Semi-Obsessed Page 6

  “All of that,” he said, his eyes locked on her lips.

  Cupping her face in his hands, he added, “I’m not a good bet. You don’t know me.”

  She could feel his breath brushing over her skin. That’s how close his mouth was to hers. He was telling her to push him away, all while looking like he’d rather die than let her go. That little war that was raging just below the surface told her a lot about his character.

  Any uncertainty she had vanished. She was doing the right thing. He was exactly what she needed right now.

  “Well, here’s what I do know,” she said, laying her hand on his chest. His sharp intake of breath was intensely gratifying. “You’ve had plenty of opportunity to hurt me and you haven’t. In fact, you saved my life. So, I’m pretty confident you won’t hurt me now. I also know that Harper hired you, and my mother was in on the interview. That means that the most powerful psychic and empath I know decided you were employable. If you weren’t a decent guy, they wouldn’t have hired you.”

  “In all fairness,” he interrupted, “your mother said I was an emotional train wreck.”

  Marina chuckled. “Aren’t we all?”

  She was rewarded with the faintest hint of a smile before he leaned in and brushed his lips so gently over hers that it was more of a tease than a kiss. It frustrated her to no end.

  “The other thing I know,” she added when he pulled back, “is that if you were the bad guy you seem to think you are, Hunter and Mischa never would’ve let you out of Midvale on parole. Based on that, I’m guessing you had a good reason for doing…whatever it was that you did to end up there in the first place.”

  He frowned. “That’s a pretty big assumption. A dangerous one, too.”

  She shrugged. “Not really. I trust Hunter and Mischa’s judgement. I trust my mother and Harper, too. They’ve never been wrong, as far as I know.”

  His answering grunt could’ve been agreement or denial, but she went on. “I also know I’m more attracted to you than I’ve ever been to any other man in my life.”

  He groaned and leaned his forehead against hers. His resolve was weakening. She did a mental fist pump.

  Time to go in for the kill.

  She let her hand drift down his chest, over his ridged abdomen, then kept going until her fingers brushed over the front of his jeans, finding and tracing lightly over the impressive length of his erection. “I also know dhampyres don’t carry or transmit disease, and I’ve been on the pill since I was sixteen. So, we can do whatever we want to each other all night long with no consequences. That makes you, Quinn Connell, the best bet I’ve made in a long, long time.”

  “Fuuuccckkk,” he whispered. “Are you absolutely sure?”

  “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

  His hands shifted and fisted in her hair so fast and hard she gasped.

  “Then hang on,” he said in a voice so strained it sounded more animal than human. “This could get rough.”

  “Oh, thank God,” she whispered on a moan.

  Chapter Ten

  Quinn was halfway convinced the animalistic growl of his words would scare her off. Hell, it probably should have. But when he loosened his grip on her for a split second, she threw her arms around him and crushed her mouth against his.

  Well, alright then.

  He reached under the bottom of her skirt, wrapped his hands around thighs—Jesus, had he ever felt skin that soft?—and lifted her. She wound her legs around him, raking her fingers through his hair, sending chills down his back and arms.

  To his shock—and raw, pure, unadulterated delight—she seemed to be as wild with want and need as he was. Her tongue stroked his and her hands moved restlessly over him as if she couldn’t decide where she wanted to touch him the most.

  Everywhere. Touch me everywhere. I’m all yours.

  Quinn considered taking her to her bedroom, but decided that was too damn far away, so he moved to the nearest wall and put her back against it, rocking his hips as he did it to rub against hers. She moaned in response and used her strong, toned legs to yank him closer.

  Minutes—or, hell, maybe hours—flew by as their kisses grew more demanding, their breathing heavier.

  He pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against hers. “Fuck, Marina, we should be doing this differently. You deserve rose petals and candlelight and romance, not a quick, hard fuck up against a wall.” He rocked against her again and she gasped. “And I promise I will eventually take my time and do this right, but now…fuck. I need you too much to wait.”

