Man Candy (9 page)

Um, because you need to get laid.

Just agree to whatever, you can worry

about the details later.

“I’d love that.” He slid deeper. “And

how about being my date for Alex’s

wedding?”

Oh God, really? The wedding?

“Yes!” I cried out as finally gave me

what I wanted, pushing so far I felt that

sharp twinge deep within, the harbinger

of a seriously fucking good orgasm.

Deliriously happy, I held him to me,

delighted with the ragged breaths that

escaped him as he moved, ecstatic that

the fit was such perfection, and goddamn

jubilant over the fact that not only did

Quinn have a huge, hard cock but he

knew what to do with it. I’d been with

one or two guys in the past who had a

nice big drill but no clue how to use it

once it was plugged in.

Quinn was fucking magnificent.

Maybe it was because he worked out

so much and had such a strong core, but

he moved in ways I’d never

experienced. His body undulated over

mine in rippling waves, and he rocked

into me with a tight, steady rhythm that

had me spiraling toward my climax in

record time, even for me. I moved

beneath him, matching his strokes, our

bodies becoming slick with sweat. My

hands were everywhere—his back, his

shoulders, his ass, his abs. I gasped and

clawed and panted, racing toward the

finish, and the more frantically I moved,

the harder he fucked me.

“Yes,” I rasped in his ear. “I love it

hard like that. You’re so
fucking
good,

Quinn. Your cock feels
so fucking

good
.”

“Christ,” he growled. “You’re gonna

make me come right now if you keep

talking like that.”

“Now!” I demanded, the tension in

me coiled too tight to last any longer.

“Fuck yes, do it!”

He cursed and drove into me even

deeper, and everything inside me burst

wide open. I held him tight to me as his

body went plank stiff, color and light

exploding behind my closed eyes as my

pussy pulsed around his throbbing cock.

And didn’t stop, didn’t stop, didn’t

stop.

Every time I thought it was fading,

I’d feel him twitch inside me once more,

and my body would shudder with

aftershocks.

“Jesus,” he finally said.

My face was buried under his chest,

my hands stuck to his ass. I peeled them

off. “I think my handprints might be

permanently seared on your butt.”

“Well then, we’d be even.”

I giggled.

“What’s funny?”

“You. Spanking me like that.”

“I can’t be the first guy to do it.

You’re terribly naughty.”

“You are the first, actually.”

He propped himself up on his hands

and looked down at me. How the fuck

was his hair still perfect? “Really?”

“Really.” My heartbeat, which had

been in the process of slowing down,

suddenly began to gallop again when I

looked up at his face.

To be honest, I wasn’t entirely

comfortable with it.

“Let me up. I can’t breathe,” I said,

wriggling beneath him.

“Sorry.” He pulled out carefully and

stood up. “I’ll be right back.”

While he was in the bathroom, I

rolled off the bed, scooped up my

clothes from the floor, and headed to the

other bathroom. After cleaning up a

little, I got dressed and congratulated

myself on a job well done. The snooping

mission had been a bit of a debacle, but

since the big picture goal had always

been to get him in bed, this felt like a

victory to me.

A sweet, sticky victory.

Smiling, I went back into the

bedroom, where Quinn was pulling his

shirt over his head. At the sight of his

bare stomach and chest, my stomach did

this little fliparoo thing that annoyed me.

I need to get the hell out of here.

Except wait…hadn’t I promised him

some sort of date or something? He

hadn’t meant tonight, had he? Crap. I

didn’t want to go anywhere with him

tonight. Besides, the weather was awful.

“Look at all that snow,” I said

purposefully. Quinn had opened the

blinds and although it was five o’clock

and getting dark, I could see it coming

down like mad. I walked over to the

window and looked out over white-

blanketed rooftops. “It’s like a

blizzard!”

“It is.” Quinn came up behind me

and nudged me in the back. “You better

stay here tonight. The roads will be

bad.”

I smirked at him over my shoulder. “I

live upstairs, remember?”

“Oh yeah.”

I faced him. “Plus I don’t do

sleepovers. It’s a rule.”

His eyebrows went up. “There are

rules?”

“Yes. But I agree the roads will be

bad. Was your class canceled tonight or

something?”

He grinned. “You know my

schedule?”

“No.” My cheeks started to tingle,

which meant they were getting red. “Not

your
whole
schedule.” I moved around

him, heading for the door. “I’m just very

observant, and I’ve noticed when you

come and go. I assumed it was a class.”

He followed me out of his room.

“Aha. Well, anyway, yes, it was

canceled, so I’m in for the night. What

about you? Did you take the day off?”

“Yes.”

“And did you have any plans besides

observing me in my natural habitat from

your hidey hole in my closet?”

We’d reached the living room, and I

whirled around to face him, hands on my

hips. “For the last time, I wasn’t

spying!”

“OK, OK.” He held up his hands in

surrender. “Relax. I forgot—you were

just curious.”

“Exactly.”

“So has your curiosity been

satisfied, or would you like to know if

I’m a good cook? I was thinking of

making a pizza. Want to stay for dinner?”

I’d been planning on going up to my

apartment—I wasn’t one to linger after

sex, unless a repeat performance was on

the immediate horizon—but pizza

sounded pretty good. Quickly I weighed

my love for good pizza against my

dislike for post-sex chatter. At that

moment, my stomach growled, making

the decision slightly easier. “OK. I’ll

stay for pizza.”
For pizza, not for you,

get it?

