Love Me Crazy (21 page)

“Actually, I knew you’d look sexier in the green. It matches your eyes when you come.”

“What?” Red seeps up into my ears and I turn away to shed my skirt and shirt and pull the green one over my head. “You’re crazy.”

“Mmmm, no. Your eyes darken just before, and blaze when you fall over the edge.” He stretches out across his bed. “They go from June bug to Katydid in a matter of seconds.”

I land on my stomach and kick my feet up behind me. “What are they now?” I blink rapidly.

“Serene.”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“No? Then what are they?” He pulls me against him.

I curl on my side and rest my head on his chest. “Bored.”

His breath catches, stilling the rise of his chest for half a beat. “I need a nap and some food to recharge before I
un
-bored you.”

“I like that plan.”

He
heads downstairs to grab us some food and I must drift off to sleep, because when I wake he’s reading a magazine at his desk, shirtless, mind you, and there’s a spread of cheese, crackers, and red grapes sitting on the nightstand.

“Am I not good enough for strawberries and whipped cream?” I tease as I stretch my cramped limbs then drag the heavy cheese board to the bed beside me.

He stretches out on my other side and reaches over me for a grape. “I reserve strawberries and whipped cream for cheap thrills. You deserve the wine and cheese board.”

I eye the bottle of wine he grabs from the opposite nightstand. “I can do cheap thrills if you want.” He hands me the glass and I take a sip of the white wine. “Yum. No I can’t. I want the wine.” I take another sip, enjoying the punch of sweet followed by a bite similar to a tart, green apple.

Surprised by my hunger, I finish off a handful of crackers, try several different flavors of cheese and am content feeding myself grapes from above like I’m Cleopatra on her golden throne.

“Knew you’d need more than just strawberries. Besides, picking season has long passed.”

“Are you always right?” I ask as I roll to my stomach and pluck grapes from their stem. I feed him one, then place one above his navel. I feed him another then add a second to the line dissecting his abs. I keep altering between the two until he’s sporting fifteen grapes between his navel and the indention near his throat.

“According to Kat, I’m wrong about everything.”

“She’s coming around.”

“Have you ever tamed a wild horse?” he asks.

I stare at him, bewildered. A horse?

“
She’s like that.” He picks up one of the grapes from the line-up and slips it between his teeth.

I replace it. “I don’t understand.”

“She was born wild. And stubborn.”

“You were all born stubborn.”

He laughs. “Wild horses tend to keep a firm hold on their wild side. They build trust slowly, and are capable of becoming socially apt. Kat and I were close, and when I left, all the trust she had in me disappeared. She dipped back into her wild spirit. She’d rather hang on to her tried and true wild side than waste her time learning to trust me again.”

“She’s not a horse, Quinn.”

He shrugs and the grapes roll off either side of him. I scoop them up and replace them one by one.

“Don’t you think it’s possible the horse is the same horse, that it’s the trainer who’s changed methods?”

He pulls his lips together then pushes my shoulder, making me roll off balance. “Whose side are you on?”

I smile. “Mine. Just mine.”

I straddle his knees and plop one of the grapes from his chest into my mouth. “Thanks, by the way.”

“For what?”

For helping me push through the awkwardness and resurrect the desire I feel whenever you touch me. Or kiss me.

“
The, uh, gift.” I was surprised earlier, when I went to my room to change for dance lessons, and found the art supplies he’d left on my bed. His note had said he’d attempted drawing in high school, and to keep the pencils if they were useful.

Touched by his thoughtfulness, I excitedly sharpened the pencils and tested them out, surprised how the quality surpassed the El Cheapo brand I could barely afford. When I dumped the shavings in the kitchen trash, I found the bag from the art store and plastic wrap stuffed beneath blank sheets of paper that looked like they belonged to the sketch pads he’d left.

My heart took a flying leap into that trash can. I swear it sunk to the bottom, but then it rebounded and came back twice as hard, twice as full. No one has ever bought me art supplies. No one has ever supported my love of art outside of school. For those few seconds, I felt as if everything I’d given up was worth it. I felt my dream chasing had finally found purchase. That’s some scary shit.

And all because of Quinn. He wants me to succeed. He wants me just like I am.

“It was nothing.”

