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He must’ve seen that look in my eyes, my resolution, because he said, “I’ve been yours since the first time I laid eyes on you.”
I swallowed hard. “Quinn…”
“You.” He slammed into me. “Are.” Slam. “Mine.”
I cried out.
My orgasm blasted into me.
He growled and dropped his face to mine, breathing in my exhaled breaths.
His hand tightened around my mouth, and then I felt him tense as the first splashes of his release bathed my insides.
No words were exchanged for a long few minutes.
Not until he finally rolled over and pulled me with him, my body landing on his.
I felt the wetness sliding down my thighs, likely landing on him, but couldn’t scrounge up the desire to care.
This.
This was a bad idea.
Because now I didn’t want to leave him.
I didn’t want this to end.
But it would end.
Because we still had the same issue now that we did then.
His unwillingness to see anything but black and white. My brother’s unwillingness to have a sister who dated a cop. But did anyone ever stop and think about me in this scenario?
Because, had they, they might’ve stopped long enough to realize it was killing me.
To have the man I loved hating another man I loved.
It wasn’t fair.
And it sure the hell wasn’t solved miraculously by sex.
His phone on the bedside table rang, and he tensed.
I leaned over, snatched it for him, and tossed it his way.
I didn’t miss the name on the screen, though.
Elliette.
But the person who answered as I crawled off of Quinn definitely wasn’t a boy.
It was a girl.
She said something in quick succession to him answering, and Quinn put his hand on his face before shaking it. “I’m not at the bar anymore.”
My stomach sank.
Was he meeting someone there?
