FLOWERS ON THE WALL (11 page)

"Words fail me." He outlined the pattern with his finger. "Instead, let me show you what I think."

Ryder replaced his finger with his mouth, his lapping at the heart—then moving lower. When Quinn gasped with pleasure, her legs wobbling slightly, Ryder steadied her with his arm. The move was satisfactory for both of them, keeping Quinn upright and providing Ryder with a better angle to explore and sample.

"Let me guess," Quinn sighed when he moved lower. "Years of singing have made your tongue nimble." She let out a long,
mmm
. "And dexterous."

"And talented?"

"Oh, yes."

Ryder could tell by the change in Quinn's breathing that she was close to toppling over the edge of reason. Her fingers tightened, tugging at his hair. Her legs trembled. And the little cries of pleasure.
Hell
,
yes
. Those little cries were driving him crazy.

"Ready to fall?"

Quinn didn't answer with words. However, her gasp and the way she pulled him closer told Ryder everything he needed to know. Adding the thrust of his fingers to the rhythm of his tongue, Ryder didn't push Quinn. He toppled her with a sexy, concentrated shove.

Ryder kept her safe as Quinn cried out his name and rode wave after wave of pleasure. He made certain her high stretched on and on until there was nowhere else to go but down. However, Ryder made the fall an easy one. Standing, he gently lifted Quinn into his arms. Her eyes were closed, her breathing ragged—slowing. Ryder knew he had made it good for her. But it was the look on her face that made him burst with pride. Happy. Glowing. Spent. Quinn had the look of a woman who was utterly and completely satisfied.

Pulling back the covers, Ryder lay Quinn on the bed. Her smile widened as she stretched her arms over her head. Slowly, her eyes opened.

"That was nice."

"Nice?" Ryder paused in the middle of unbuckling his belt.

"Very nice."

Ryder was about to question Quinn's sanity when he noticed her lips twitch.
The little stinker
. She was lying there like a gorgeous limp rag—thanks to him—and she wanted to tease the beast? The very hard, very horny, beast? If the woman wanted to play with fire, he would be more than happy to make her burn.
Again
.
And again
.

Deciding it would be more impactful to let his actions speak for themselves, Ryder finished undressing. He knew what he looked like. Part genetics, part hard work, his naked body was an impressive sight. From the way Quinn's eyes widened, he could tell she agreed.

"Like what you see?"

"Yes."

"Do you think it's nice?" To emphasize his question, Ryder waggled his dick at Quinn.

"You could use that thing to hammer a nail." Quinn rose to her knees. "But I have a better idea."

Quinn took him in her hand and tugged. Not too hard—just enough to get him to her edge of the bed.

"I may have downplayed how much I enjoyed your talented mouth."

"You don't say." Hoping he knew where this was headed, Ryder smoothed Quinn's hair back from her face. "Want to elaborate?"

"You were spectacular." Quinn gave his erection a lingering kiss, ending with a swipe of her tongue. "Beyond amazing. I saw stars. I glimpsed heaven. The only bad part was that it had to end."

Between every other word, Quinn lavished him with kisses. Ryder loved every second. Then she took him into her mouth. She may have glimpsed heaven, but he swore he stood smack in the middle. Unfortunately, if she kept that up, it was going to be a short visit.

"Quinn." Ryder hated to interrupt, but he had no choice. "If you keep doing that, I'm going to explode. Now."

"Explode. Now, " Quinn told him. "We can go around again. And again. Unless you have someplace else to be?"

"No." Ryder threaded his fingers through her dark, silky hair. "We have all the time in the world."

QUINN RESTED, BUT she didn't feel like sleeping. She could feel the comforting thump of Ryder's heart under her cheek. The clock was out of her line of sight—much to her delight. Time was irrelevant. As far as she was concerned, there was no night. No day. She wanted what Ryder had said to be true. At least for a little while longer. Unfortunately, they
didn't
have all the time in the world. However, she wanted
this
time—these precious moments—to last as long as possible.

Being with Ryder had been better than her dreams. And that was saying something. For two weeks, Quinn's dreams had built the anticipation to epic proportions. Somehow, Ryder had surpassed epic. What would be the word? Homeric? It was sort of the same thing, but her body was satiated and her brain fuzzy. Wonderfully so. Homeric would have to do.

