Текст книги "About Last Night..."

Автор книги: Belle Aurora

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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

Chapter Sixteen

Mia

After Quinn called, it took over an hour for me to find sleep again. I couldn’t stop thinking about the rough lilt of his voice. Past memories assaulted me.

Coming home for Christmas had been a mistake. I did this every year, and every damn year, I regretted it.

Losing weight hadn’t been easy, but in the past year, I had lost nineteen pounds. Sure, it didn’t look like I had lost much, or even anything, but I felt better about myself and was proud of my willpower.

I didn’t drink. I didn’t smoke. I didn’t do drugs. But I ate. And having a food addiction was so much more severe than any other addiction, I thought, because food was available anywhere and everywhere. Years back, I would spend nights going to the gym then leaving just to be tempted by burger joints on the way home. There I would be, in my gym clothes, eating a burger in a dark part of the parking lot, feeling ashamed.

It was harder to say no than yes. I was weak when it came to my eats.

So when my mother looked at me with that disapproving frown and accused, “Have you lost weight?” I cracked. Would it have killed her to tell me that she was happy I was finally doing something about my weight? Yes, apparently, because every spare moment, she would shove something edible under my nose, and after a short argument, I would give in.

I’d bet I would go back to college at least six pounds heavier and a shitload sadder.

I never understood my mother or why she fought so hard when it came to my wanting to lose weight. The only thing I could think of was that she thought my personality would change along with my weight. I’d heard her make the same accusation about her sister, my aunt Penny.

Every year, a member of our block would host a Christmas party. This year was Mom’s turn. We ate Christmas lunch at midday then got to work making trays and trays of appetizers, dips, and desserts. Of course, I ate while I worked, which pleased Mom immensely and left me feeling ill. Around six p.m., members of the community started showing up. I went upstairs to change, only to find that the dress I had bought before I came home, nineteen pounds thinner, no longer fit.

I shouldn’t have been surprised by this. I had eaten almost every hour over the past three days and the dress had been tight when I bought it. Talk about discouragement. I almost threw a fit, but instead, I pulled up my big girl panties and dressed in black pants and a blouse. I was underdressed and felt ugly, but it was my own fault.

I stood in a corner most of the night. Harry disappeared after lunch to do a shift at the bar, and all the normal people my age were out with friends and loved ones. I was the only person under forty at this shindig, and it blew.

Mom had placed me on waitress duty, as if I wasn’t embarrassed enough, so I spent the majority of the night taking trays of finger-food, walking them around for a minute, and then hiding in the corner with the tray, eating all the contents of said tray till I felt sick.

Ten-thirty rolled around and I was sure Mom wouldn’t notice my absence, so I fled upstairs. If Mom had an issue with that, she could suck an egg. I was done.

I got out of my clothes and into my Snoopy pajamas, tied my hair into a high ponytail, and sat on my bed, reading. Mom had placed a red rope across the stairs, so no one would be coming up, and I felt it safe to leave my door open.

I should’ve closed it. Then locked it. Then placed a chair against it and sat in that chair.

Being engrossed in my book had nothing on the tall, stumbling man who gripped my doorframe to keep from falling over. He held on tightly with one hand, his body swaying from side-to-side as he groaned and ran a hand down his face. Wide-eyed, I held the book to my chest and heaved in anxious breaths. Then he saw me.

His hair looked freshly cut, was dark brown and styled in that way hairdressers do when they’ve completed your new ‘do. I couldn’t see his eyes from where I was, but I knew they were too light to be brown. His tall body was lean but muscular, and the sleeves of the black shirt he wore over his dark jeans had been pushed up to the elbows, his top button undone. He leaned forward, squinting hard, looking right at me and teetering.

“Minnie, right?”

He knows me?

There was only one person who called me Minnie. My brother. By process of elimination, I quickly realized who this person was. I blushed and nodded slowly.

He smiled crookedly, and it was shocked me at how my stomach fluttered. “I’m Matt Quinn, Harry’s friend.” Before I could say anything, he stepped a foot into my room and sat. “Mind if I sit?” He stretched his legs out in front of him, giving me a close-up view of just how tall he was.

