Man Candy (11 page)

phone on the table. “But I also get a lot

of messages from people who say that

my pictures inspire them to eat healthier

or exercise more or set a fitness goal for

themselves. Those are good things.”

“Ah, so you’re doing it for them,” I

teased, poking him in the side, “not for

your own ego. It’s purely altruistic, all

the shirtless muscle pics.”

He tackled me, throwing me onto my

back and covering my body with his.

“You’re awful, you know that? Quit

making fun of me, or I will excessively

cuddle you to death.”

“No, no, anything but that,” I said,

giggling. But I slipped my hands inside

his shirt, rubbed them up and down the

smooth, warm skin on his back.

He looked down at me with a glint in

his eye. “Or maybe I’ll tease you about

the red bikini night, Miss I Don’t Talk

About Feelings.”

I gasped. “You wouldn’t.”

“Oh no?”

Something clicked, and I saw it as an

opportunity to derail. “Hey…you

remember what I was wearing?”

“Of course I do.” He kissed me, but

it wasn’t like the first time, in his room.

This one was softer and sweeter, and

allowed me to better appreciate the firm

fullness of his lips, the taste of the wine

on his tongue. He picked up his head.

“Some things are unforgettable.”

Feeling validated, I smiled bigger

than I meant to. My heart beat faster than

it was supposed to. My insides

performed acrobatic feats they hadn’t

attempted in years.

A warning bell sounded in my head.

I ignored all of that and focused on

the external things—the hardness of his

cock between my legs, the friction

making my clit tingle and ache, the solid

weight of his body, his mouth sealed

over mine, his tongue sliding inside—the

safe things.

His kiss had me riled up fast, and I

tugged at his jeans. “Wait,” he said. “I’ll

be right back.”

A minute later, he came back with

his pants undone, condom already on,

and peeled my pants and underwear off

in one smooth motion.
Fuck yes.
I love a man who doesn’t belabor the point.

When there’s a matter to be settled, let’s

settle it.

He sat back on the couch and I

quickly straddled him, grabbing his shirt

at the hem and lifting it over his head.

Then I reached down and took his cock

in my hand, rubbing the tip on my clit.

“You really are all business, aren’t

you?” His hands moved up my thighs and

over my ass.

“Is that a complaint?”

“Nope.” He groaned, his eyes

closing, head tipping back, as I lowered

myself onto his dick, inch by inch, until I

was sitting on his legs. “Just an

observation.”

“Sometimes I mix business with

pleasure,” I said, taking a moment to

appreciate how full with him I was, how

deep he reached, how hard and thick he

felt inside me. I loved being on top—

loved the control and power it gave me,

loved watching a guy fall apart beneath

me. And Quinn was so beautiful, this

view was like none I’d ever seen before.

Fucking stellar. His bone structure was

ridiculous.

Also his boner structure.

I circled my hips, smiling lazily at

the way he dug his fingers into my skin. I

took his head in my hands, curling my

fingers into his hair, pinning those blue

eyes with a look that said
I’m. Fucking.

You. Get it?

His lips looked so delicious I

couldn’t resist rubbing mine against

them, less a kiss and more a tease. Then

I took his bottom lip between my teeth,

grinding against him a little faster. Fuck,

I could get drunk on this feeling. It was a

bigger kick and a higher high than from

any other drug—I could feel my body

making the climb, feel his taking me

there.

His hands flexed on my ass, and he

held me tightly against him as he started

to thrust up inside me. I gasped,

dropping my head back, each powerful

jab taking me closer and closer to

release. My lower body hummed and

tightened, and I tilted my hips back to get

the perfect angle—the base of his cock

rubbing my clit and the tip of it hitting

the magic spot. He moaned and cursed

under ragged breaths, matching my

rhythm perfectly.

At the precipice, I looked down at

him, and the sight of his gorgeous face

seized by the agony of pleasure sent me

over the edge. I clawed his shoulders,

crying out as I came long and hard.

My orgasm subsided just in time to

feel the powerful, surging pulse of his,

and even though I generally try
not
to

look at a guy’s O face since most are

scary and beastlike, I’m happy to report

that Quinn’s O face is just as fucking hot

as the rest of him. So hot that it rekindled

the fire inside me, and I felt a second

orgasm building.

“Oh God—Quinn.” I chased it,

riding it out on his throbbing cock as he

held still, paralyzed by the intensity of

his own climax.

When we were finally zapped of

energy, I tried to get off him.

“Just a second.” His hands squeezed

the tops of my thighs. “Don’t move yet.”

I squirmed a little. “But I—”

“I’m not going to hug you or kiss you

or talk about my feelings. I just want to

enjoy my dick in you for ten more

seconds, OK?” He pinched my ass.

“Jeez.”

“OK. I’ll give you ten more seconds.

But only because I came twice, and it’s

been a very long time since that’s

happened.”

He looked happy. “Oh yeah? I like

that. But you’re probably going to tell

me you did all the work.”

“Not at all. I give credit where

credit is due, and your dick deserves at

least
half the credit for those two

orgasms.”

“Half?”

I narrowed my eyes. “Maybe three

quarters. Now can I get off?”

Big sigh. “Yes.”

We cleaned up in separate bathrooms

again, and I fought the sudden urge to

come up with an excuse to leave. It was

like an automatic trigger with me after an

orgasm, some kind of fight-or-flight

response—I always wanted to be alone.

Cut it out. Quinn gets you and gets

what this is, or at least he appears to.

