back against the wall and clung to his shoulders, careful not to dig my nails into his flesh, until he growled, ‘Don’t hold back. Never hold back with me. I want all of you.’
And I gave it to him as he thrust into me. I dug my nails into his shoulders, crying out as I felt myself on the verge of another orgasm. He sensed it too, dropping his mouth to nip at my neck, whispering in my ear, ‘I can feel you, so tight and wet around me before, but even tighter now. You’re going to come for me, aren’t you, Cele?’
I nodded, unable to string words together. It didn’t matter, I was right there already and I could tell by the way he went rigid against me that he was close, too. My pussy rippled around him, tightening as my orgasm rocked us both. He pulled me up off the ground then and pressed me against the wall. I wrapped my legs around his waist and hooked my ankles, just holding on for the ride of my life. I screamed out my second orgasm, more powerful than the first, almost painful with how full I felt and how hard the thrust, and heard his responding moan, softer and deeper, the sexiest thing I’d ever heard in my life.
I clung to him, resting my head against his shoulder as he slowly lowered me to the ground, worn out from my release, both physical and emotional. He cradled me against his chest, so strong and yet so gentle that I felt tears slipping down my cheeks.
‘What is it?’ he asked, taking my chin in his hands and tilting my head up so he could see my face. He wiped my tears away with his thumb. ‘Cele, did I hurt you?’
I shook my head and smiled. ‘No, sweetheart, you didn’t hurt me. You healed me.’
Coming Home
I knew I shouldn’t be there. I mean, hell, it wasn’t like I had even been invited. I’d broken in, for God’s sake. I’d broken the law – and for what? To sit in the dark and wait for Quentin to come home so he could throw my ass out. Not for the first time, I wondered if he even would come home. It was 3 a.m. and I’d been sitting at his kitchen table for two hours already, running my fingers over the scarred surface and planning what I was going to say to him. Two hours in – make that two
months
– and I still wasn’t sure what words were going to come out of my mouth when I saw him. For the hundredth time, I reflexively pressed the keypad on my phone and watched it light up with the time. 3:17.
Quentin and I were a lot alike. Both of us slung drinks for a living – alcohol for him and coffee for me – and we were both quiet and introspective, which made us good listeners for other people’s issues but not too good at sharing our own problems with each other. Quentin was stoic in dealing with life’s curveballs, whether it was his father’s unexpected death or a tree falling on his truck, and he could get focused on work or helping his brother rebuild that old Mustang of their dad’s, or repairing the fence on that piece of property out in the country, until the crisis passed.
Me, I was more inclined to run away from anything I couldn’t face head on – and sometimes that meant skipping town for a few days. Or a few weeks, in this case. I’d told my boss I had a personal crisis and needed to take as much of my vacation time as he could give me. He said my job would be waiting when I got back. All I could do was hope he was telling the truth. I was going to need a steady paycheck. Especially if Quentin bailed on me.
I knew he was still bartending at Kayla’s – but this wasn’t a city where bars stayed open until dawn. One or two, maybe, but it was getting on to the time when I needed to pack it in and go – that, or plan to make a night of it and hope he didn’t call the police when he found me on his couch in the morning.
I was still debating my limited options when I heard the distinct
snick
of a key in the front door lock. I threw a quick prayer up to the patron saint of stupid, lovelorn women that he hadn’t brought some chick home from the
And I gave it to him as he thrust into me. I dug my nails into his shoulders, crying out as I felt myself on the verge of another orgasm. He sensed it too, dropping his mouth to nip at my neck, whispering in my ear, ‘I can feel you, so tight and wet around me before, but even tighter now. You’re going to come for me, aren’t you, Cele?’
I nodded, unable to string words together. It didn’t matter, I was right there already and I could tell by the way he went rigid against me that he was close, too. My pussy rippled around him, tightening as my orgasm rocked us both. He pulled me up off the ground then and pressed me against the wall. I wrapped my legs around his waist and hooked my ankles, just holding on for the ride of my life. I screamed out my second orgasm, more powerful than the first, almost painful with how full I felt and how hard the thrust, and heard his responding moan, softer and deeper, the sexiest thing I’d ever heard in my life.
I clung to him, resting my head against his shoulder as he slowly lowered me to the ground, worn out from my release, both physical and emotional. He cradled me against his chest, so strong and yet so gentle that I felt tears slipping down my cheeks.
‘What is it?’ he asked, taking my chin in his hands and tilting my head up so he could see my face. He wiped my tears away with his thumb. ‘Cele, did I hurt you?’
I shook my head and smiled. ‘No, sweetheart, you didn’t hurt me. You healed me.’
Coming Home
I knew I shouldn’t be there. I mean, hell, it wasn’t like I had even been invited. I’d broken in, for God’s sake. I’d broken the law – and for what? To sit in the dark and wait for Quentin to come home so he could throw my ass out. Not for the first time, I wondered if he even would come home. It was 3 a.m. and I’d been sitting at his kitchen table for two hours already, running my fingers over the scarred surface and planning what I was going to say to him. Two hours in – make that two
months
– and I still wasn’t sure what words were going to come out of my mouth when I saw him. For the hundredth time, I reflexively pressed the keypad on my phone and watched it light up with the time. 3:17.
Quentin and I were a lot alike. Both of us slung drinks for a living – alcohol for him and coffee for me – and we were both quiet and introspective, which made us good listeners for other people’s issues but not too good at sharing our own problems with each other. Quentin was stoic in dealing with life’s curveballs, whether it was his father’s unexpected death or a tree falling on his truck, and he could get focused on work or helping his brother rebuild that old Mustang of their dad’s, or repairing the fence on that piece of property out in the country, until the crisis passed.
Me, I was more inclined to run away from anything I couldn’t face head on – and sometimes that meant skipping town for a few days. Or a few weeks, in this case. I’d told my boss I had a personal crisis and needed to take as much of my vacation time as he could give me. He said my job would be waiting when I got back. All I could do was hope he was telling the truth. I was going to need a steady paycheck. Especially if Quentin bailed on me.
I knew he was still bartending at Kayla’s – but this wasn’t a city where bars stayed open until dawn. One or two, maybe, but it was getting on to the time when I needed to pack it in and go – that, or plan to make a night of it and hope he didn’t call the police when he found me on his couch in the morning.
I was still debating my limited options when I heard the distinct
snick
of a key in the front door lock. I threw a quick prayer up to the patron saint of stupid, lovelorn women that he hadn’t brought some chick home from the
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