I opened my mouth to speak, to say something witty and make him laugh, but I couldn’t. I was paralyzed.

He sighed, leaning back in the chair, as if this was something we did all the time. “Why aren’t you downstairs drinking, or dancing, or mingling? It’s Christmas.”

That, I could answer without making a fool of myself. I shrugged lightly. “I don’t know. It’s not really my thing.”

He nodded as if he understood. “Me neither,”—then he smiled—“but I don’t mind the drinking part.”

My brother had told me little about Quinn. All I knew was he was in a bad way, keeping bad company, but he was trying to get himself together. When I asked Harry what he was involved in, he told me that was Quinn’s business. Harry stressed that Quinn was a good guy, but he just didn’t know it.

I choked down a laugh. “I can see that.”

He grinned. “Yeah, Harry sent me up here to find his bed and stay put. Apparently, I offended some old lady by asking if her hair was real.” He winked. “I got sent to time out.”

Then I did laugh, quickly slapping a hand over my mouth and wincing. “Oh, no. That was Mrs. Morrison, and yes, she wears a wig.”

“A wig? That was not a wig. That was more a toupee.”

Smiling, I shook my head, but mentally agreed with him. It was a toupee, and whoever sold it to Mrs. Morrison was not her friend.

He jerked his head to my chest, blinking sleepily. “You like to read?”

“I love to read.” I added, “It’s better than real life.”

Hazel. His eyes were a green speckled with brown. They were hazel.

He looked at me, frowning. “Why do you say that? There are lots of things in life that are better than reading. There’s eating, sleeping, drinking a cool beer in the summer, getting caught in the rain, and then there’s se—” He coughed. “Well, I could name a hundred things better than reading.”

I smiled, but it was sad, mainly because I was sad. The things he had just named held no appeal for me. “Not for me. I’m heavy-set, shy, and a nerd. Not much hope for me, I’m afraid.”

The words came quickly, and I hadn’t realized how pathetic they sounded until they were out in the open. My face mottled in humiliation and, hugging my book to my chest, I dipped my chin, hoping Quinn would just go away and leave me in my little bubble.

But then he spoke. “You know what, Minnie? You’re going to bloom into a beautiful butterfly. I know it.” He went on, “And I don’t mean you have to be the prettiest girl or the thinnest girl to make that happen. You just have to live a full life and experience real-life things to blossom.”

Without another word, he stood, walked out of my room, and turned left.

A second later, he walked past my room in the opposite direction, and I smiled to myself.

Harry’s room was on the right.

I stayed awake until almost two-thirty. Just as my eyes began to feel heavy, I picked up my phone.

Me: Sorry I worried you. x

His response was immediate.

Quinn: Sorry I woke you. x

My heart fluttered. It was only five days till Sunday.

My eyes drooped, closed, and I fell asleep thinking of Quinn and his crooked smile.

Ella and I had bonded a lot over the last few days. It was Thursday, and I found that if I avoided Mrs. Dietrich as much as humanly possible, Addison Ltd could be a pleasant working environment.

I heard Ella’s heels clomping my way before she sat on the edge of my desk and ran a hand through her hair, poofing her curls. “Mia, honey, what are you doing Saturday?”

Typing the last of my sentence, I looked up at her and smiled. “Got nothing planned, really. Of course, my gay neighbors will probably do outrageous cocktails and make divine, extravagant food, dragging me over there to watch trashy reality TV.”

Her brown eyes wide, Ella muttered, “Well, shit. That sounds better than what I was going to offer. I got some serious competition on my hands.” I rolled my eyes, but softened it with a smile. She leaned forward and rushed out, “Okay, listen, there’s this guy I like, and my girl Tanya told me he’s going to be at a bar in the city on Saturday for this guys’ night out thing, and I really want to go, because I’ve been dying to see him again, and maybe if you come with me, I’ll actually have the balls to talk to him this time.” Her face pleaded. It was adorably pathetic, really. “Please?”