If at any point tonight, you feel he’s

losing sight of the big picture, you can

make an excuse and leave.

But he didn’t, so I stayed.

I drank wine and watched Quinn

make pizza, helped make a salad (even

though he teased me by quizzing me on

vegetables as if I didn’t recognize them),

and enjoyed the feeling of being warm

and cozy inside his flat while the

blizzard outside buried us in snow, the

temperature dropping below zero.

We ate at the table—I impressed

Quinn by gobbling two bowls of salad

and scarfing three big slices of pizza—

and talked about lots of different things,

including places we’d been in the world

and places we still wanted to visit.

Quinn preferred Florence and I liked

Rome; he liked cabins in the woods and

I preferred a resort on the beach; but we

both agreed Paris was a magical place

and Marrakech was on our list of dream

vacations.

“I wish my mom had gotten to travel

more,” Quinn said, leaning back in his

chair. “There are so many places I’d

have loved to take her just for the food.”

“Did she ever go back to Poland?”

He shook his head. “Nope. I don’t

think she ever wanted to. Her parents

didn’t have great memories of it. But I’d

like to go someday.”

“Can you make any of the Polish

food she used to make? Like those

meatballs? Or the pierogies and

sausage?”

He smiled. “I haven’t yet, but you

just let me know when you’re in the

mood for sausage and I will

accommodate you.”

“Very funny.” After stacking our

bowls and plates, I got up from the table,

carried the dishes over to the sink, and

began rinsing them.

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll do

them.” Quinn came in behind me with the

leftover salad.

“I don’t mind helping you. But after

that, I should get going. I have to get up

early for work, and the drive is going to

be a bitch tomorrow with all this snow.”

“Do you have to go to work? The

roads will still be pretty bad.” He

covered the salad serving bowl with

plastic wrap and stuck it in the fridge,

while I loaded the plates and bowls into

the dishwasher.

“Yeah, I do. I took today off to catch

up on some things and got nothing done.”

He poked me in the butt. “The allure

of my closet was too strong.”

“Oh, shut up.” But I giggled as I

rinsed our forks. “I still can’t believe

you caught me in there.”

Shaking his head, he carried the

leftover pizza into the kitchen and set it

on the counter. “I can’t either. It’s a good

story, anyway.”

I gasped, whirling to face him with

the silverware in my hand. “You can’t

tell anyone that story!”

“Why not? It’s hilarious. And it has a

great ending.”

“What?” I shrieked. “No!”

“Well, then, I guess you’ll just be

that much more motivated to honor your

agreement about our dates.”

“That’s blackmail,” I sniffed. “You

wouldn’t.”

He shrugged and smiled. “Guess

we’ll see.”

I dumped the silverware into the

dishwasher. “God, you’re a smug

bastard.”

“And you’re a dirty little snoop.

Don’t forget your wine glass in my

bedroom.”

I tossed my braid and went back to

his room to get it, glancing over at the

closet and bathroom with a smile. What

a crazy day. The sight of his bed made

my insides tighten, and for a second I

was tempted to suggest another round.

What the fuck? You start breaking

your own rules, he’ll think you didn’t

mean what you said. He’ll get stupid

ideas.

Grabbing the glass off the nightstand,

I went back to the kitchen doorway and

poked my head in. I didn’t want to get

within touching range in case he was

planning to bug me about staying over. I

was strong, but not steely. Not when it

came to him, at least. “Sure you don’t

want more help cleaning up?”

“I’m sure.” He stuck the leftover

pizza in the fridge. “Now get the hell out

of here. Before your face makes me want

to cuddle.”

I grinned, ducking out of reach fast.

“Night. Thanks for dinner.”

“Night.”

Upstairs, I got ready for bed and set

my alarm extra early, since even getting

my car out of the garage was going to be

a pain in the ass. I’d probably have to

shovel the driveway first. Shit, I should

have called someone earlier about doing

it. Oh well. I could shovel before getting

in the shower and call it a workout,

right? At least my car wasn’t buried out

there like Quinn’s.

For a moment, I felt bad that I hadn’t

cleaned out the second garage space for

him, a silly passive-aggressive way to

let him know I wasn’t happy with him

here. I’d do it this weekend.

Switching off the lamp, I snuggled

under my covers, curling into a ball. It

really was cold tonight. I thought about

Quinn in bed below me…bet his body

was warm and toasty under the blankets.

I felt a little tickle between my legs.

You stay in this bed, Jaime Owens.

You had three orgasms today, and that

is enough.

Sighing, I got out of bed and turned

the heat up a little. My gas bill was

probably going to spike this month, but

my rules—and my pride—would be

intact. I also took an extra blanket from

the hall closet and threw it on top of my

quilt.

Still, I shivered all night.

ELEVEN

QUINN

When I heard her door close

upstairs, I texted Alex.
Hey. Who plows

the driveway for you?

Are you making a bad sexual

joke?

I had to laugh.
No, asshole. We

have a ton of snow and Jaime has to

go to work in the morning.

I know, I’m just fucking with you.

Jaime takes care of it. She either calls

or shovels it herself.

I’d been with Jaime all night—which

I didn’t think I should mention—and

hadn’t heard her call anyone.
Is there a

shovel in the garage?

Should be.

OK cool. Thanks.

I plugged my phone into the charger

and got ready for bed, figuring if I didn’t

hear a snowplow in the morning, I’d get

up and do it for her. I didn’t have a