“It was everything. I saw the bag. Those items were new.” I stretch my fingers in either direction across his stomach to see if I can reach both sides with only my thumbs touching. “And I wanted you to know, you’re the first person outside of teachers and classmates to gift me with the very tool I need to succeed.”

“Pencils? It was nothing, I promise. I saw them in the store and thought you’d like them.” He drops his gaze from mine.

I push his chin up. “Not pencils. Your belief that my dreams won’t stay dreams.”

“You’re great at what you do.”

I
pluck one of the grapes from his chest, hold it between my teeth and lower toward his lips. He takes the grape, pops it between his teeth, and then watches me intently.

“You’re not too shabby yourself, Mr. Covington.” I lean down and pick up another grape with my teeth. I lean over him and track it across his nipple, up to his shoulder, then across his cheek. I trace his lip. He cracks open his mouth, ready to receive the grape, and strains his neck to reach, but using my tongue I flip it slowly over and pop it between my teeth.

His hands slip under my baggy shirt and caress my sides, strumming along my ribs. Up. Down. Over and over, light enough that goosebumps break out across my skin.

One by one, I follow the trail of grapes, sharing some, saving the others for myself, until there’s only two left between his obvious arousal and my lips. I climb backward and settle between his legs, leaning smartly forward, lowering my chest, pressing my rear to the sky. And as if the shirt gets the message to turn on the sultry, it falls down my back, exposing my lace barely-there panties and gives Quinn the perfect shot of my ass.

Making sure I have one hundred percent of his attention, I settle my hands on either side of the bulge in his jeans and lower slowly toward the grapes. I draw a circle around the furthest grape before maneuvering it into my mouth and teasing it between my teeth.

“Remind me to serve you grapes more often.” He reaches for me, but I shake my head. He settles into the bed, growling in what I decipher to be approval.

I kiss the line at his hip, paying special attention to the muscles that disappear beneath his waistband, before doing the same to the other side. I slip backward a few inches, unbutton his jeans, flick his zipper upright, then grab it with my teeth and work it easily down.

Flipping back the sides, I massage the pulsing bulge waiting beneath his thin boxers. He shifts at my touch, arching his hips up to make me stroke a little more aggressively. I tug down
his
boxers until they’re loose enough to expose his buoyant cock. I lick my lower lip then circle my tongue around to lick my top lip, just like I would his cock–in small, teasing circles.

I lean down, but instead of taking him into my mouth, I fondle the grape laying an inch away.

“Jesus Christ,” he huffs. His head drops to the bed as he presses his palms against his eyes. His body gives a little tremor and his cock pulses, reaching for me.

Grape between my teeth, I inch up Quinn’s delicious body making sure to brush against his cock, let my hair fall down past my shoulders and tickle his hardened nipples, and work him up so much he won’t last a second once I trade the grape for him.

His hands fall away from his face. He leans up, watching me, a dark desire in his eyes telling me all the dirty things he’s thinking right now. It’s the sexiest damn look he’s ever given me.

His gaze flicks to my mouth and the grape I have locked between my teeth. He reaches up and hooks the grape, pulling it from my teeth with a single gesture–like flicking away a horse fly. His fingers smooth over my lips. I offer my tongue and his thumb presses into my mouth, teasing my taste buds with the sweetness from the grape and the saltiness from the cheese and crackers.

Instead of going to his mouth, giving him the kiss he’s reaching for, I maneuver backward, reserving my previous actions until I’m settled between his legs and the wet tip of his cock has no choice but to surrender to my mouth.

His hands flatten against the bed. His fingers grip the sheets. His hips raise, wanting me to devour him in a single move. I give him a throaty laugh, and back off.

“I think I need another grape,” I say.

“
Fuck the grapes.” He leans up on his elbow. “Jesus, Cassie.”

Sucking him off has suddenly become one of my favorite activities. Watching him plead with a growl, beg with a thrust. I might be beautiful, but he’s a magnificent sexual being.

He shudders and grabs my head, holding me steady for one beat, two, then lets me resume. His fingers dig into my scalp. My hair winds around his fingers and the sensation drives a zing straight to my core. I hum in pleasure.