I narrowed my eyes at her. She held her hands together and fluttered her lashes at me, smiling innocently. But when it came down to it, I had little friends here at home and it would be nice to hang out with a girl my age. I shrugged. “You know what? I’m in.”

Ella gasped. “Really? You’re not shitting me, are you? Because I will cut you.”

I chuckled. “No, I’m not shitting you. Saturday night. I’m there.”

She silently squealed. “That’s what I’m talking about. We’re going to dress up sexy-like, go out, and get our drink on!”

In her excitement, she grabbed my shoulders and shook me. My head swung around like a ragdoll. Laughing, I pried her long red nails off me and shooed her away.

I got home around seven, a little later than intended, but it was worth it to know the desperate and dateless ball now had five possible hosting locations.

All but running to the shower, flinging my clothes off on the way, I jumped under the spray and showered quickly. I didn’t even have time to sing my usual playlist. I dried, slipped on panties and my nightshirt, and then ran and jumped onto my bed. I found the remote, turned on the TV, and then picked up my phone and dialed.

He answered immediately. “If you were an animal, which would you be?”

A single brow rose as I muttered a confused, “Huh?”

“Animal. Which would you choose to be for the rest of your life?” He sounded lost in thought. “I think I’d be a meerkat. They’re kind of cute.”

I mumbled, “Um, okay then.” I cleared my throat and thought. “Well, I could be a lapdog and have myself pampered for the rest of my life. Or I could be a wild horse running out in the open with my peers. Or maybe I’d be a sloth and just sleep forever.” I hissed in a breath then added, “Although I did see this documentary once about sloths and how they’re so dumb that sometimes they go to reach for a branch but grab their other arm by mistake, ultimately falling to their deaths.” I nodded to myself. “Yeah, sloth is out.”

He sounded amused. “So which animal are you choosing?” He added quickly, “Remember, you’re stuck like that forever, so choose wisely.”

I sat up straighter. “Zebra. I’ll be a zebra.”

He sounded impressed. “Zebra, huh? Why?”

“I don’t know. They’re majestic.”

I could hear his approval. “Oh, yeah, majestic as fuck.”

“What a random question,” I muttered to myself.

He huffed out a breath and I could almost see him shrug. “I’m a random guy, Maya.”

My lips pursed and I nodded. “This is true.”

“Hold on a second.” Rustling came down the line and then he was back. “Okay, I’m comfortable. Are you comfortable?”

My eyes glanced around my room then I placed a pillow behind my back, affirming, “I’m comfortable.”

“Good. I’ve got a few hours before I have to leave, so we’re going to talk about what exactly you want Sunday to be.”

Oh, I did not want to talk about this. I would talk about anything—anything—but that! “Uh, I really don’t want to talk about it. I sort of hoped we could wing it?” What should have been a firm statement came out as a weak question, and three decibels too high.

His response was gentle but firm. “We should talk about this.” His speech quickly softened. “Don’t you want to have a good experience, Maya?” I grunted and he asked, “Will you help me out then? Talk to me. We’re probably on different sides of the city. I can’t see you. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

I was being a wuss. “Of course I want to have a good experience; that’s why you’re the one doing the deflowering. I thought you did this kind of thing all the time.”

He went silent, then, “I’ve never been with a virgin before. This is a first for both of us.”

My mouth gaped. I just assumed he took on virgins on a weekly basis. But that was what happens when you assumed. You make an ass out of u and me. So that was why I asked a hushed, “What do you want to know?”

Chapter Seventeen

Quinn

What did I want to know? Hell, what didn’t I want to know? I wanted it all, everything. Her entire sexual history.

Obviously, I had to be smart about this. I didn’t want to scare her away. “I know you’ve only dated two men. Why don’t you tell me about it?”

A choked noise escaped her. “I’d rather not. There wasn’t anything remarkable about those men, or the experiences they so kindly took part in.”

She was getting defensive. I needed to soothe her beast, stroke it. My voice turned gravelly as I asked, “Did either of them do something you didn’t like? Did they touch you in a way you felt uncomfortable? “ Because if they did, I would find them and fuck them up.

