Chapter Twenty
KINSEY
I was breathtakingly aware of the way he kissed me, with a mix of urgency and tenderness, as if he was afraid that I was going to pull away, when five minutes into Jax’s conversation with me I knew things were going to end this way.
It wasn’t good-bye.
Not really.
It was a risk.
A risk that I wanted to take, because I liked him, because I was falling for the man that I saw beneath all of the football bullshit. He was more than he let people see, and sometimes it’s easier to recognize hurt in other people when it reminds you of yourself.
I never told him about my ghosts.
My scars.
And I had to wonder, if he knew about them—would he be more willing to take a chance on what we could have—or would he push me away? Because the possibility was there, not in the scary way it had been before, but my health issues still lingered, and knowing Miller, the truth would be scarier than the lie I kept telling by way of omission.
I was his.
But for how long?
Until he found out about my past?
Until Jax found out about us?
Life is full of selfish choices.
Quinton Miller was mine.
And just like he said he wouldn’t regret Vegas, I couldn’t bring myself to regret kissing him, urging him on, begging for his friendship, his trust, his body, knowing full well that if he peeled back the layers of my soul he’d most likely tell me that it wasn’t worth the risk.
That the odds weren’t in my favor.
That he refused to hurt again.
I absorbed the feel of his rough hands as they roamed over my body, the taste of his plump lips as he moved his wicked mouth down my neck like his only goal was to taste every part of me in the most erotic way possible.
He closed his hands over my breasts then slid down the bra strap on my right shoulder, and his mouth kissed the expanse of skin. He did the same on the other side then locked eyes with me. He looked drunk, crazed.
“Tell me to stop.” His gravelly voice sent chills down my spine. “Otherwise, I won’t.”
I gulped.
He didn’t move.
I pulled my bra off all the way and tossed it to the side.
“Fuck.” His eyes rolled to the back of his head and then he pressed a kiss between my breasts, resting his head against my chest for several heartbeats before pulling away and finding my mouth again.
His powerful body was enough to give me chills as his agile fingers dug into my hair, giving it a forceful tug before rough kisses nipped at my mouth, bruising me, marking me as his.
A hitch caught in my throat as he pressed a finger to my lips then dragged that same finger down the crevice between my breasts. He rested his palm against my belly button and grinned wolfishly up at me before tucking his hand into the back of my leggings and slowly tugging them down to my feet.
They joined my bra on the floor.
He braced my hips with his hands then slowly crawled up me, his face menacing, beautiful, full of promises, full of pleasure.
I gulped. I was out of my league with Quinton Miller.
A frisson of tension swept through my body as I gave him a come-hither grin.
He bit down on his lower lip, sucking it so hard it lost all color. “I can’t stop staring.”
“Then don’t.”
“You have goose bumps.” He pointed to my arms and then pressed a kiss to my ribs. “I’m going to dream of this ass.” He squeezed the skin with his fingers and then pressed an open-mouthed kiss to my stomach before biting down on my underwear and slowly peeling it down, his breath hot on my skin, making more goose bumps erupt all over my thighs.
I was completely bare to him.
Shivering.
And he was grinning like a wolf who’d just discovered an entire nest full of innocent little birds.
Hell, I was the bird.
I was Tweety Bird.
Did that make him a pussycat?
He licked his way down my thigh, making a trail of kisses that burned each time he breathed across my fevered skin.
“You’re going slow.” I gripped his shoulders with my hands. “Why?”
He stopped and blinked down at me. “Maybe because last time I didn’t get to see all of you. Maybe because right now I know you’re powerless to stop this thing that’s happening between us, almost as powerless as I am to stop staring. Maybe . . .” He pressed a rough kiss to the arch of my foot before massaging it with his fingers, digging into the sore muscles like he had a master’s degree in massage therapy. “Maybe I just want to savor you.”
Tears filled my eyes. “You say things like that, and I may just get attached to you, Quinton Miller.”
“That’s kind of the point, Kinsey Romonov.”
He’d never said my full name before.
Fear built up in my chest like a vise, squeezing it until I couldn’t breathe. The secrets of my past were going to tumble forward . . . not today, nope, not today.
Today. I was just a girl.
With a guy.
A very sexy guy.
Who somehow knew every pressure point in my body, and knew how to manipulate every single angle so that I felt him everywhere. I felt him in the air, I felt him in the tension swirling between our heated bodies.
“Take off your jeans,” I whispered.
“No.”
A wisp of disappointment threatened to deflate my mood. “No?”
“No.” He grinned. “I get naked, and this is all over before it even starts . . . Tell you what . . . you owe me two and then I’ll take off my jeans.”
“Two?” What? Dollars? Hugs? High fives?
He threw his head back and laughed. “Sometimes I wish you’d just say what you’re thinking, I can feel your brain overloading.”
“Two . . . what?”
“Guess.”
“Kisses?”
“Hmmm.” He drew two kisses from my mouth. “Tastes good, sounds good, but no, actually I was thinking something else, Kins.”
“Two . . .” I swallowed slowly. “Hugs?”
A rumble started in his chest before he burst out laughing. “Tell me you’re not serious.”
I couldn’t think. Not with him hovering over me, touching me. Being naked wasn’t exactly on the agenda for the day.
His clever, masterful hands rested on my hips then slowly started inching toward my core. “Two.”
“Two.” I gulped.
He grinned.