“Fuck,” he growls out. “F-u-u-u-ck.” His body rocks and shakes as his legs and abs tense, he bucks and calls my name.

I purr when his shudders give way to twitches and he falls against the bed. He gestures for me to join him so I crawl up and curl into his side. “You know what the best part of that was?”

“The grapes?”

“I’ll never look at a grape the same way, but no. The best part is owing you.”

I rub circles on his chest, absentmindedly tracing the spirals of ink on his heart. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“Oh, but I do. I most certainly do.”

We lay for a half hour without talking. My eyes betray how long this day’s been. The thought of leaving his bed makes me ridiculously sad. Leaving him after my internship’s complete makes me even sadder.

“What are you thinking?”

My gaze dances below his chin. “Why did you pick me when you knew I’d be leaving?

“
I didn't pick you.” He kisses me on the forehead. “I fell for you. Nothing I could’ve done would’ve stopped the fall. Besides, we’re broken in the most screwed-up perfect way. It was inevitable we’d end up together.”

“That’s an interesting way of putting it.” I smile. “Surely you weren’t not just trying to get me into your bed, because mission accomplished.” I tickle his side and he flinches.

“I wasn’t trying to get you in my bed. I was trying to get you in my life.”

“Mission accomplished,” I whisper.

I’m not going anywhere.” He rubs his palm up my arms. “I can be your someone. Here. Boston. Wherever.”

His words drift inside me, trapped like a bird in a glass house. I want to lock them there forever, but I can’t shake the feeling that someone or something will come along just when I’ve lowered every last defense I’ve fought so hard to keep intact, and leave the cage door open. His words will escape and my someone here, my someone in Boston, my someone wherever, will no longer be him.

“Tell me what you need to believe that.” He leans his lips close to my ear.

I need my someone to show me how to heal, to be free. And that’s exactly what he does. As smart as I am, my math smarts don’t equal heart smarts, and if anything, I’ve proven to myself that I’m incompetent when it comes to protecting my heart. How do I explain to him he was the problem, but now he’s the solution? Logically that should be impossible. I can’t wrap my head around the fact that it suddenly is.

I slide my fingers over his ink. His skin flushes under my touch and the smooth texture gives way to goose bumps. I trace the heart-shaped void, finding the point of impact where
multiple
wired vines originate. As they separate and web out from their epicenter, they soften, become less harsh to the eye.

Quinn sandwiches my hand between his and his chest, keeping me from exploring further. He’d said the ink represented guilt but never explained why. Is there something he can’t disclose? Or won’t? Does this beautiful, kind-hearted man wear a scarlet letter to remind himself, every day, how bad things were? How bad could it have been?

“I’m scared to need you,” I finally admit. I lift my chin and peer into his eyes.

Our faces are inches apart. His breath and my breath mingle like fog and smoke.

His lips brush against mine, ever so gently, as soft as a whisper. “And I’m scared you won’t.”

Chapter
18

Quinn

“There’s a good spot to make out.” Cassie points to the way too public café across from the tux shop.

“Awesome, and I’m all turned on after the tailor felt me up.” I hold the door for her to exit.

“So that’s not a no?” She pinches my ass. “Or would you like to go back to the tailor’s?”

“He wore me out. I think I’m good for a couple hours,” I tease.

She sighs dramatically like she doesn’t know what to do with herself in the meantime. I laugh and pull her against me until our hips bump.

“I have to admit, you look damn awesome in your wedding ensemble. Annabeth has great taste.” She smooths my wrinkled shirt like she’s picturing me in the white dress shirt, vest, and tie.

“She always did. I thought she’d go into fashion design or spearhead the industry itself, but running a company isn’t her strong suit.”

“Because she gets along
smashingly
with
every
one.” Cassie rolls her eyes and I squeeze her hip.

“I get along smashingly with you.” Since staying in my room, and actually waking there in the morning, she’s had a different outlook on our relationship. I don’t get shot down nearly as much, only when I’m competing with work. I like seeing that drive in her. Her push to succeed. It’s like she has this vision, a big-picture plan I’m not a part of, but she does her damnedest to
squeeze
me in between inspecting international deliveries and sorting the wedding gifts that seem to be taking over the house. She wants me to work in her plan. Hell, I want me to work in her plans, too.