She sighed lightly. “No, Quinn. It was nothing like that.” Then she paused, “Well, actually…”

Her hesitance was met by my, “Go on, Maya.”

“Well, the first guy was pretty rough with me. Not in a rape sort of way, but I think he just liked it like that. He was very dominant and bossy. Every touch on my body was harsh. When he put his fingers i– in—” She stumbled then added quietly, “You know where, it was rough and I wasn’t ready for it. Either he didn’t know or he didn’t care, but he persisted. It didn’t feel good. He’d squeeze my boobs hard then pinch my nipples. I didn’t get any enjoyment out of it. But I tried one more time with another guy.”

“The guy who used oral sex as a lullaby,” I confirmed.

Her husky laugh washed over me, bringing a smile to my face. “Yeah, he was sweet, but he had a feather touch. I barely felt a thing, and he was always looking for confirmation. It was a big turn off. I didn’t think sex needed instruction every minute or so. It was weird. And that’s it. I never saw either of them again.”

I didn’t think that was it. I wanted more. So I asked, “Okay, good. That’s that from your experience, but what about them? What had you done with them, with their bodies, and did you like it?”

Her groan sounded muffled, as if she’d stuck her head in a pillow. “Do we have to talk about this?”

I clucked my tongue. “Maya, Maya, Maya…relax. This is nothing. Just talk. You’re doing great, so keep it going.”

She blew out a long breath. “You’re right; I’m being silly. Um. Okay. The first guy, I-uh…touched him. Well, he grabbed my hand and put it on his…uh…penis…then kept his hand over mine as a guide. He liked it rough and hard, to the point I thought I was hurting him, but he came, so I guess it didn’t. And the second guy asked me to touch him, so I did. He felt harder than the first guy, but I couldn’t see, because both times, we’d been in the dark. I’ve never seen one up close or in the light. Well, not in real life. Anyways, the second guy took longer to come, but I could see his face in the moonlight, and the face he made when he came…” She lowered her voice in embarrassment. “…well, I liked how he looked then. It made me feel sexy, powerful.”

My lips tilted to the side in a small smile. “Good. I’m glad. You know that feeling you got? Well, guys get it too, but women are a little harder to please, so when a guy can’t do that, he can: a, get angry or upset, or b, overcompensate. It sounds like you happened to share these experiences with guys from either ends of the spectrum, so on behalf of men everywhere, sorry about that.”

Inserting humor into the situation seemed to work at calming Maya, because she chuckled, “Apology accepted. What else do you want to know?”

My next question would likely lead to her hanging up on me, but still, I enquired as naturally as possible, “Do you touch yourself? And if so, how often?”

She gasped, “Quinn!”

I shrugged. “What? It’s not a big deal. It’s natural. God, you know what I do for a living, and I still masturbate about four times a week. And before you say something, there’s nothing wrong with that. It’s an amazing form of stress relief.” I figured sharing my own sexual appetite would push her to reveal hers.

She sounded amazed. “Four times a week? You do that four times a week?”

“I like sex, Maya.” I may have sounded a little defensive there.

Her quick but sincere adding of, “I’m not judging you, Quinn,” soothed the minor burn. “It’s just that I’ve never spoken to someone like this before, and I guess I’m a little curious about male habits as much as I am about everything else.”

She was opening up. I couldn’t help but feel a small amount of pride at the way I was handling this. “Ask me anything. I’ll always be honest with you. Ask me something. What are you most curious about?”

Silence. She remained silent for a whole ten seconds before blurting out, “Everything! I’m curious about everything. Jesus, Quinn, I’m twenty-seven and know the basics of sex, the mechanics, but nothing else. I don’t know how it feels for a man. I don’t know why they like women to go down on them. I don’t know how soon you can have sex after you’ve come. I don’t know anything!”

My cock had gone from a semi to a full-blown hard-on at her little frustrated speech. I looked down at it and it jerked as if to say, ‘Well, what are you waiting for? Touch me!’