“Two.” I needed to stop repeating myself. An unbidden tightness built between my legs, the need to cross them, to run away, to lock myself in the bathroom.
“Orgasms.” He shrugged. “I need two, Kins, and then just because I’m feeling generous, I’ll give you one more . . . if you can take it.”
“Ah, so you’re a confident jackass in the bedroom?” I tried teasing away my fear.
He kissed my lips so hard that I gasped in his air, struggling to keep my grasp on reality. This was real, but was he? Was what was happening between us more than that? I hoped to God it was.
Because nobody ever talks about it.
The after.
The buildup toward sex is everything.
The act—relentless in its selfish pursuit of getting you to think about nothing but pleasure.
But the after?
The seconds that turn into minutes, that turn into hours.
What about the after?
Would he walk away?
Or stay?
“Stop thinking.” He cupped me with one of his hands. “All you need to worry about is feeling.”
“But—”
I arched in order to accept him.
And squeezed my eyes shut.
My thighs clenched around his hands; he used one to spread them open and worked me into such a frenzy that I thought I was going to lose my mind as my body sank against the cool sheets—on fire, I just needed release, to be free, to—excitement built within me as Miller’s mouth met my ear, his tongue wet, his chuckle warm.
“Ready?”
“Huh?” Dizzy, I opened my eyes.
He didn’t prepare me.
Maybe that was part of his plan.
A sensation I can only describe as perfection hit me so hard that I almost smacked my head against his, his fingers toyed, stretched, played like I was a football play he’d memorized with ease.
“That’s one.”
My brain refused to focus. One? One, what comes after one?
Me.
Two.
Wait.
I circled my hands around his neck as his brazen hands worked me into a fevered lunatic. I think I scratched him, agile fingers built more tension, and then I bit into his shoulder. He swore, and I started hyperventilating.
My cry of release wasn’t pretty.
It was almost painful.
The sensation was so strong that I was disoriented, and then jeans went flying.
Number two almost killed me.
Three would be my end.
“Need to be inside you,” he begged.
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
I reached for him, he reached for me, holding his body over mine while his lips bruised, ached, claimed.
He pulled back, watching my face.
And because I was worried, because he’d seen too much, I tried to close my eyes.
“Kins,” he pleaded, “look at me.”
He pressed my hands above my head and positioned himself.
I felt his throbbing heat.
My body yearned for it.
For him.
Tears filled my eyes. “Please.”
“I haven’t been with anyone, I’ve been tested, I’ve—”
I shut him up with a kiss, my lips parted in a rush as he slid into me only to withdraw and do it again, this time so hard the bed made a creaking nose. The table next to the bed shuddered, a lamp fell.
We lost our minds.
With frenzied kisses I met him thrust for thrust. “I need you.”
“Not as much as I need you.” He swore, his tongue swept into my mouth, dipping, swirling, as he picked up his rhythm, he rose over me one last time as a sea of pleasure exploded between us. He teased my lips apart with another kiss and took me over the edge. His body spasmed, mine was numb with pleasure.
He collapsed next to me.
We both stared up at the white ceiling in comfortable silence.
I ran my hand over his chiseled chest. “I think Jax’s interview is on ESPN tonight.”
Miller kissed my forehead. “You wanna watch it?”
I nodded, thankful that he was just as comfortable with me as I was with him.
Miller flipped on the TV.
The sound of the news filled the tense silence.
“Stay tuned for sports next! Take a look at interviews from some of our favorite players, including Quinton Miller who, rumor has it, is dating quarterback Jax Romonov’s sister! We also have a special report about her early days with the Romonov family and the adoption that almost didn’t happen!”
I froze.
Miller froze.
I closed my eyes.
Afraid to open them and see judgment or at least the anger that I knew would be there when Miller discovered that I wasn’t biologically related to the very guy who was obsessed with protecting me from everything big and bad in the world. It was going to be like Anderson all over again. I clenched my eyes tighter as memories washed over me.
“Does he fuck you too?” Anderson pulled my hair, dragging me against the wall, then punishing me with another bruising kiss. “I saw the way he looked at you yesterday, checking out your ass.” He smacked my butt. “Worse yet, I think you like it!”
I shook my head no. Ever since Anderson learned Jax and I weren’t related by blood, he acted suspicious of our relationship.
He gripped my neck and squeezed. “If he touches you, I’ll kill him.”
“My brother,” I rasped, “he’s my brother.”
Anderson’s eyes softened. “Oh, baby, don’t cry. I’m sorry, I just . . .” He released me then pulled me into his arms. “I just get so jealous . . . you’re so beautiful and most guys aren’t good guys like me, they won’t protect you like I will . . .”
He released my hand.
It fell lifeless to my side.
The bed dipped.
I exhaled as the sound of the shower running filled the tense air.
I lay there.
And seconds later was getting picked up and carried to the bathroom. A muscle flexed in Miller’s jaw, but he didn’t say anything.
He washed my back.
He kissed my neck.
He pinned me against the wall and took me again.
And when he was through, when it was hard to breathe through the water streaming down both of our bodies, Miller whispered in a calm voice, “Time for more truth . . . friend.”
He left me.
In the shower.
The water turned cold and I wondered how long I could hide out before he came and got me again.
So with a shiver, I turned off the water, grabbed a towel, and went to meet the one guy who after tonight, I was pretty sure was going to be pissed.