“Um …” I search for words to respond and pray when I actually speak that they don’t sound breathless and needy. And of course the sane part of my brain tells me I should be offended by both his assumption that I’ll be sleeping with him as well as his comments telling me that he’s even thinking about me that way.
I should be.
But I’m not.
I manage to pull together my thoughts while listening to the draw of his breath on the other end of the connection. I’m supposed to be resisting him, telling him to take a hike so I can forget him. Instead I taunt him.
“You’re eating ice cream again?” I use humor as my fallback, unwilling to let him know his words have unraveled my insides and at the same time coiled them so tight my body is vibrating with need.
“I’d rather be eating you out instead….” His line should sound corny, should make me roll my eyes, but has quite the opposite effect. I left the door right open for him to walk through. I shouldn’t have expected any less.
I fight the wanton smirk that wants to spread on my lips and emit a strained laugh instead. “This conversation is so not happening right now.”
“You sound strained. Do you need a little release, Quinlan? Do you need to be filled, stretched till it burns oh-so-good as I fuck you nice and slow and then pick up the pace and drive into you fast and hard?” His voice is as seductive as silk, wrapping around me, and sliding over my body. Words that I should be offended by turn me on—their explicitness only serves to intensify the desire he’s stirring within me. “Do you like to be tied up? Dominated? I told you you’re like unwrapping a present. I’m curious what other surprises I can discover.” He groans out a murmur of appreciation. “I can’t wait to see which of these flavors you opt for because believe me, I’ve tasted all thirty-one of them but can’t seem to get yours out of my head and off my lips.”
I’m pretty sure my mouth is lax, I know my nipples are hard, and I have to consciously remind myself to draw in air because I’m at a complete loss for words. Did he really just say all of that to me? I’m seriously turned on, want to give him the answers to all of the questions he just asked but I know how easily this man can shift gears and change his mind.
“Ah, you’re pulling out the dirty talk…. Must be feeling a little desperate, huh?” Irony at its finest considering I’m the one who feels desperate right now. “Look, I know you’re a rock star, so you think you can snap your fingers, and all women within a set radius will hop in the sack—”
“Tsk, tsk, tsk … I don’t think; I know.” He waits for me to fall silent before he speaks again. “You talk a hard game sweetness but you know all of your soft places want my hard places.”
“Now you’re just proving to be the arrogant ass I knew you were.” And fuck if it’s not turning me on something fierce right now. How am I going to play this game and not get burned by him? Better yet why does the burn not seem so daunting as long as my fire gets lit properly?
I’m pathetic.
“Hm. I know desire when I see it and damn it looks good on you, Q.”
“You can’t see me right now so how do you know what I look like?”
“Cute. But you forget, I’ve seen it on you before, felt it on your lips, and you can’t argue with desire. Care to prove me wrong?”
“Good-bye, Hawkin.” Hanging up is the best move right now seeing as I’m never one to back down from a dare, and yet at the same time I need to continually remind myself he’s trouble with a capital T.
“Hey, Quin?” I haven’t lowered the phone from my ear yet despite my brain telling my hand to do just that so I hear his comment.
“What?”
“You know you’re going to cave in the end. Wouldn’t you rather enjoy that time begging me to stop because it feels so good rather than fighting a losing battle?”
“You’re a cocky son of a bitch, aren’t you?”
“A man’s allowed to be confident when talking about what he does best.”
“What you do best? I thought what you did best was sing.”
His laugh lights the phone connection on fire. “I think you should be the judge of that. You’ve heard me sing, now it’s time you experience my skills in the bedroom.”
“Good night.” I hang up the phone while his seductive laugh rolls through the line. The problem is he most definitely got his point across, and now that’s all I can think about. The heat of his touch, the taste of his kiss, the firm press of his body against mine are all things I can recall from experience and damn if they don’t own my thoughts. I blow out an exasperated breath, toss my phone on the couch beside me, and look up to meet Layla’s eyes and knowing smirk.
“That sure was one long conversation for someone you’re not interested in,” she muses.
“Yep. I’m not interested at all.”
“Uh-huh. Make sure you remember that statement while you’re screaming his name at some point in the near future.”
Shit. I’m screwed.
Chapter 12
QUINLAN
On Saturday night I glance over at Luke as we drive, the lights of the city flashing across his face. I’ve had a good time so far—cocktails, dinner, and now off to some event he’s kept a secret but that he’s super excited about. I get the feeling that he thinks wherever our next destination is, it will be the coup de grâce in impressing me so that I fall madly in love with him.