I ignored my cock and answered her. “I’m assuming it feels for a man the way it feels for a woman. Like light and sound meeting in a clashing explosion of warmth, frustration, and need. My body temp gets hot during sex. I normally sweat, not just from exertion, but also from demand. And I love the taste of sweat on a woman’s skin during sex. It means she’s working just as hard to take me there as I am her. It tastes like success.” I finished my explanation, shook my head, and uttered, “That wasn’t a very good explanation. Sorr—”

But she cut me off with a hushed, “That was perfect. I can almost see it. Taste it. I-uh…I think I understand now.”

My brows raised in surprised. She sounded as if she were turned on. “As for what it feels like when you have a woman’s lips wrapped around your cock…” I choked down a groan. “…it’s amazing. It’s wet and warm, and the sounds coming from the friction of skin-on-skin is just…” I paused then chuckled. “Well, I like it.”

Maya didn’t sound convinced. “Sounds messy.”

I didn’t bother lying. “Sex usually is. But you can always clean up afterwards.” Then I added, “I promise you, Maya, the best sex is always dirty and messy and shocking. That’s the kind of sex that stems from passion. It’s incredible.”

I heard her swallow before she breathed out, “I’ll take your word for it.”

Pre-cum had beaded at the head of my cock. I could see the damp outline on my boxers. I had no idea what possessed me, but I felt my skin was crawling, so I asked a rough, “Would it shock you to know that talking about this is turning me on? That I’m harder than a fucking rock right now?”

Her whisper sounded like a plea. “Quinn…”

I wanted to push her buttons, see how far she would let me go. “What if I put my hand on my cock right now and jerked myself off to the sound of your voice? Would that turn you on, Maya?”

No response, only heavy breathing.

I reached for my cock and gripped it, whispering, “Are you wet, Maya?”

Her shaky response was immediate, and it came out small and restless. “Yes.”

Oh, God, I needed to come. “Tell me, Maya…do you touch yourself?”

“No.” She started to sound desperate. “I don’t know how.”

Wait, what?

I sat up to ask my next question. “Have you ever had an orgasm?”

Uncertainty lined her voice. “I-I think so.”

Biting the inside of my cheek to stop myself from groaning, I told her, “If you’re not certain, trust me on this: you haven’t.”

“Oh. Then, no, I guess not.”

No hesitation. “Do you want me to talk you through it?”

“Quinn, I don’t thin– I…no, thank you.”

“Don’t be embarrassed with me. You do remember how we met, right? We’re going to meet on Sunday, Maya.” I paused to let this digest. “We’re going to meet and have sex. I’d consider this a beginning to our lesson.” I sensed her reluctance, so I added sly-like, “Or if you prefer to do it face-to-face…”

Maya huffed. “Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t. I wouldn’t know where to start.”

“I’m here, and I don’t think there’s a man out there who knows the female anatomy as well as I do. I’ll talk you through it step-by-step. But if you do this, you have to promise me something.”

“What?” she asked softly.

“You can’t fake it.” I went on, “Sex is about communication, Maya. If something isn’t working for you, don’t be afraid to say it. Don’t feel like you have to lie to make the other person feel better. It has to work for you.” I waited for a reply, but didn’t get one. “We don’t have to do this. I’ll leave it up to you. Don’t do it because I asked you to. I only want you to do this if you’re certain.”

“Okay,” she whispered.

I stilled. “Okay, yes? Or…”

Amusement lined her voice. “Okay, yes. What do I do first?”

I hadn’t been expecting her to agree. I’d fully been prepared for refusal. I was not prepared for acceptance. I was only playing with her. I cleared my throat then thought about it. “I think you should lie down, and if you’re wearing panties, take them off.”

A few seconds of rustling, then, “Done. Now what?”

“Are your nipples sensitive?”

She paused. “How do I know if they are?”

I slid down my bed to lie down, pulling the elastic of my boxers down to free myself. I rested the waistband under my balls then wrapped my hand around my thick cock, running it up and down lightly. My voice had turned throaty. “Just touch yourself, babe. Slowly run your hand up your stomach and ribs then rest it on you breast.”

Her voice quiet, she responded, “Okay.”