  She bit her lip and nodded frantically. “Yes. Quick, hard fuck up against a wall, please. Don’t wait.”

  No more than a few seconds, some ripped fabric, and a few more fervent promises to do it all better later, he was sliding into her, his hands cupping her ass, her hands braced on his shoulders.

  Quinn claimed her mouth with his, muffling her cry of ecstasy as he slid home.

  And God help him, being this close to her did feel like home.

  He wanted to tell her a thousand things in that moment. How beautiful she was. How strong. How brave. How perfect. But words were hopelessly out of reach. All he could do now was give her enough pleasure—the blinding, knee-weakening, soul-searing variety—that when he finally slid out of her, she’d consider letting him back in again.

  And again, and again, and again…

  When he was buried to the hilt in her tight, wet heat, her eyes went wide and she let out a small gasp. “Oh, God. I feel so…I don’t know if I can…”

  “Do you want me to stop?” He punctuated his question by easing out of her a tiny bit. He was hanging onto control by a whisper-thin thread, but the last thing in the world he wanted to do was hurt her.

  Her fingernails dug into his shoulders until he let out a hiss and she pulled him back into her with a menacing hiss of her own. “I’ll kill you if you stop now.”

  He sent up a fervent thank you to Jesus, Mary, Joseph, the Pope, Buddha, and any other religious types that might be listening. Because while he totally would have stopped if she wanted him to, he needed this—her—so desperately he couldn’t think straight.

  Pushing her back against the wall again, he thrust into her over and over again—slow, but hard and deep. Her head thumped back against the wall and she cried out so loud at the peak of every thrust he worried her neighbors were going to call the cops, assuming he was murdering her.

  He’d meant what he said about doing this better the next time, too. Please, please, please let there be a next time. But it’d been too long for him and he knew he wasn’t going to last. Every muscle in his body was tight, and his skin suddenly felt about two sizes too small.

  He’d be damned if he’d let himself come before she did, though. That’d make him an even bigger bastard than he already was. So he pulled her tighter against him and flexed his hips, giving her the best angle possible before picking up his pace.

  “Oh, God, yes,” she cried out, her eyes fluttering shut. “Just like that. Don’t stop.”

  Stop? Not bloody likely.

  Lifting his index finger to her lush bottom lip, he said, “Suck.”

  Her eyes popped open and widened, but she didn’t hesitate. She opened her mouth and slid her tongue up the length of his finger, then sucked it, licked it again, and finally, bit the tip before releasing it.

  Having her tongue on his skin scattered what remained of his control—along with his thoughts—to the wind, and he had to close his eyes for a moment and try to remember why he’d told her to wet his finger in the first place.

  Oh, yeah…

  Quinn slid his wet finger down between them, unerringly finding her clit. And that was all it took to break her. Her forehead dropped to his shoulder and she sank her teeth into his chest, one hand clutching his bicep, the other fisted in his hair so tight he wasn’t sure he’d have hair left when she was done with him.

  Not that it mattered. She could snatch him bald at this point,
as long as she got off.

  And get off she did. Her entire body clenched and pulsed around him. Only when the last of her tremors stopped did he let go of his own control.

  If he’d ever really had any control where Marina was concerned, that is.

  He came harder and with more noise—now the neighbors might assume she was killing him—than he ever had before. Did people ever die from coming too violently? If so, someone might want to call 911 now.

  They stayed like that for God knows how long, panting for breath, his arms locked around her, her face buried against his neck. He should say something. He knew he should. He’d just fucked her like a rutting beast up against the wall. He should tell her he was…what…a tactless, clumsy bastard?

  He opened his mouth, but she spoke first.

  “I can practically hear you overthinking everything,” she said. “If you tell me you’re sorry and that was a mistake, I’ll probably kill you in your sleep tonight. Just so you know.”

  That wrenched a hoarse laugh out of him. She never said what he expected her to say. Which was one of the many reasons he was getting more obsessed with her by the minute. “I was just wondering how much recovery time you need before we go again.”

