Chapter 4

4

Quinn

My apartment seems so much smaller with this giant man inside of it.

As predicted, my cat reacts like she’s been electrocuted at the sight of a stranger and vanishes. I trip over my area rug because Desmond is so distracting, picking up my little knickknacks with his big paws, turning them over as if he’s trying to learn about me through my possessions.

Stop that fanciful thinking.

He’s doesn’t have feelings for me.

No. Not only did we meet just this morning, but I’ve sort of coerced him into teaching me how to be sexy and confident. He’s a beautiful firefighter with an outgoing personality—surely he wants nothing serious with awkward, introverted me. So why has he agreed to help me? Well I don’t know a lot about men, but I’m quite certain they don’t turn down no-strings flings with a woman. That’s all tonight will be for Desmond.

For me?

A whole other story.

I’m drawn to this man, even more than I’m enticed by a well-seasoned French cassoulet. He’s kind and funny and listens to me when I speak. His hearty laugh matches the rest of him. Even his heart, I’m sensing. I can still feel his hand on the base of my spine as he led me across the street and the memory of his protectiveness makes me want to…to…bite his thick thighs. Yes, bite them. Sensually.

I hardly know myself anymore—and I kind of like that.

I like how brave and unconcerned with keeping up appearances I am around him. There is no worry about having the proper response or filling holes with small talk about the weather. He makes me feel comfortable in my own skin.

Even so, I cannot believe I basically asked him to be my sex tutor. I can’t believe I am actually going to go through with it—and more than that, I’m excited. A night in Queens! It might as well be Madagascar for all the time I’ve spent there. But I’m eager to see Desmond’s house. If I only have one night to revel in him, I’m going to make the most out of it.

I realize I’ve been quietly staring at him like a nutcase for a solid two minutes.

“Would you like anything to drink?” I blurt.

“No, thanks. I’m good.” He points at a picture on the mantle. The one of me holding a framed copy of my first restaurant review in the New York Times, an older woman standing behind me. “This your mother?”

“Yes.” At the mention of my mother, I automatically try to smooth the wrinkles from my dress. “If she knew how forward I’ve been with you, she would be scheduling extra therapy sessions through next year.”

He grins. “She’s a little strait-laced?”

“That’s an understatement.” I twist the diamond stud in my ear. “I think she means well. She wants what’s best for me, but sometimes I wish she’d let me decide what that is. I’ve spent so long trying to please her, I don’t know how to…”

“Please yourself?”

“Yes.”

Desmond touches his tongue to the corner of his mouth. “I can help with that.”

“I hope so,” I whisper, his smoky tone making my toes curl in my sensible heels. “I’m going to pack. I won’t be a moment.”

“I’ll help.”

My steps falter on the way to my bedroom, tingles crawling up my spine at the sound of his heavy footsteps behind me. I wasn’t lying when I said I’d never had a man in my apartment and wow, what a man to select for the first time. He’s such a presence. So male.

When he asked me if I want to become more confident so I can ask out other men, I fudged my answer a little. Sure, I suppose someday in the future, tonight’s lesson will come in handy, but I can barely remember other men exist when Desmond is close. I wonder how long it will take me to move on once the tutorial is complete and he’s gotten his fill.

A pang in my chest catches me off guard and I massage it on the way into my bedroom. Pushing open the door, I look at my space through Desmond’s eyes. Light, tasteful, lots of white and yellow and orange. Books and food magazines scattered everywhere. This is the only area of my life that I control completely and letting him see it is as intimate as a kiss.

Not that I would know that for sure.

But by tonight, I will.

Trying to hide the hot shiver passing through me, I kneel down and tug an overnight bag from beneath the bed. Desmond’s hand appears in front of me, his blunt fingers sliding under the handle and lifting it on to the bed.

He squints an eye at me. “What do you think about letting me pack for you?”

My hands twist in front of me. “Oh, I don’t know…”

“If you pack for yourself, what will you bring?”

“Well, some pajamas, of course—”

“Quinn. You’re already overpacking.”

I sputter for a good five seconds. “Are you suggesting I’ll be sleeping naked?”

