His dark gaze burns and his long fingers tighten in my hair, but he doesn’t make a move.

He’s probably thinking that I run so hot and cold that I don’t know where I’m coming from at any given moment.

“Quinn, I know what I want.”

He gently tightens his grip on my hair so that my chin slightly lifts. I let out a gasp.

“Then tell me what you want, Gwen.”

On a surge of lust, I grasp his button down. Adrenaline is turning and burning through my veins. When I slip one of my hands beneath his shirt to feel his skin, I nearly groan. There’s a whole lot of muscle under that skin — hard and masculine — and as he slides his hand to the back of my head, I run my fingers up his waist to feel the smooth ridges over his ribs.

Even in the dimness I can see something wham apart in his gaze, and before I can get my next breath, he pulls me to him, crushing his mouth against mine, blowing my brain to pieces. Gradually, my thoughts spin back together, whirling around as fast as my heart can keep up while I cling to him and he kisses me long, slow, and hard, his fingers tightening in my hair.

It’s the Wine Night kiss times a thousand million infinity — stars, sparks, stolen breath — and I ease both my hands over his flesh and to his back, hanging onto him for dear life with every sip he takes of me. And when he strokes his tongue between my lips, opening me up, I moan a little. Time suspends as he softly bites at me, then dips inside my mouth to taste me with his tongue again, slower this time, lazier, and it feels like a dark and jammy heat is flowing through my veins, thick and thicker.

He picks me up slightly and brings me backward, his big arm cushioning me when we hit the wall. As I let out a soft, pleased sound, he slowly runs his tongue into my mouth again, and I drape my leg over his and arch against his thigh. The friction against my soft spot only makes the ache between my legs throb more, so I rub against him again … again …

Groaning, Quinn skims his hand down my bent leg, and when he gets to my boot he shucks it right off, along with my sock. He’s sure-handed, knows just what he’s doing. A goddamn ladies’ man, right? And he only proves that again as he presses tiny kisses to the corners of my mouth, making my pulse fiercely expand and contract as he lifts me up, urging me to clench my legs around him. He caresses his way down my other leg and, with even more efficiency, he has my second boot and sock off in a jiff. The sound of them hitting the floor bams into me, and I rub against him where it counts this time.

He buries his face against my neck. “Fuck.”

I know — I can’t wait to get there, too.

When he squeezes my ass, I churn against him harder. Fun Gwen is doing this, and she’s making Fun Quinn very happy down there.

“Tell me what you want,” he says against my neck as I keep rocking against him.

Would it be a huge surprise to say that I very much know what I want right now since I’m in the process of getting it, but I don’t know exactly what I want beyond that? You can count the number of guys I’ve been with on one hand, and none of them made the earth move. I’m well on my way to feeling a quake now, but I still don’t know what to tell Quinn about how to bring me there.

The intimacy of what we’re doing makes me bare the honest truth to him. “I have no idea what to say,” I whisper against his ear. I comb my fingers through his dark, luscious hair while feeling the oncoming thud of what I think might be an orgasm deep in my belly. “What do you think I want?”

He lightly bites my neck as if to test me, and I hold back a squeal and strain against him some more.

“I think,” he says, “the fact that you’re asking me to tell you what you want says a whole lot.”

I don’t know what the hell that means, but as he guides one of my legs off of him, then the other until I’m slumped against the wall with only the pressure of his body against me to hold me up, anticipation speeds up my pulse.

He touches a button on the front of my dress. “Maybe we can start with you telling me that you want me to undo this so I can look at the bra you wore for me tonight. Would you want that, Gwen?”

A thrill shocks me. I feel like Jane Eyre. “How do you know I picked out a bra just for you?”

He braces one arm against the wall, hunching over me, then slides his hand to the back of my thigh, toying with the sensitive skin there. I bite my lip as he whispers into my ear.

“I know you picked this bra out special because you’ve been fantasizing about getting me hard ever since you saw me. Isn’t that right, Hot Stuff?”