Quinn hadn't lost track of how many times she came. Six—thank you very much. Ryder's stamina was the stuff of legends. If a friend had bragged that a man had Ryder's staying power, Quinn would have rolled her eyes and called bullshit.

There had to be other men capable of such feats. Ryder was special—but he wasn't a freak of nature. Yet, Quinn had never heard of another such man—outside of flowery fiction. And she knew why. It was like discovering gold. One little whisper—even a hint—of multiple orgasms and women would be dropping out of the woodwork, trying to poach her claim.

Laughing silently, Quinn was glad Ryder couldn't hear her thoughts. Comparing him to a gold strike? She was going to keep that one to herself.

Ryder ran his hand over her back, coming to rest on her butt. Quinn had just enough energy to wiggle it in appreciation.

"I need food," he patted his flat stomach. "And a shower. You pick the order."

"You've worn me out. Food means room service. Which means using the phone." Quinn made a feeble show of reaching toward the nightstand. "Nope. Can't do it."

"
I
could move."

Quinn could hear the smile in Ryder's voice. Her lips curved in response.

"My body is draped over yours—most comfortably. If you move, I move. Sorry. I can't sanction that."

"Hold on." Holding her in place, Ryder shifted. Quinn would have protested, but he had the phone before she could summon the energy.

"Impressive."

"That's what you said after your… fifth orgasm?" Quinn merely hummed in appreciation, causing Ryder to laugh. "What are you hungry for?"

"Well…" Quinn reached between Ryder's legs. She found the twitch of response encouraging—and a little flattering.

"Good, God." Ryder swatted her hand away. "I'm only human, woman. I need fuel before I can pleasure you again."

Quinn didn't tell Ryder that she was as worn out as he was. Food sounded good. A shower sounded better.

"Do you want a steak?" Ryder asked, picking up the receiver. "I'm having a steak."

"With sautéed mushrooms and French fries."

"Salad?"

"I don't think so," Quinn snorted.

Ryder put in their order. After consulting Quinn, he added a slice of apple pie and a piece of cheesecake for dessert. Hanging up, he surprised her by jumping from the bed and swinging her into his arms.

"I thought you were running on fumes," Quinn laughed, wrapping her arms around Ryder's neck.

"Just the thought of food has given me a second wind." He headed toward the bathroom. "We have thirty minutes. Want to bet how many times I can make you cry out my name?"

"Why bother?" Quinn whispered into his ear. "Once? Twice? I win either way."

"Three times?"

Slamming the door behind them, Quinn pinched Ryder's butt. "Don't get cocky."

Ryder reached into the stall, turning the multiple jets on full blast. "Is that a challenge?" he asked, pulling her close.

"I would be happy with one, Ryder."

Quinn learned fast that Ryder Hart had a competitive streak in him a mile wide. She hadn't issued a challenge, but he took it as one.

"Three it is."

Quinn's laughter turned to moans the second Ryder led her into the shower and dropped to his knees. If the man was that determined, who was she to argue?

CHAPTER TEN

IN HER ENTIRE life, Quinn could not remember anything tasting better than the meal in front of her. The steak was perfectly cooked. The French fries crispy brown. Even the broccoli—which she had no say in ordering—was fresh and tasty.

Quinn chewed a piece of the tender meat. A good meal was fine. What made it great was the company. Ryder sat across from her in nothing but a dark blue robe. His hair, damp from their shared shower, curled around his ears, the ends brushing the collar of his robe. A woman could go a long way before she found a more appealing dinner companion.

"Stop smirking."

"Me?" Ryder gave her a not so innocent look. "What would I have to smirk about?"

"You are perfectly aware." Quinn wanted to sound exasperated—truly she did. But it was difficult when the reason for Ryder's expression had made her feel so good.

"I admitted that you are a sex god."

"And…" Ryder urged.

"Nobody has ever given me so much pleasure in such a short amount of time." Quinn could have said,
nobody has ever given me so much pleasure
—period. But why should she feed Ryder's already sizable ego? She suspected he knew the truth. That was good enough.

"I counted three orgasms. Four was in reach, but the food arrived."

"Thank you, Ryder."

To emphasize her appreciation, Quinn transferred half of her French fries onto Ryder's plate. He didn't know it, but for a woman who loved a good fry, that was quite the gesture of gratitude.