“You’ll be wearing me. That’s it.” He says those words so casually. Meanwhile, I’m tongue-tied watching him open my underwear drawer. “I had you pegged for a white panties girl.” He dangles one of my many white bikini briefs from his fingers. “I was right.”

My face warms. “That’s not all I have. There’s gray and beige in there, too. Probably.” I wave at him. “Sift around.”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t a fan of the white ones, sweetheart.”

“Are you a fan?”

He makes a considering sound. “I’d have to see them on you to make that judgment.”

“You will be seeing them,” I say, breathily, my thighs feeling oddly liquefied. “Tonight, under the covers, in the glow of some tasteful lighting.”

A corner of his mouth edges up. “Damn, Quinn. You’re cute as hell.” He drops my panties back into the drawer and comes toward me, slowly. “You could show them to me now.”

My hand flies to my chest, wrapping around the locket. “But it’s so bright in here.”

“Quinn, you asked me to help make you more confident. Let me do my job.”

My nerves are running circles in my tummy. “How is this going to make me more confident?”

Desmond steps into my space and places his lips against the crown of my head. His male scent is wrapped in baking ingredients, thanks to the morning’s activities, and he smells incredible. I could bask for days in his aroma alone, but then his big hands cup my hips, squeezing, and sliding lower. The tips of his fingers inch under the edge of my dress, moving side to side, but not lifting.

“I’ll tell you why this is going to work. Seeing your panties is going to make me so hot, Quinn. I’m already hard…” he murmurs against my ear. “I’ve been hard since you walked out from behind the curtain this morning. But I’m going to get harder when you lift this dress. When you see what you’re capable of doing to my cock, you’re going to feel a lot more confident, aren’t you?”

My breath catches. “Y-you’re going to show it to me?”

His tongue traces the shell of my ear. “If you want to see it, yes.”

I do. Really bad. Is it worth biting the bullet and stepping outside my comfort zone so I can see that part of Desmond’s body? Yes. Yes, it is.

My nod is vigorous. “Okay.”

“Good girl,” Desmond says, his teeth catching my earlobe, his hands cinching my dress up and over my hips. I don’t realize until the cool air kisses my thighs that moisture is soaking through the crotch of my panties. Is he going to see that?

“I…um, I…”

His palms stroke down over my bottom, squeezing, and I forget my protests. There has never been anything more divine than his warm, strong touch cupping and massaging me so intimately, as if he’s my owner.

Desmond reverses our positions and walks me backward towards the bed, gently pushing me down onto the edge. Keeping his eyes locked on mine, he grasps my knees and spreads them wide. My pulse is firing off like bottle rockets as he steps back, straightening to his full heights and running his gaze down to the juncture of my thighs. “Jesus Christ,” he groans, fisting his erection through his pants. “Look at what a hot piece you are.”

“A piece?” I breathe, feeling more moisture rushing down to slick my folds.

“That’s right.” He lowers the zipper of his pants, slowly. “You’re beautiful and smart, Quinn. Sweet as hell. But I forget about everything but getting my dick in that pussy when you show it off to me. That little honeypot between your legs looks like a tight piece of heaven, doesn’t it? God yeah, it does. I want to forget you’re a classy city girl and be rough with it.”

Have I melted into the mattress? I’m so warm. So tingly. “You do?”

“Fuck yeah, I do.” He drags his tongue along the masculine curve of his lower lip. “Grab the sides of your panties and twist. Make them tighter.”

Such an erotic suggestion should make me giggle or sputter a protest, but his expression is so hot and eager, I find my fingers sliding beneath the side waistband of my panties on both sides and winding the material around my finger. Briefly, I glance down to witness what Desmond is seeing and my lips pop open at the sight that greets me. My underwear is practically see-through, due to my wetness, and the split of my womanhood is visible, along with my narrow strip of light brown hair.

With a growl, Desmond reaches into the open V of his pants and withdraws his erection—and I can do nothing but stare, my jaw in the vicinity of my lap. Honestly, it could pass for a forearm if it wasn’t so beautifully curved. “Oh my God,” I whisper, not sure if I’m speaking in my head or out loud. “It’s as big as the rest of you.”