I hate that he’s so cocky. No, I love it. And when he takes his hand away from my leg to deftly undo that top button, I bite my lip harder. He carelessly continues his slow journey down my dress, and with every button that pops loose, my heart beats harder and faster — and not just in my chest. I’m throbbing everywhere.

Now my dress is slumped at my waist, fully revealing my pink lace bra. It’s the best one I have, the one I’ve been keeping tucked away in a drawer forever. For a second, I grip his arm. What if my boobs are too small for his tastes? Quinn seems like he’d be more into one of the big-breasted Rodeo Rhondas from the Footloose Saloon, not skinny old me. But when I see his gaze light up like he’s discovered gold, my hormones get to jumping again.

He trails his fingertips up my stomach to the front clasp of my bra. “Now, do you want me to take this pretty fucking piece of lace off of you so I can see your beautiful tits?”

Bam-bam-bam, he’s hitting all the right notes, and I think hearing him say it so bluntly is only getting me hotter. How did I not know this about me?

“Do it,” I whisper.

With more impatience than he was showing a second before, he undoes my bra clasp, letting me free.

“Fuck, Gwen,” he murmurs roughly as he runs his hands up to cup me. “Fuck.”

I move up the wall with the pressure of his hands. I latch my fingers around his wrists as I feel that rough, pulsing swell inside my belly get bigger. He’s magic with his thumbs as he circles them over my tips, and when he bends down to suck me into his mouth, I cry out a little.

He laughs against me, playing with me, licking and bringing me to my tiptoes again as I press back against the wall. I’m grasping his hair now, and on a fierce whim, I pull him over to my other breast. He must really like me telling him what I want, because he works me even harder, wilder. Then he slips his hand between my legs to feel just how happy he’s making me.

Boldness pushes at me. “Ask me what I want now.”

He’s onto my game. I think he always has been. “What do you want, Gwen?”

“I …” Shit, I’m still not all the way there.

“Do you want me to take off your panties so I can see every pink bit of you and then …”

“Do I want you to go to town on everything that’s pink?”

He makes a soft, harsh sound against my breast.

I did it! “Hell, yes.”

It’s as if something has burst open between us, and he falls to his knees and yanks down my undies. At the same time, I fumble with my dress and pull it over my head. Then he helps me trip out of my panties in record time, my heart speeding along like it’s in a race with my tight breathing and the whirring wheel of my brain. Then Quinn hooks one of my legs over his shoulder, and as I take in an excited, ragged breath, he buries his face between my legs.

Heat jolts through me. Time stops. My God, oh my God, this is happening. Sex is happening. With Quinn. With his mouth on me. With—

I slap my hand back against the wall, and the sound brings me back to reality: his mouth is on me, kissing me there, licking and sucking and expertly sending me to a place where everything is a thumping color, a blazing sizzle, a building stack of gasps and moans while I pull at his hair and tell him that I want more, more, more—

When I explode, I smack the wall again. Once, twice, moremoremore .... Then, even as I’m coming down from that brutal high, he stands up and turns me around so my breasts are flat against the wall, my hands plastered to it, my legs so weak that I’m afraid I’m going to slip right down to the floor like melted butter in a pan.

He bends to whisper into my ear. “Do you want more of that?”

“Of fucking course I do!”

He laughs. “And how do you want it?”

I barely have the strength to answer, but I manage. “However you want to give it to me.”

He slips his hands to the front of my body. He slowly massages my belly like he’s rubbing a damned golden lamp to make a hot genie come out. I’m The Thousand and One Nights in the flesh, and shit, if there are a thousand more stories ahead for him to tell my body, I’m all over this. But I think he wants me to do the telling now.

I can do it.

“I want you to … you know.” Okay, maybe I still can’t.

“What do you want me to do, Hot Stuff? Just tell me.”

He persuades me by biting my neck, and I squee and pound the wall once more. He laughs and brushes aside my hair to kiss my nape. I stand on my tiptoes as a surge of electricity lights me up.

“Am I hitting all the right spots?” he whispers against my skin.

“Yeah.”

“Shouldn’t that be a ‘fuck yeah’?”

