Man Candy (22 page)

We were shown to a beautifully set

table for two along the perimeter of the

room, and Quinn waited for the host to

seat me before lowering himself into his

chair. (Later, when I excused myself to

use the bathroom, he stood when I got up

and when I returned as well. I’m the

least romantic person I know, but I do

find that kind of old-fashioned courtesy

attractive—especially when I know the

dirty mind behind the courtly manners. It

was like another little game, a secret we

shared.)

We dined on calamari, beef

Wellington, and grilled vegetables,

polishing off a bottle of Barolo in

between delectable bites. When the

dessert plates had been cleared—we’d

devoured something called Chocolate

Cartier, which included strawberries

covered in chocolate, my favorite way to

eat fruit—Quinn reached into his suit

jacket and pulled out a small white box.

Since it was flat and square, I felt no

rising panic that I’d somehow led him to

believe a ring was a good idea. Instead,

I smiled at him.

“What’s this?”

“A present.” He set it on the table.

“This meal was my present. And I

loved every minute of it.”

He nudged the box toward me.

“Open it.”

Giving him a suspicious look, I slid

the box closer and took off the top. “Oh

my God!” I gasped, putting my hands to

my cheeks, which felt hot beneath my

fingers. “Quinn, it’s beautiful. I love it.”

It was a silver circle pendant, about

one inch in diameter, attached in two

spots to a delicate silver chain so it

would lie flat on my collarbone.

“I’m glad. It’s nothing fancy, but I

saw it this week and thought of you. I

noticed you don’t wear a lot of jewelry.”

“I don’t at all. This is perfect—a

little sparkle, a little elegance. I love it,

really.” My throat felt tight, and I

swallowed hard.

“It came with that little card that tells

about the symbolism of it.”

I picked up the card the necklace

was resting on and read aloud. “Karma.

What goes around comes around… Wear

your necklace as a reminder to keep the

circle positive, peaceful, and loving.” I

met his eyes.

“I thought it was a nice message.

Hope you don’t think it’s too sappy.”

“Not at all. I think it’s a beautiful

message. Should I put it on?”

He looked pleased. “If you want to.”

Carefully undoing the clasp, I

lowered my head, placed the necklace

around my neck and fastened it. When I

looked up, he was taking a picture.

I laughed. “Really? Right now,

during this nice, private moment?”

“Not sorry. You look happy and

beautiful.”

“I feel happy and beautiful,” I said

honestly, touching the circle with my

fingertips. My entire body hummed with

warmth. It almost felt like being a little

drunk, but I knew it wasn’t the wine.

“And I’ll wear this often, Quinn.”

“Good. It looks perfect on you.” His

eyes dropped to his coffee cup as he

toyed with the handle. “And I think it’s

true, the idea that you get back what you

put out there. Since my mom died, I’ve

thought a lot about what I’m, you know,

putting out there. And what I want back.”

“Yeah?” I rested my chin on my

hands, elbows on the table.

“She put such pure, selfless love out

there. Worked so hard and always took

pride in what she did, whether it was

cleaning someone’s house, cooking at the

restaurant, or raising a son on her own.”

“She was very proud of you. Nothing

made her happier than talking about

you.” I sighed, thinking of my own

mother. “I have no idea what makes my

mother happy beyond her work. What

she wants to put out there or get back. I

don’t think it’s love.”

Quinn looked up at me. “No?”

“Actually, I don’t know. That’s

terrible, isn’t it? That I don’t know my

mother well enough to know what makes

her happy?”

“Some people are hard to know.”

“Yeah, but she’s my
mother
.” I sat

back, dropping my hands in my lap.

“And other than her job, I have no clue

what makes her excited to get up in the

morning. What’s she passionate about?”

“Maybe it’s the research she does.

That helps a lot of people.”

“I guess. That’s just so
in her head
,

you know? It doesn’t connect her to

anyone. She seems so…closed off

sometimes. Just sharing a roof with my

father and living in her own little world

by herself. They don’t even share a

bedroom.”

Quinn looked at me for a moment.

“Are you worried that she’s
un
happy?”

“Maybe.” I thought for a second,

words on the tip of my tongue. “Or

maybe I’m worried about turning out like

her.”

“In what way?”

“I don’t know. Forget I said

anything.” Suddenly self-conscious, I

fussed with the knot of hair at my neck.

“No, come on.” Quinn leaned

forward on his elbows. “Talk to me.”

God, he was so handsome. And he

was
good
to me—I wasn’t an easy

person to get close to, and he tolerated

all my quirks, made me feel beautiful

and sexy, respected my boundaries even

after a month had gone by. He deserved

more of me, and he was asking for it.

I bit my lip. “Do you think I’m too

closed off? Too unaffectionate? That I

might end up alone and unhappy because

I won’t let anybody in?”

He didn’t answer right away. “I

think,” he said slowly, “you’re a very

loyal person who shows love in her own

way, on her own terms.”

“But what about the way I don’t like

all the mushy romantic stuff or talking

about feelings or being touched all the

time? Am I cold-blooded? Just weird?

Am I too in my head? Why don’t I

believe in love like other people do?

Why do I feel like it’s me who knows the

truth and everyone else is deluded, yet

everyone else is destined to be much

happier than I’ll ever be?” By the time I

stopped talking, I was a little tearful, and

Quinn reached for my hand. I let him

have it.

“First, I
know
you’re warm-blooded.