Desmond’s chuckle sounds pained. “You’re making it that way, sweetheart.” He grips his girth so tightly, his knuckles bleed of color. “Goddamn, you’re gorgeous, sitting there with your legs spread, those innocent panties stretched over your little fuck hole. Christ.”

His coarse words send a ripple of excitement through me. “You sound like you’re in pain,” I whisper, inching my knees a touch wider.

“You have no idea,” he pushes through clenched teeth. “Quinn, I have to touch you. Just a little, sweetheart. I won’t fuck you yet, but I gotta take this edge off.”

It might be crazy to trust Desmond so much, so soon, but I don’t question the impulse. I simply nod—and a split second later, I find myself flattened on the bed. Desmond’s big body presses down on mine, his hand between us, sliding his arousal upward through the thigh opening of my panties. My back arches on a moan when his shaft grinds down on my mound and he starts to pump his hips, snarling into my neck. He’s…humping me. Furiously. His hot breath creates condensation on my neck and shoulder, one of his hands holding my hips steady, the other rifling through my hair.

I’m a prisoner.

I couldn’t escape if I tried.

I’m his…piece. He’s dry rutting me to satisfy his male urges and I should be scandalized, right? Yes, perhaps. But I find my thighs wrapped around his thrusting hips, my toes digging into his flexing buttocks. The heavy steel of his inches gather a little more of my wetness with every frantic movement of his hips and the squelching sound fills the room, along with the increasing volume of his grunts.

“Fuck, Quinn. I’m sorry, I can’t stop. I can’t stop.” His hips piston so fast now, I have to clench my back teeth together to keep them from clacking. “Your pussy is too pretty. Gotta ride it. Gotta get my come on it.”

Something swells inside me. Is it feminine pride?

Yes, I think it is.

Look at me! I’m turned this big, brave hero into a servant to his own needs. He can’t seem to resist me—and that is thrilling. This morning, when I got dressed in this room, I was worried about having flyaway hairs on camera. Those fears seem distant and silly now when I’m a woman who can turn a man on to the point of a frenzy.

It’s working.

My confidence is growing.

With that realization in mind, I slide my hands under them hem of Desmond’s shirt, lightly dragging my fingernails up the flexing breadth of his muscles, then scoring his skin on the way back down. “Oh fuck!” Desmond growls, his hand leaving my hair to wrap around my throat. “You want to be bad, little girl?”

“Yes,” I push through my swollen lips. Halfway through croaking my answer, Desmond leans back and flips me over onto my stomach. I’m still gasping into the bedding when Desmond yanks my panties down to my knees and cracks his palm against my right buttock. Once, twice, a third time, before switching to the left cheek and giving it the same treatment, eliciting the delicious sting I didn’t know I was missing. “Oh my God, Desmond, more,” I moan, pushing my backside up like a beggar.

“Ah, Quinn. If only you could see what I see. That pussy got so wet, it soaked your virgin asshole, too. That makes me jealous. You want me jealous, sweetheart?”

“No,” I manage, rubbing my breasts on the mattress, the rough friction delivering a bolt of lightning to my clit. “No, I don’t want that.”

Desmond works the head of his shaft between my bottom cheeks, without gentleness. “Then you better let me wet up that asshole, too, huh?”

“Yes,” I sob, barely aware of what I’m agreeing to, only knowing I want Desmond to keep touching me. For hours. Days. Maybe forever. “Please!”

“Good girl. Reach down between your legs and play with your clit. I’m not coming without you.” When I can only lie there sucking wind, he falls forward onto my back, his teeth sinking into my shoulder. “I said, finger fuck yourself while I beat off into your tight ass. Do as you’re told, little girl.”

I’m so turned on I don’t know if I can survive it. This is not how I imagined physical intimacy would be. This is dirty and desperate and messy—and I love it. I don’t know how I’ll go another minute without craving it for the rest of my life. Pressing my open mouth to the bed, I reach down between my thighs and wiggle my middle fingers against my clit, crying out when a hot shudder of lust tightens up every muscle I own.