He nips my neck again, and I gush, “Fuck yeah!”

He bends and then presses his mouth to my spine, then begins to kiss his way down it. He’s at the middle of my back when he asks, “So what do you want, Gwen?”

His words send a violent tingle through my belly, and just like that, another big O is building up again. I want him, and I want to say it in the naughtiest way possible.

“I want you to fuck me.”

He makes the rest of his way down my spine to the small of my back, and when he nips at this sensitive spot that I didn’t realize was so sensitive, I buck. I press my forehead against the wall while bracing my hands. When he goes a bit lower and takes another little bite at my bottom, my body almost explodes, and I hit the wall hard with my palm. This poor wall.

“I want it right now,” I say louder. “I want you to nail me against this wall right fucking now!”

Evidently, I’ve hit his button, because he turns me around again. I’m already pulling at his shirt to get it off — and me off — as soon as possible. I only pause when the sight of his rocked torso just about demolishes me right then and there. Quinn is thoroughly built and broad and tough and rough, and as he takes off his pants and the rest, I really do start to turn to butter against that wall, slipping down it inch by inch, my liquid legs unable to hold me up anymore because …

Sex.

Gonna happen.

Gonna happen now, judging by what I’m seeing of Quinn’s biggest McMuscle.

I can hardly wait for him to rip open the packaging for the rubber he has in his hand. He just finishes sheathing himself when I push myself off the wall, pulling him in for another kiss, getting off on every second of it. This is the Gwen I’ve always wanted to be, this insane, rocked-up, lusted-out girl, and I reach down to shake hands with the other Mr. Quinn Maxwell I’ve been dying to meet.

That Mr. Quinn is more than ready to say hi.

As I slightly tighten my fingers around him, Bossman makes a low, tortured sound. Suddenly I’m wishing that I’d asked him to hold off on the rubber so I could let my fingers do some bare walking. But I don’t know how much longer either of us is going to last, and this won’t be the only time I’ve got him at my mercy, anyway. We’ve got all damn naughty night.

“Get inside me now,” I command.

With a right-away-ma’am grin, he walks me back to the wall. Then something odd happens: time suspends once more as he looks down into my eyes. Everything turns upside down for me in that confusing moment. It’s like he’s …

Really feeling this?

Then everything goes back into fast motion, and I jump onto him. He shifts and nudges me with his tip, then plants a hand back on the wall. When he thrusts up and into me, I arch like an acrobat in the shag-me circus and let out an “Oh!”

Oh, yeah.

He pauses, then I tighten my legs around him and wriggle, taking him in deeper, letting him know that we’re so on. He makes another one of those low, tormented sounds, and I like that. Like it, like it, like it, and I wiggle again, greedy for more. He drives into me, and as I dig my fingers into his back, we get a rhythm going. In our frenzy, I press one hand back against the wall as if it’s the only thing that’s keeping me grounded. I’m also holding onto him for dear life with each stroke, losing all sense of reason in this animal lust.

My mind starts to flutter, almost like the pages of a book caught in a strong wind, except the book doesn’t seem to have an end. As he pumps me up, the pages of that book keep turning and turning, faster, louder, harder until, suddenly, the book itself blows away in a brutal burst. It hits the wall, coming apart and spilling paper that blasts into the sky until it can’t go any higher.

From there, everything falls slowly back to the ground until it settles. But when I come back to the moment, I still feel him inside me. Panting, I move my hips again, urging him. Fun Gwen lives on, and she’s just getting started.

“Do me harder,” I say. “Shred it, motherfucker!”

Huh? I have no idea what I just said, but it seems to work for him, because when he comes, he comes hard.

Afterward, he keeps holding me. I laugh like I’m intoxicated. And I am. So high. So free. So …

Yeah.

He nestles his face against my neck and laughs, too. “‘Shred it’?”

Before I can explain that it just popped out of my mouth in a lunatic moment, he kisses me again. He holds me closer and carries me farther into his house, taking me to what I can only assume is his bedroom, where I’m sure we’ll be shredding it again.