  She lifted her head and stared down at him, those beautiful brown eyes of hers wide. “Again? So soon? Really?”

  “Aye. I wasn’t kidding, love. I can do better than that if you give me a chance.”

  She swallowed hard. “Better? I’m not sure I can take better than that. My heart might stop.”

  “Oh, you’ll take it, love. You’ll take all of it.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Quinn made good on his promise to do everything better about, oh, six orgasms after her first one of the night. And for the four or five that followed? Well, he was either just showing off, or he was as much of an overachiever as she was.

  Not that Marina was complaining. Quinn had managed to wring more pleasure out of her body in the past three hours than all of her past lovers combined. But oddly enough, what she was enjoying almost as much as the sex (almost because, well, you know, she wasn’t insane) was just talking to him.

  Sometime around four in the morning, when they’d finally made it to her bed after christening her kitchen counter, her shower, her living room floor, and her staircase, Marina had dropped onto Quinn’s sweaty chest, limp as a wrung-out washcloth. When they both could breathe again, they’d started talking and hadn’t stopped yet.

  (And for the record, totally off-topic, Marina actually wouldn’t recommend staircase sex to anyone. Sure, she came, but at the expense of a kink in her lower back she didn’t see going away anytime soon. But that was beside the point…)

  Quinn hadn’t let go of her the entire time, either. She was still half on top of him, his arms wrapped tightly around her, her head resting on his shoulder. Every now and then, she’d pause to breathe in the clean, masculine scent of his skin—which just so happened to be all over her own skin like a brand. The thought of how all that lovely man smell had transferred to her skin sent a shiver of delight through her entire body.

  He must have mistaken her shiver for cold because he reached over, snagged the comforter they’d shoved off the bed an hour ago, and tucked it around them like a cocoon. So, what she had here with her was a considerate dhampyre she enjoyed talking to, who also just happened to be a sex god. Who knew such a thing even existed for a girl like her?

  “My own freakin’ unicorn,” she murmured. “How did I manage to find a freakin’ unicorn?”

  “Do you mean me?” he asked, and she could practically hear the smirk in his tone even though she couldn’t see it. “I’ve been called a leprechaun before—the accent and all—but never a unicorn. Not that I’m aware of, at least.”

  She reached down to pinch his side, and he laughed when she couldn’t even find a single bit of loose skin. Stupid ridiculously fit man. “I just mean you’re nice, funny, hot, great in bed—did I mention hot?—and I’m just now meeting you. Why couldn’t I have met you, oh, say, ten years ago? Before my long string of shitty boyfriends turned me into the delightfully bitter, man-hating woman you have on top of you right now?”

  “You forget that I’ve had my tongue on every inch of your body. There’s nothing bitter about you. It’s all sweet as honey.”

  To punctuate his statement, he licked a path along the side of her neck, up to the super-sensitive spot just below her ear. She shivered and he hummed his approval. “See? Sweet,” he whispered.

  “Besides,” he added while she was still trying to recover from the mind-blowing pleasure of his tongue on her skin, “I’m far from your perfect unicorn. I’m guessing when you pictured your dream man ten years ago, he wasn’t wearing prison orange.”

  “You think the prison record makes you worse boyfriend material than the others I’ve been involved with?” She snorted. “A prison record doesn’t even earn you a place in the top ten pathetic losers I’ve been with over the years.”

  He trailed his fingertips up and down her ribcage idly, flipping the switch on her desire when she’d been sure her body was closed for business for the night. How many orgasms could the human body take before it just shut down, anyway?

  “I find that hard to believe,” he scoffed.

  Marina scooted up and situated herself fully on top of him, chin resting on her crossed arms so that she could look him in the eye as she spoke. “Don’t believe me, huh?”

  “Frankly, no. You’re smart and gorgeous and funny, not to mention the whole can-fight-off-two-vampires-at-once thing, which is insanely hot, by the way. From what I can tell, you’re damn near perfect. Why wouldn’t decent men be fist-fighting each other for a chance to date you?”

