The Good Girl's Second Chance. Christine Rimmer
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she said. “Oh, Quinn...” She reached out and ran her palm over his belly and then over the series of tats that covered his left arm. And then she touched the one for Annabelle, the angel’s wings and the green vines, the trumpet flowers and his little girl’s name, written right where it should be written, over his heart. “I never thought...you and me. Like this...?”
“Hey. Me, neither.”
“Life can be so awful.”
“Yeah.”
“But then there are surprising, magical moments—like this one, huh?”
He nodded. “Yeah.” He turned and shoved the tangled sheets and blankets out of the way. And then he took her by the waist, lifted her and set her on the bed. “Lie down.”
She obeyed, stretching out on her side with a sigh. He went down to the mattress with her. He kissed her, tasting her mouth for the first time, finding it as sweet as the rest of her. Her tongue came out to play and for a while, they just lay there, on their sides, kissing and kissing, as if nothing else mattered in the whole damn world, nothing but his mouth and her mouth, the scrape of white teeth, the tangle of tongues.
One night they had together. He wanted to stretch every second just short of the breaking point, enjoy every touch, every sigh, every soft, tempting curve. He wanted to share her breath and the tender, urgent beat of her heart.
After he kissed her mouth, he kissed her everywhere else, too, taking forever about it, getting carried away, using his teeth as well as his tongue. He knew he left marks, marks he soothed with softer, gentler kisses. She never once objected when he used his teeth.
Far from it. She gasped and cried out her pleasure, clutching him close, telling him “Yes” and “More” and “Again, Quinn. Oh, again...”
He gave her more. More strokes, more kisses, trailing his mouth down the center of her, biting a little, trying not to be too rough, opening her, dipping his tongue in. He pushed her legs wide and settled between them for a long time.
She came twice then, as he played her with his mouth and his hands. She had his name on her lips, over and over. He loved that most of all: Chloe Winchester, calling his name as she came.
After that second time, when she was boneless and open for him, he rose to his knees between her spread thighs. Ripping the first condom off the strip, he took off the wrapper and rolled it down over his length, easing it into place nice and tight. She stared up at him, dazed and flushed and softly smiling.
“Quinn.” She reached for him. “Please...”
And he went down to her, taking most of his weight on his arms. She slipped her hand between them, closing those slim fingers around him. He was the one groaning then, the one calling her name.
She guided him in. He sank into her slowly, carefully, little by little, stretching her and the moment, making it last. She felt so good—better than anything he’d ever known, soft and welcoming, and a little bit tight.
He varied the rhythm, watching her face, matching his strokes to her pleasured moans, her hungry cries. Somehow he stayed with her, until she went over for the third time. After that, there was no holding back. He was rough and fast, and she clung to him, nice and tight, all the way to the peak and over the edge.
She cradled him close then, stroking his shoulders and his arms, whispering “So good. Just right,” laughing a little. “Who knew, really? Whoever would have thought...?”
“Beautiful,” he said. “Never would have guessed.”
They must have dozed for a while.
He woke to find her sleeping peacefully, one arm across his chest. He’d been hoping that maybe they would have time to play some more.
But it was later than he’d thought. The clock by the bed said 5:05 in the morning. The first glow of daylight would be bleeding the night from the sky all too soon. The houses in their neighborhood were spaced far apart, built to conform to the shape of the land, with plenty of big trees between them. He might make it down the hill in broad daylight with no one the wiser.
But why take that chance? It was nobody’s business, this one unforgettable night they’d shared.
With care, he eased out from under her arm. She sighed and rolled to her back, but didn’t wake. He slid from the bed. Before settling the covers over her, he stole another long glance at her and got struck by a last hot bolt of pure lust at the sight of the faint marks he’d left on her perfect breasts, her pretty belly.
They would fade soon, those marks. He tried not to wish...
Uh-uh. Never mind. One night. That was the deal.
He pulled on his clothes and went out the way he’d come in, noting that she hadn’t rearmed the alarm on the wall by the slider when she led him inside.
Good. That meant he didn’t have to wake her to go. He locked the slider and then went out through the front door, which he could also lock behind him, thus securing her inside.
He ran around the side of the house and then on down the hill.
At home, he got the spare key from its hiding place under the stairs and let himself in. The house was just as he’d left it. Silent and dark.
He stepped inside and shut the doors with barely a sound—and found Manny, his former trainer and longtime business partner, sitting in one of the big chairs by the moss rock fireplace. The old fighter switched on the lamp beside him. He wore a knowing grin on that roadmap of a face. “Hey, Crush. Where you been?”
Quinn locked the doors. “Since when are you my mother?”
Manny rumbled out a low laugh. “You and that gorgeous uptown blonde up the hill? I never had a clue.”
“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.” Quinn headed for the stairs.
Manny watched him go. “She’s a fine one. I find I am lookin’ at you with new respect.”
“Night, Manny.”
“Got news for you, Crush. It’s tomorrow already.”
Quinn just kept walking. Manny’s knowing cackle followed him up the stairs.
* * *
Chloe was sound asleep when her alarm went off at seven.
She woke with a smile, feeling thoroughly rested and a little bit sore. If it weren’t for that soreness and the small, already-fading red marks and bruises on her breasts and stomach, she almost might have been able to tell herself that the night before was all a dream.
Not that she wanted to deny what had happened. It had been glorious. She’d loved every minute of it.
As she sat up and stretched, yawning with gusto, she couldn’t help wishing she hadn’t told Quinn that she only wanted one night. Because he was remarkable. He’d given her hope that love and passion and tenderness weren’t all just some fantasy, some bright, naive dream that could never come true.
She would love to spend more time with him.
But she let her arms drop and her shoulders droop with a sigh.
No. They had a deal and she would stick by it. He’d been great and the sex had been mind-blowing. Now she knew for certain that there were better lovers out there than Ted. She would be grateful for that and eventually, maybe, she’d find someone who made her want to take another chance on forever.
She got ready for work and then had breakfast. The house phone rang just as she was heading out the door. Probably her mother. She’d check her messages later and call her back then.
As she was pulling out of the driveway, her cell rang. She slipped the SUV into Park and checked the display. With a sigh, she gave in and answered. “Hi, Mom. Just on my way over to the showroom.”
“But it’s not even nine yet,” Linda Winchester