Desmond’s fist starts to move, meeting the split of my backside with every stroke of his manhood, his guttural groans filling my bedroom. I writhe beneath him, the pressure building in my belly, lower, my thighs starting to tremble. Oh my God, I’ve never orgasmed like this. It’s going to be like a bomb going off and nothing will ever be the same. I’m rocking my hips now, riding my two stiff fingers while Desmond grows thicker and thicker between my cheeks.

“Ah fuck, I’m going to blow.” He kisses the side of my neck hard, raking the spot with his teeth. “You with me?”

Am I ever.

His teeth graze the sensitive spot beneath my ear and I bear down, my thigh and stomach muscles seizing. A scream winds up my throat and I muffle the sound against the mattress, exhilaration and pleasure wracking every inch of me. Desmond grunts loud and long, his strokes going so fast and hard, I’m going to have bruises on my butt later, but I know it’ll be worth it. That belief turns even more solid when he presses the wide head of his erection right up against my back entrance and roars, hot, syrupy liquid filling the split of my bottom. It drips down and coats my femininity, my thighs, the bedding, and still he continues to climax.

At some point, he ceases fondling himself and all-out humps my buttocks again, cursing and moaning into my hair. “Jesus Christ. World’s sweetest little fuck toy right here,” he grates, his thrusts turning uneven and slowing, before he drops down on top of me, laboring the breath. “You ruined me. You ruined me.”

I want to ask what he means, but just as I open my mouth to speak, there’s a knock at my apartment door. “Quinn, darling? Open up. I want to hear all about the quaint little reality show you filmed this morning. Do I need to pay anyone to edit your speaking parts?”

My throat fills with pressure and I scramble out from beneath Desmond. “It’s my mother. Oh my God.”

His eyes heat as they look me over and I realize my panties are still around my knees and my skirt is rucked up around my waist. Not only that, but there is a significant amount of Desmond’s spend dripping down my inner thighs. Did that all just really happen? Did I really just masturbate myself while a burly fireman from Queens pleasured himself with my bottom?

Desmond’s grin tells me it did, indeed, happen.

As do the fluttering wings in my stomach.

There’s another knock at the door. “Quinn? I know you’re in there. You’re always home. No matter how many times I’ve tried to fill your social calendar.”

Desmond’s amusement fades, his dark brows drawing together. “Don’t answer.”

“I have to,” I whisper back, wringing my hands. “She won’t give up.”

He stands, zipping himself back into his pants. “It sounds like she just wants to be let in so she can make you feel shitty about yourself.”

“You’re not wrong.”

I’m cemented to the spot as he makes his way toward me, his hand lifting to cup my cheek. “How did you feel when we were on the bed together?”

“Confident,” I whisper.

He nods, his attention dipping to my mouth. “And now?”

“Not.”

Irritation ripples across his expression, though I know it’s not directed at me. No, he’s vexed on my behalf and that feels…wonderful. To have an ally. “Pack,” Desmond says, leaning down to kiss my forehead. “Whatever makes you feel sexy. Preferably something I can take off fast.” With that, he turns on a heel and starts to leave my bedroom. Before he walks out, he turns with a hand on the doorjamb. “You trust me, sweetheart?”

I only hesitate a second. “Yes.”

But I never could have imagined what happens next. I watch through a crack as Desmond opens my front door, shocking my mother so handily, she literally clutches her pearls. “Who, might I ask, are you?”

“Desmond,” he says, a grin in his voice. “You must be Quinn’s mother.”

“Yes, I am.”

“Nice to meet you.” Briefly, he looks back at me over his shoulder, as if trying to determine whether or not I’m listening. Then he turns back to my mother, saying quietly, “About Quinn’s social calendar? Consider it full. Permanently.”

The door closes on her stunned face.

By the time Desmond reenters the bedroom, I’ve hidden my blooming smile and started packing. I know Desmond didn’t necessarily mean he would be taking up my social calendar for the foreseeable future. After all, he readily agreed to give me lessons so I could attract other men, didn’t he?

A twinge catches me in the throat.

Either way, I will owe him forever for standing up for me.

And we still have tonight, don’t we?

Could it ever be enough?