“Now, softly run your fingers over your nipple. Then lightly take it between your fingers and gently pluck at it.” Her gasp made my stomach tense and my cock jerk. “Feel good?”

“Yeah.” She was distracted.

A small smile graced my lips. “Do it again.” She huffed out an unsteady breath, and I asked, “Did you feel it? Did you feel it between your legs, like an electric shock? A zing?”

She breathed out, “Yes.”

“Take off your shirt, Maya. It’ll help give you access to your breasts.”

No hesitancy. “Okay.”

More rustling, then silence. I stroked myself, rubbing my thumb over the bead of dew, spreading it over the head of my cock. “Good. Now spread your legs. Spread them a little and run you hand over your pussy.”

Her breathing into the phone was my only indication that this was happening.

“Three fingers, Maya. Use your three middle fingers, not your thumb or pinky. Rub with those three.” I allowed a few seconds before I ordered, “Spread those juices. Spread them higher up, up to your clit.”

She panted, “Oh my.”

I smirked. “Feels good, doesn’t it?” She grunted. “Is your clit hard? When you’re turned on, it’ll swell and become taut. It’ll be really sensitive, so touch it gently at first.”

Her voice took on a compliant tone, which pleased me, really damn much. “Okay, Quinn.”

“Remember those three fingers? Use all three, but only the middle one to apply pressure. Just glide over it.” I waited a moment then continued, “When you feel you can stand it, rub harder, little by little though. Feel the build-up. Feel the fireworks start.”

“My heart’s racing fast. Is that normal?”

I smiled at her uncertainty. “Oh yeah. That means you’re doing it right. How are you feeling?”

A muted groan sounded. “Like something should be happening. But it’s not happening, Quinn. I think I’m doing something wrong.”

Sweet Maya. I fought a laugh. “No, babe. You’re not doing anything wrong. That’s exactly how you should feel. Like you want more, need more. Just keep doing what I told you to. How are you touching yourself? Describe it to me and I’ll help tweak your technique.”

She whispered, “Um…just up and down.”

“Try doing it in small circles directly over your sweet spot. See how that feels.”

Immediately, a strangled moan rang through and it was loud. “Oh, God!”

Gotcha. “That’s it. That’s what works for you, Maya. Keep doing that until you feel like you’re about to—”

Her moan turned into a brazen and bold cry, “Oh! Oh! Ohhhh!”

My brow creased. “Maya?”

She panted down the line. “Holy shit. Holy fucking shit. Oh, God. Oh, shit. Jesus Christ!” She sounded excited and weak all at one time. “That didn’t take long. Is it meant to come so fast? Was that it?”

I grinned. “I don’t know. You tell me. How did it feel?”

“My body felt on fire. Oh, man! Like someone put explosives down there and just…boom! Only the explosion didn’t stop. Holy shit.” She paused. “It still hasn’t stopped. And I feel it everywhere. Is it meant to go on that long?”

Satisfaction rolled through me in waves. I had done this. Well, I’d helped do this. This was her first, and I owned that. She could never take that away from me. I was proud of her.

“Congratulations, Maya. Sounds like you just had your first orgasm.” As I said this, I chuckled.

“Oh my.” She laughed softly. “Well, that was a big step up on my other disastrous experiences. Wow,” she said in awe. “Now I know.” She took in a deep breath, adding on an exhale, “Now I know why people do this. Orgasms.”

“Now that it’s run its course, how do you feel?”

She yawned. “Too tired to be embarrassed.”

I tipped my head back and laughed. It warmed my heart when she chuckled along with me. “Oh, Maya. It was a pleasure for you, but mostly for me.”

She uttered a soft, “Quinn?”

“Yeah?”

She slurred sleepily, “Thanks.”

“Anytime.” I’d said that a lot in this business, but this time, I meant it. “I probably should go. Goodnight, babe. Sweet dreams.”

Her response warmed me. “’Night, honey.”

Later that night, I fucked the sense out of my client, Monica. She moaned, screamed, and came over and over as I plowed her.

And I felt nothing.

Not a damn thing.