"With complete sincerity, I can say, the pleasure was mutual."

"Is this your usual routine?" Quinn inquired.

"Crazy sex in random hotel rooms?"

Quinn shrugged. "That is most people's idea of a rock star's life. But it isn't what I meant."

"I have some pretty crazy stories I could tell you."

Now
he wanted to share? After two weeks of,
my personal life is off limits
, Ryder wanted to talk about his sex life? It was possible he was teasing. However, Quinn didn't want to hear it. Now, or ever. If she hadn't been planning on cleaning her plate, she would have tossed the rest of her meal in his lap.

"I'm certain your many exploits could fill a book."

"Well…"

"Save that for when you're old and ready to write a tell-all biography. I wanted to know if your life was this?" Quinn motioned toward their meal. "Hotels? Room service? The life of a nomad? I know from experience that traveling on business—even rock-star business—isn't as glamorous as it sounds. Does it grow old?"

When Ryder didn't answer, Quinn sighed.

"I understand I have broken rule number one. No questions. I thought you might bend a little since we've spent most of the day naked. I know very little about you, Ryder—outside of gossip and your official biography. You've been inside of me. Doesn't that entitle me to a little post-coital Q & A?"

"I agree." Ryder sat back, a thoughtful smile on his face. "The reason I hesitated is that you used the term nomad. I found it ironic. I had described myself the same way just this morning."

"Is that good or bad?"

"Finished with that?" Ryder pointed to her plate.

Surprised to see that she had indeed polished off every scrap, Quinn nodded. Ryder cleared the small table they used to dine. It was near the window, giving them a view of the city skyline as they ate. He stacked the dishes before picking up their dessert.

"A fork for you." The apple pie smelled fantastic. However, cheesecake was a weakness that Quinn didn't mind admitting. Guessing her dilemma, Ryder smiled. "I thought we could share."

Quinn didn't wait for him to sit. "Mmm. Extra creamy," she sighed. She held a bite of the cheesecake out for Ryder to sample. "Isn't that luscious?"

"You seem easily distracted by food."

Not the least bit insulted, Quinn sampled the pie. It was good. But she went back to the cheesecake. "And sex. Don't forget the sex."

"That isn't likely." Ryder seemed happy to watch Quinn, taking a bite whenever she fed it to him.

"It doesn't work unless it's good. The food
and
the sex. You can't distract me with a mediocre pizza or boring sex."

"Good to know."

Quinn took a sip of water, her gaze meeting Ryder's. "Are you laughing at me?"

"Maybe. A little. But not in a bad way.

Deciding she could live with that, Quinn offered Ryder more cheesecake. When he shook his head, she set down the fork. It didn't happen often, but she was full. Both her stomach and her libido were wonderfully satisfied. For now.

"Okay, nomad man, tell me your tale."

For a moment, Quinn thought that Ryder had changed his mind. Getting him to talk about himself was a big step. Perhaps he was ready. However, after a little while, he began.

"I have been on my own since I was sixteen—by choice. The foster care system and I didn't see eye to eye."

Quinn knew the basics of Ryder's background. His mother left soon after Zoe was born—never to be heard from again. His father was a troubled man. He drank. Did drugs. Though there was nothing on record, it was suspected that Ryder had suffered parental abuse. How extensive? Only Ryder could say. It was a subject strictly off limits.

When Ryder was thirteen and Zoe ten, their father committed suicide. The rest, like all aspects of his life, was sketchy. To Quinn's surprise, Ryder had handed her a piece of the puzzle.

"You ran away?"

"Ran. Was pushed. I suppose it depends on your perspective—and who you ask. The last couple who took me in tried to sell their story to the tabloids. They painted themselves as saintly do-gooders. Loving. Caring. I, on the other hand, had been a nasty handful. They tried to show me love and compassion. I rewarded their efforts by trashing their home before disappearing. They searched. Called the police. But until they saw my picture in a magazine—all grown up and famous—they had lived with the constant worry that I had met a tragic ending."

"I don't recall reading that story." To prepare for her job following Ryder and his band, Quinn had scoured the internet. As the saying said,
forearmed is forewarned
. She would have remembered a story like the one Ryder had mentioned.