“Right. I was going to make damn sure you stayed Allison's little friend and that's all.” There, he'd said it. All of it. He itched to push her back against the sofa pillows, but he restrained himself so she had time to absorb what he'd just sprung on her.
Liz thought back to the times she'd sporadically seen Quentin during high school and college. “Once we got into that kind of relationship, it was hard to break out of it,” she mused. “I got used to making polite chitchat with you.”
“Yeah, once we fell into a pattern, it was hard to break it. Anyway, I figured you didn't like me too much anyway. I was distant and cool to you from the beginning.”
She felt giddy. He'd desired her. He'd had to push her away. A wonderful shiver ran through her at the same time that she became aware of the intense look on his face and recognized the leashed desire there.
She let him take the coffee cup from her suddenly nervous fingers and deliberately place it on the coffee table next to his own. He picked up her hand then and kissed her wrist, her palm, his eyes never leaving hers. “I want you,” he said, his voice smoky.
He searched her face and seemingly satisfied with the expression that he read there, he cupped the back of her neck and inexorably drew her toward him.
Her eyes drifted closed as his lips whispered over her eyes, her nose, her cheeks before, finally, settling on hers.
Liz melted into the kiss. His lips were smooth, warm, enticing, and she nearly moaned in protest when they finally left hers to trail across her jaw, then down along the side of her neck. “Elizabeth,” he said huskily.
She thrilled to the word, recognizing it now as a verbal caress. Would she ever be able to hear it again without being reminded of hot looks and smoldering desire?
“I hope to God we're not interrupted this time,” he breathed against her neck, then pulled back to look at her. “Are you sure? Because I won't want to stop.”
Any twinges of doubt she had were drowned in the overpowering desire coursing through her. “Yes. I'm sure,” she heard herself say.
He must have heard the aching need in her voice, because he eased her back onto the pillows of the couch, careful to straighten her bad leg, and tugged on the zipper at the back of her dress until it rasped downward.
It seemed that she'd been waiting half a lifetime for this moment and in a way it was true. She'd felt an immediate physical attraction the first time she'd met him at eighteen.
His mouth latched onto a nipple through the thin, semi-transparent material of her bra and she gasped. He began a firm and rhythmic sucking that steadily increased the tension coiling within her.
She pulled at his T-shirt until she freed it from his waistband. “Help me,” she pleaded.
He quickly sat up and his eyes burned into hers. He removed her bra and tossed it aside, then yanked his T-shirt over his head. When she moved to touch the well-sculpted muscles, thrown into relief by the lamplight, his hands closed on her wrists. “No,” he said thickly, urgently, “need a bed. Now.” Then he scooped her up and strode with her out of the room, up the stairs, and to his bedroom.
It was heavenly being carried by him, yet she tested his control by trailing her hands and lips over those parts of him that she could reach. He had a wonderful, corded neck, she decided. Strong and powerful and yet infinitely inviting to nibble on, especially near the pulse she found beating strong and quick. When she briefly lifted her head and noticed the tick working in his clenched jaw, she grew bolder, drawing his head down to hers.
“Holy Mary,” he ground out, as he managed to get to the side of the bed and deposit her carefully on it.
Her dress was bunched at her waist. One sandal dangled precariously from her foot, the other having been lost somewhere on the way up the stairs. She kicked off the remaining shoe while he pulled off her dress and underpants.
He paused for a moment and grinned. “Red silk panties from Frederick's of Hollywood.” He arched a brow. “You definitely have a thing for underwear,” he murmured.
“They do mail order,” she said unnecessarily, then added, “Muriel stopped by my house for some more of my things. She seems to have picked out my raciest underwear. There wasn't a plain cotton pair among them.”
Quentin laughed huskily. “Remind me to give her a raise. Although,” he paused, “it was unholy for her to bring back that stuff and then help deny me the pleasure of it for so long.”
He threw her clothes onto the nearby night table, and then she watched him divest himself of the remainder of his clothes. He was aroused, and when he came down beside her, she breathed in his musky male scent.
“You on top,” he said. “We don't want to hurt your ankle.” Before she could protest, he'd carefully rolled her on top of him.
His hands intertwined with hers and he raised her arms above her head, leaving her vulnerable and exposed to his mouth, which took and plundered hers.
Liz felt the world shrink till nothing existed but the two of them and this moment. Her tongue dueled with his, her br**sts pressed against his chest, his hair teasing her already sensitized ni**les.
He gave a low groan, his erection hard against her, as his lips slid to her throat. “That's right, yes,” he whispered roughly. His hands pulled her even more firmly against him.
Her legs opened, slid around him, until he was there pushing up against the most secret aroused part of her. She'd wanted this for so long. Wanted him. One downward movement of her h*ps now and he'd be inside her, filling her in ways she'd only dreamed of.
“Quentin….” She turned her head and met his hooded, smoky gaze.
“Say it,” he muttered.
For a moment, she didn't understand. Then her heart leapt.
“Say you want me.”
Even as her heart cried out, she gave him the words he asked for. “I want you,” she gasped and moved her hips, taking him in, feeling him stretch her, fill her. I love you.
Then he began to move inside her and her h*ps moved in counterpoint to his thrusts, undulating in a rhythm that matched the pace he set.
“That's it, honey. Yes,” he coaxed. “Reach for it, baby.”
She clenched around him spasmodically. “Quentin!!! Oh, please. Oh—yes!” Waves of sensation mixed with feeling and emotion wracked her.
He quickened his pace then, thrusting hard and fast. Her cl**ax seemed to trigger his own. He threw back his head, gave a hoarse shout and surged into her one last time.
“Damn, sweetheart, you nearly killed me there.” Quentin propped himself up on an elbow and caressed her thigh with his other hand. A thin sheen of sweat glistened on his skin.