He smiled. “Good. We can talk about

our dates.”

“Dates? As in plural? I thought it

was just one.”

“Well, there’s the one first date. And

then you said I could meet your friends,

and then there’s the wedding. So

that’s…” He counted on his fingers.

“That’s like three dates.”

My eyelid twitched. “Do you have

any wine?”

“No.”

I moved for the door. “I’ll be right

back.”

NINE

QUINN

WHILE JAIME RAN upstairs for a

bottle of wine, I opened my laptop, put

on some music, and started taking out the

ingredients to make pizza. When I was

working a lot, I never ate things like

pizza¸ but it was something I really

enjoyed making and eating now that I

didn’t have to be so strict about my diet.

I even had a pizza peel and stone so I

could do it right, and I’d grabbed my

kitchen boxes out of storage last week so

I could cook for myself again. Hotel

living was horrible that way.

I pulled out yeast, flour, sugar, sea

salt, and olive oil, setting them on the

counter. Next, I found a mixing bowl and

liquid measuring cup in a cupboard and

ran the tap to warm up the water.

I couldn’t stop smiling.

When was the last time I’d felt this

happy? Before my mom died? I couldn’t

even remember. In general, I was an

upbeat person who managed to find

silver linings and didn’t tend to fret over

things I couldn’t change, but it had been

a while since I’d felt this good. Was it

because I hadn’t had sex in months and

had broken a rare dry spell? Or was it

her?

I thought about it as I whisked

together the dry ingredients, then added

the water and olive oil. I’d figured sex

would be good with her—not only was

she smoking hot and temperamental, but

we’d wanted it for so long—what I

hadn’t counted on was how much fun it

would be. How much I’d enjoy the

challenge of her. How much I was

hoping she’d want to do it again later

tonight (and for fuck’s sake, let me take

some time with it…there were all sorts

of ways I wanted to please her), and then

again in the morning before she left for

work.

Of course, that was before I knew

about her No Sleepover rule. I’d have to

work on that, but not tonight. She’d only

turn me down, and I’d learned it was

better to let her come looking for things.

Shaking my head, I laughed out loud

thinking about the way I’d discovered

her in the closet. It was so ridiculous.

No complaints about where it went after

that, though.

Jaime appeared in the kitchen

doorway a few minutes later, a bottle of

wine in her hands and an amused

expression on her face. “From the

sounds coming through the floor up

there, I thought maybe the ghost of Prince

was down here cooking me dinner.”

“Alas. It’s only me.” I wiped my

hands, crossed myself, and glanced

skyward before turning the volume

down. “Rest in peace, brother.”

She opened a drawer and looked in.

“Oh good, you do have a corkscrew,”

she said, pulling it out. “I couldn’t

remember if there was one here.”

“How come so much stuff was left

when the former tenant moved out?” I

grabbed the biggest bowl I had and

greased it with olive oil.

“She found a job in London, where

her boyfriend was, and moved in with

him, poor girl. She didn’t want to take

all this stuff since she knew she

wouldn’t need it, so we said it was OK

to leave things.” She uncorked the bottle

and poured red wine into two glasses.

“Once she was gone, I came in and

cleaned and organized everything. I’m

glad it worked out for you.”

“Me too.” I put the dough in the bowl

and covered it with a towel. “I only had

to take a few boxes from storage. God, I

missed having a kitchen.”

“So you’re a good cook, huh?” she

asked, handing me a glass.

I shrugged. “I’m OK. My mom taught

me a few things growing up, and while

she lived with me in L.A. we’d cook

together when she felt up to it. Not that

she ate much.”

“Your mom was a great cook.”

“She was.” I took a drink. “Want to

go sit down? We need to let the dough

rise for a while.”

“OK.” She followed me into the

living room, where we settled next to

each other on the couch. The curtains

were open, and we both stared out at the

snow for a moment.

“My mom actually liked winter,” I

said. “It’s one of the reasons she never

wanted to move away from here.”

“You must miss her.”

“Every day,” I said. “I feel like I

didn’t get enough time with her, you

know? It’s like, when you’re young, you

can’t wait to get away from home, and

it’s only later that you appreciate what

your mom—or dad, or whoever raised

you—did for you. Only later that you

realize you should have listened closer,

that you weren’t done learning from

them, that you still have questions about

life.”

She nodded, looking over at me.

“What would you ask her now if you

could?”

“More about her life—her childhood

growing up in Hamtramck, what it was

like being the daughter of immigrants,

why she waited so long to get married

and start a family. She was over forty

when she had me, which I didn’t ever

think about before, probably because

anything over twenty-five seemed

fucking ancient anyway, but now I

wonder about it. And when my father left

her alone with a baby, what was that like

for her?” I took another drink before

going on. I’d never said these things out

loud before, but it felt good, actually.

“Was she angry? Hurt? Did she miss

him? She never talked about him, and I

had zero memories of him, of course, so

it wasn’t as if I missed him and asked

questions. But what was he like? What

made her fall in love with him?”

“I bet he was handsome.” She said it

nicely, possibly the only reference she’d

ever made to my looks without making

fun. “He must have been.”

“Maybe. Guess we’ll never know,

since there are no pictures.”

“Really? Are you sure about that?”

I shrugged. “None that I ever saw. I

haven’t gone through every single box in

the attic, so I guess it’s possible, but