In fact, I’d venture to say your blood

runs downright scalding sometimes. And

I love that about you—you might keep

your cool all day long, but then it comes

out of nowhere, this intense heat.” He

squeezed my hand. “I can’t get enough of

it, and I’m not saying that to make you

feel bad—I mean it as a compliment.

When something is in short supply,

there’s always high demand.”

I couldn’t resist. “Is that a short

joke?”

“No. It isn’t.” He squeezed my hand

again. “And you’re not weird. Plenty of

people don’t like sappy stuff or want to

be in constant physical contact.

Everyone has a different comfort level

with physical affection. Yours and mine

might be different, but that doesn’t mean

yours is wrong. Do I think you’re too in

your head sometimes? Yes. Do I think

that means you’ll wind up alone and

unhappy? No.”

“Thanks. I think.”

He smiled. “As for love, I don’t

know why you don’t believe. Maybe you

won’t let yourself.”

“What?” My skin prickled with

gooseflesh.

“Maybe you’re so good at being in

your head that your rational mind has

entirely overruled your emotions, and

that suits you just fine.”

His words jogged my memory.

“Margot said something like that to me

about a month ago, when I was

complaining about how you wanted to

date me.”

He looked amused. “Oh?”

“Yeah, she said I don’t let myself

enjoy sex with men I date because I

don’t want to have a reason to give them

a real chance. And that I use great sex as

a reason to avoid dating them at all.”

“Like you tried to do with me,” he

said, his eyebrows rising. “Very astute.

She knows you.”

I frowned. “She does. But what does

all this mean? Have I just been lying to

myself all this time? Sabotaging my own

chance to be happy with someone?”

“Hey.” He took my fingers and

wiggled them. “No frowning. The point

of the gift was not to give you an

existential crisis. It was to give you a

pretty little thing to remind you that what

you give is what you get, and what I

want to give you right now is an

orgasm.”

Yes.
That was enough to turn my

worry into a different kind of tension—

one I knew how to deal with, one that

could be easily and joyously relieved,

one that made me ache to get my hands

on him. “Chances are good you’ll
get

one, too.”

“Just one?”

I lifted my shoulders playfully.

“We’ll see what happens.”

We paid the bill and picked up our

coats, and after he slipped mine onto my

shoulders, he spoke low in my ear.

“Your ass in that red skirt has me so hard

right now.”

Giggling, I pulled on my gloves and

spoke softly over my shoulder.

“Patience, Mr. Wolf. Give a girl a little

time to frolic in the woods before you

grab her ass.” I turned to face him and

rose on tiptoe to whisper in his ear.

“Want to come home and frolic with

me?”

He grabbed my wrist and yanked me

toward the door without another word.

TWENTY

JAIME

HE LOOMED over me in the dark as I

shivered on the kitchen floor.

“Nowhere to run, little girl,” he said,

his tone dark but delighted. “I’ve chased

you all through the woods. I’ve chased

you out of your pretty clothes. I’ve

chased you right onto your knees.” He

was naked and hard, and now he took his

dick in his hand, stroking it while I

watched, open-mouthed and wide-eyed.

“Now what am I going to do with you?”

On my hands and knees, I sat back on

my heels. “What do you want to do with

me?”

“Eat you, of course. Tear you apart.”

He worked his hand slowly up and down

his cock, and I felt my nipples tingling.

“But I’m a patient wolf, and I’m not

completely without a sense of decorum.

Any last requests?”

I licked my lips. “Yes. One.”

“Which is?”

“I want to watch you.”

“Watch me?” Surprise colored his

words, but I thought it might be pretend,

since he kept his fist tight around his

shaft and jerked hard a couple times.

“What do you mean, little girl?”

Fuck
, he was hot. My eyes had

adjusted to the dark enough to appreciate

the gorgeous lines of his body in the

dark, the swell of the muscles, the

motion of his arm. I’d given him a hand

job before, but I’d never watched him

(or any other guy) do it to himself, and

suddenly it seemed like the hottest thing

ever. I’d felt his orgasm inside me, heard

the gasp and groan of it, tasted it on my

tongue—now I wanted to
see
it. “I want

to watch you do that.”

His hand slowed again. “You know I

like you to be specific. Tell me exactly

what you want or you won’t get it.”

Quinn never let me get away with

skirting around my dirtiest desires.
If

you think it, you should say it,
he said.

Believe me, I want to hear it.

“I want to see your hands on your

body. I want to watch you lose control. I

want to watch you make yourself come

while you look at me.”

His chest hitched with rapid breaths.

“You’re such a naughty little girl.”

He didn’t know the half of it—there

were all kinds of things running through

my mind right now.

“I am,” I said, getting to my knees,

running my hands up my thighs.

“Because I’ve thought about it before.”

“Yeah?” His eyes were glued to my

hands, which roamed over my breasts,

down my stomach, between my legs. He

moved his thumb over the shiny tip of his

cock, and my clit throbbed.

“Yes. When you first moved in, I’d

imagine you in bed below me getting

yourself off while I did the same in my

bed.” I slipped one fingertip inside

myself and rubbed the wetness over my

clit.

“I probably was. Fuck.” His hand

moved faster over his cock, which was

thick with veins and darker than the skin

on his thighs.

“Did you think about me?”

“Yes,” he rasped. “Fuck yes, I did.”

His ab muscles flexed as he jerked his

fist up and down in quick, tight motions.

“Are you wet?”

“Drenched.” Filled to bursting with

the desire to please him, to do things

with him I’d never done with anyone

else, I pushed my finger in deeper. “Want

to feel?”