  He sounded so genuine, so sincere, that Marina felt her throat close up a little around a lump of emotion. Had anyone ever said such nice things to her when there was nothing in it for him? She didn’t think so. And she’d only known him less than 24 hours. How sad was that?

  She cleared her throat. “Well, honestly, when I was growing up, I don’t think boys really saw me. I mean, Whispering Hope’s a small town, and when your sister is Harper Hall, it’s like you’re always standing in the shadows, you know?”

  His brow furrowed. “No, I don’t. What does your sister have to do with anything?”

  “You’ve seen my sister, right?” she asked, dryly. “Beautiful, bigger-than-life personality, supernaturally talented? Most boys never bothered looking past Harper to see me, standing behind her.”

  “Don’t get me wrong,” she hastened to add, “I love my sister and I never once felt like I was in competition with her. But I think her awesomeness is why I didn’t date much in high school.”

  Quinn shrugged a shoulder. “To each his own, I suppose, but I don’t see it. I mean, your sister is beautiful, for sure, but she doesn’t hold a candle to you.”

  Her breath caught in her throat again. If he hadn’t already had her—in just about every room of her house, for God’s sake—she might have accused him of trying to get into her pants with statements like that. But he had nothing to gain by flattering her at this point. And then there was the complete sincerity in his eyes…

  Holy shit, he really was a unicorn! She’d found the one man who’d actually willingly choose her over Harper.

  He was much more dangerous than she’d originally thought. If she wasn’t careful, he’d crush her heart into dust.

  “What about after high school?” he asked.

  Ah yes, her shitty dating history… “Well, my first real boyfriend—Avery—and I were together for, oh, I don’t know, maybe two years. I wasn’t aware that he had a gambling problem until the police found my stolen jewelry down at Don’s Pawn. Avery’s name was on the claim ticket, of course.”

  Quinn’s eyes bugged a bit at that. “Seriously? He stole from you?”

  “Yep. Not just the jewelry, either. He also stole my credit card and the stack of savings bonds my grandpa had been sending me every year on
my birthday. Took forever to get all that cleared up.”

  “Jesus,” he muttered. Only with his accent, it sounded like Jayzus, which she loved.

  “My next boyfriend after Avery was Jeffrey. Jeffrey was a great guy. Sweet, a hard worker, very ambitious. Sometimes I still miss the talks we had.”

  There was a pause before he asked, “If Jeffrey was so great, why didn’t it work out?”

  Was it her imagination, or was the inflection he put on Jeffrey’s name decidedly…jealous sounding? What a delicious thought that was! She was pretty sure she’d never made a man jealous in her life. “Jeffrey was perfect. Up until the time he figured out he was gay, that is. It was especially poor timing because we’d just had sex for the first time when he had this revelation.”

  She could still remember sitting in bed, sheet pulled up around her bare boobs as she tried to comfort a sobbing Jeffrey, who alternated between blubbering about what he was going to tell his parents and apologizing to her for leading her on. It was easily one of the most humiliating moments of her life. And to add insult to injury, the sex had been bad.

  Quinn opened his mouth to say something, then shut it and just shook his head. Yeah. That was a pretty common response to the trials and tribulations of her love life. Mute horror.

  Eventually he just muttered, “Shit.”

  “I know, right? After Jeffrey came Adam. Adam seemed good on paper, but when he proposed marriage on our second date, I knew something weird was up with him. Turned out his mom had given him two weeks to move out and he was looking for a quick place to live. I guess he thought getting married was the most efficient way to get that done and possibly still have someone to take care of him like his mom had been doing for his whole life.”

  Quinn’s lip twitched, and she sighed. “It’s OK. You can laugh. Even I can see the humor in that one.”

  He let his laugh go, jostling her on top of him to the point that he had to tighten his arms around her to keep her from toppling off onto the mattress.