Crazy Eights (Stacked Deck #8) - Emilia Finn Page 0,107
long hair, and I’m the only idiot poor enough that I have to grow my own, rather than pay someone else to do it.”
“You’re so silly.” I press the pad of my thumb against the divot in her chin and smile when her breath catches. Pulling her forward, I stop with just a whisper of space between her lips and mine. “Q?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you gonna shank me if I kiss you?”
She snorts and squeezes fresh tears past her lashes. “Maybe later. Hindsight, you know? Later, I’ll be mad.”
“But for right now, we’re clear?”
Instead of answering with words, she closes the space between us and presses her lips to mine. Her breath shudders out on a whimper, her chest bounces with a sob, but her arms come up and around my shoulders, and her long hair tickles my exposed skin.
My cock throbs between us, but if she feels it, she makes no mention.
It’s exactly how it was that first time in my uncle’s office. Fire, ice, electricity and power. Quinn plasters her chest to mine, and, giving herself to me, allows our kiss to deepen, for my tongue to lash out and tap her lips, for her tongue to meet mine and take her own pleasure.
Her heart races, and when I slide my hand up to wind through her hair, my thumb touches where her pulse beats. For the first time in years, I feel her beat for me. I feel her warm for me. I feel her weight in my lap, and maybe – I have to admit to myself that just maybe – this will be the first and last time she allows it to happen.
She was always a flight risk, and assuming there will ever be more is a mistake.
“Let me—” She pulls away so our kiss breaks with a gasp, then reaching down with only one hand, she yanks her tank up and over her head until she sits on me in jeans and a purple bra.
“Quinn, I—”
“You can touch me.” She takes my hand and presses it to her breast. “This isn’t a trick or anything. This is like last time, but instead of a week, I’m giving you an hour.”
Her words both excite and break me.
“An hour to love freely? Bravely?”
She nods. “An hour to love fully, without worrying about later.”
Pushing up to her feet, she stands over me, and unsnaps her jeans. Her arm clearly hurts her, her movements hindered by the butchered shoulder, but she gets her jeans a few inches down.
Then I take over.
I reach up and yank the denim over her trim hips. Her muscular thighs. Down past her knees, then I toss her to the side to take her shoes off, and while she flies, her squeal is enough to heal a part of my four-year hurt.
Her smile, her freedom, her ability to laugh while we touch, and not cry because of the pain…
I toss her shoes across the room, send the skin-tight denim following, and then I crawl over her flat stomach, and grind my cock against her fiery hot core. “I might be a little rusty at this.” I press my lips to hers, and go to work undoing my jeans. “I haven’t been with a woman since… well… you know.”
“I know.” She shoves me back, and crawls onto my legs to work on lowering my jeans. Much like I did for her, she tosses my boots, drags the denim away, then she takes my boxer shorts and slides them down my thighs until she balls them and drops them to the floor. “But also,” she looks up and peers into my eyes. “Same.”
I frown. “Same what?”
Laying on her back and pulling me over her, she stares into my eyes. “Same. There was no one else. I swear.”
My heart stops for a single beat. My stomach drops, but it’s not a bad feeling. “No one?”
“No one. I didn’t want anyone else before you, and I didn’t want anyone else after you.”
“But it’s been four years.” I press a kiss to her chest, her collarbone, her jaw. “Four years, Q. And no one?”
“You make it sound hard.” Wrapping her arms around my shoulders, she pulls me down and winds her legs around my hips.
But her panties are still on. They’re in the way. So I break her hold from around my neck, and move along her body until I rest between her legs.
“No one?” I ask again.
She bends her knees and lets them drop open in front of me. Panting,