hips down against his, I could feel how hard he was, and marveled at his restraint.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered to me, as though drunk on the moment. I ground against him again, and he sighed against my lips.
It wasn’t a good time for talking. My underwear came off next, and he did away with his own pants. I didn’t give him time to take charge of the situation before slipping my hand down the front of his boxers and tugging, gently, suddenly worried that I would break him. The way he bucked up into my hand, though, suggested he wouldn’t; I tightened my grip, and he groaned aloud.
As if in retaliation, he began to press kisses to my neck again, and he wandered further down, pressing my back to the mattress. Every time his mouth met sensitive skin I thought I met explode from the tension.
He mumbled something, but it was lost to our action. A strong hand on my hip moved further down, and he nudged my legs apart almost insistently. I was more than pliable in his grip, more than eager to grant him access. His fingers, the palm of his hand, the pad of his thumb worked in circles, strokes, movements rushed and relaxed to bring me to a gasping mess.
“Please,” I whispered. I didn’t want to come yet; I wanted to feel him first. “Please.”
It took us no time to locate a condom—I couldn’t bring myself to be wary of the fact he’d brought one with him, like he’d known this would happen, when I wanted it so badly to happen—and once he’d rolled it on, he was back over me.
I pushed him back, though. I pushed him back and then motioned for him to lay down, and I pressed my knees into the bed on either side of him. His light eyes were alit with a hunger that ought to have frightened me. I watched his face as I sank down onto him, and my eyelids fluttered shut. I ground my hips against him, pulling him up, further into me, never far enough into me, and heard him moan his pleasure.
For a moment we lay like that, me fucking myself slowly on him, the sounds of our contentment filling the room. After a few seconds, he leaned forward slightly, and he grabbed his hands with mine.
He met my gaze, a moment of hesitation, asking permission before he did what he wanted to do. I could only pull up and nod as best I could; finding a breath, a coherent statement, was unspeakably difficult.
He drove up into me, his strokes harsh but measured. I could feel him brushing that spot inside me time and time again, and I threw my head back, crying out for the feeling of it. My hand flew between my legs to finish myself off; I couldn’t wait any longer.
“Fucking hell, Quinn,” I couldn’t imagine what the sight of me like this did to him, and he bore down once more, thrusting almost painfully until he combusted with a small shout. I rolled my hips against him, practically milking him, prolonging his pleasure as long as I could.
When I couldn’t stay up anymore, I rolled off him, laying down next to him. I could hear my own heart thudding in my chest, and I thought, maybe, I could hear his too.
I laid in blissful ignorance for a long time. I heard him get up and go the restroom, heard the gentle clink of the faucet and the water falling into the sink. When he returned, I rose, too, and walked to the bathroom to sort myself out. I didn’t feel like myself, or like anyone, for that matter. I felt like things had always been this way, like this was the most natural state of being, and we were both immortal.
I brushed my hair and washed my face, used the restroom, went through the motions of cleaning up and when I was done, I walked back into the bedroom. There sat Sawyer on my bed, sprawled out in boxers, looking up at me with a peaceful smile.
I wanted to stand there for a while and take him in like that, covered in tattoos and muscles and looking very much like the cover of a romance novel come to life. But while I could stand and appreciate him from afar, something was beginning to eat at me, and when I got into bed, I made my descion to talk to him about it.
“I have something to tell you,” I told him.
The fear on his face held enough confusion to suggest he thought I was pregnant, though we’d used a condom and I wouldn’t know seconds after anyway.
“Not about sex,” I clarified.
He exhaled.
“It’s about Stacy.”
“I’m not—”
I held a finger up so that he would let me finish speaking. “It’s not about whether you still like her. I’m not worried about that. She came by my office the other day to… I don’t know, talk to me? She just told me that she hated the therapy system and her parents. But she knows you’re out, and she knows we’re involved.”
“Why would she want to stop by your office?” Sawyer frowned. “Doesn’t make sense.”
“I know. But I didn’t want to tell you because I was worried it would freak you out, but it’s been pointed out to me that running into her unprepared would be worse. I don’t know. I just wanted to tell you.”
Sawyer pulled me closer to him and kissed the top of my head. “I’m glad you did,” he said. “But I don’t need to worry about it. I don’t. She’s bad for me. The mistakes I made were my fault, and I own up to that, but she’s bad for me and I know that. I’m not interested in hearing anything she has to say. I have everything I need.”
I smiled and a blush rose to my cheeks. It was what I’d wanted to hear, despite what I’d told myself about telling him for his own benefit alone. “I’m glad.”
“Things are looking up,” he reminded me. “I don’t want to sabotage it.”
“Me neither.”
“I’m going to buy that house,” he mentioned. My eyes were beginning to droop in my tiredness, and he yawned behind me. “I forgot to tell you, I’m signing the paperwork soon and the house is going to be mine.”
I smiled lazily. “That’s good, Sawyer,” I said. It seemed like despite everything, the mess with his father and the mess with Stacy and all the demons of the past that threatened to snatch him back to where he’d come from, things were looking up for him. I rested my head on his chest and let myself drift off to sleep.