Two Weeks in Geneva: Book Three (6 page)

“This won’t be gentle or sweet. Are you sure?”

He waited, unmoving except for the twitch of his cock, unsure whether he was afraid that she’d change her mind or more afraid that she wouldn’t.

After agonizing seconds that felt like hours, she captured his gaze with hers and said, “Yes. I want you inside me. Now.”

He didn’t hesitate, and in an instant, he’d pulled her up and over him, her pussy settled over the bulge of his cock, her heat practically scorching him, even through the combined layers of clothing. She dropped her hips down, and the contact had them both moaning. As she fiddled with his belt, the jostling and strokes against his cock almost having him ready to blow, he slid his hands under her shirt and jacket, up the soft skin of her belly, and cupped her breasts. The tight confines didn’t leave him much room to play, but he pulled the lace of her bra down and stroked her nipples with his thumbs, the rasp of flesh on flesh making her moan and hardening his cock even further.

The jangle of his belt buckle and sound of his zipper being lowered spurred him on, and he pulled his hands out of her shirt and focused on lifting her skirt. The sight of her full brown thighs splayed open as she straddled him, the press of those ridiculous heels that had been taunting him all morning against his calves had him groaning.

And then she touched him, her soft hands a contrast to his hardened flesh. She held him tight in her hand and slicked her thumb through the precum that already leaked freely and flowed around his crown, eliciting more fluid and setting off a series of shocks that started at his cock and spiraled out. He found the edge of her underwear and pulled it down in haste. When the fabric wouldn’t go any farther, he ripped at it until it left her body and tossed it aside, no longer willing to be deterred.

She lifted her hips, hitching her skirt even higher, and he could faintly make out the curve of her mound, see the split of her pussy lips, hiding the place where he wanted to bury himself so that he could feel her warm, wet heat against him as her silken walls cradled him, the place where he would be soon. Despite his earlier statement, he couldn’t resist the chance to touch her, so he reached out and ran his finger down her slit, loving her low, throaty moan, the feel of the hot rush of cream that coated her lower lips. He looked up at her and saw that her head was thrown back, eyes closed, her full lips open, the expression of pure pleasure that twisted her features something that filled him with masculine pride. He traced her slit again, this time stopping to circle her clit before grasping it between her fingers and plucking at the engorged nub. Then he reached down to circle her opening before sliding his finger in, but only to the first knuckle. Her slick flesh clamped down on him, her walls clenching as she tried to pull him in deeper.

A glance back up at her face revealed that she now bit her lip, a sure sign of her frustration that only made him want to tease and torment her more. So he did, moving his finger in and out of her slowly as he circled her clit with his thumb. The motion kept her on edge, enough to keep her wanting but not enough to make her come. It reminded him of an undeniable truth: no matter what Quinn said, her body didn’t lie. This moment again proved their connection, proved that when the world didn’t intrude he and Quinn were made for each other.

“Quinn,” he said.

She kept her eyes closed, refused to look at him, so he pulled his hand away. When he did, her eyes flew open and she looked down at him, the cloudy, confused passion in her gaze making him smile.

“Better,” he said, determined that she wouldn’t shut him out and try to pretend that this was anything less than the joining of two souls. Satisfied that she wouldn’t look away, he put one hand on her ass and used the other to grip the base of his cock. One gentle nudge and she lifted her hips, centering herself over him. He traced her slit and moaned at the feel of her cream coating his head.

“Now, Alexander,” she said as she tried to lower herself onto him.

He smacked her ass—hard—the slap reverberating through the small confines of the car, and while he’d intended it as a reprimand, she moaned and released a fresh rush of cream. But his point had been made. She held her hips still, panting and groping at his chest as he rubbed his cock up the length of her slit, circled her clit with the head. Then, finally, when he didn’t think either of them could wait another instant, he pierced her folds with his crown, guiding himself steady and sure inside her. He pressed her hips down as he moved up until they were finally, fully joined.

The snug grip of her walls, the ripple of her flesh as she hugged him, the feel of her warm, slick skin against him without a barrier was indescribable. He’d dreamed of this moment for so long, and the reality was immeasurably better than anything he could have imagined. It only improved when she leaned forward to kiss him, the press of her lips mixed with the tug of her pussy as she moved almost making him come.

He reached up to grab her face, the removal of his hand allowing him to slip even deeper inside her, and he grazed his thumbs across her cheekbones. And then he thrust up at the same time as she pressed down, and they both released heated sighs. They set a rhythm, him moving up, her down, her clit sliding against the skin of his shaft, and all the while, he cradled her face in his hands, held her gaze with his, praying that she would see this was more than sex, more than lies. That this was forever for both of them if she’d let it be.

The tingle at the base of his spine signaled his impending climax, and the tightening grip of her pussy on his cock signaled hers. One thrust, two, and her walls fluttered and she gripped him tighter still. One last thrust and they went over the edge together, him on a low wail, her on a higher-pitched moan. They stayed connected for long moments after, and he put his arms around her waist, held her in an embrace.

He knew the instant the spell was broken because she pulled away and put her hands on top of his, silently urging him to release her. He complied, and she lifted off him. He looked down at his softening cock, shiny with their combined juices, knew the same leaked out of her now. He could offer her a handkerchief, clean her up even, but that deep, primal part of him refused, wanted to mark her, wanted to let her feel his cum on her skin, wanted her to know who’d been inside her.

She shimmied and pulled down her skirt, and by the time she settled next to him, the lust, passion…love that had filled the car had dissipated, leaving a deathlike pallor in its wake. Just like that, her emotional walls were back up, and he knew there was nothing he could say to reach her. Still, he wanted to try, but before he could speak, the limo came to a stop.

They’d reached their destination.

“So I guess that’s it,” she said as she adjusted her blouse, a grimace on her face. “We’re done.”

She got out of the car and closed the door.

“We’ll never be done, Quinn,” he said.

The empty air offered no response.

Chapter Eight

Quinn slipped into the house, rushing up the stairs in need of a few minutes to compose herself. She stripped off her clothes and got into the shower, the blast of the freezing pellets of cold water shocking her, the stinging drops leaving stabs of pain that she welcomed and deserved.

Quinn couldn’t believe what she’d done, didn’t know what had made her toss caution to the wind. A tiny whisper in her mind contradicted the lie. Truthfully, she could confess to herself here in the confines of her bathroom, burning desire had overtaken her like a wave, and she’d been powerless to deny it, deny the seemingly unbreakable pull that drew her to him.

Especially since it was the last time. It had to be.

Didn’t it?

Her hands stilled at the thought. That should have been a statement, so why did it sound like a question? She hurried her actions in an attempt to push the thoughts away, but she couldn’t squelch the tinge of sadness as she washed the last traces of Alexander away. Even now, she could feel the heat of his breath, the pressure of his hands on her body, feel him buried inside her.

And she heard his voice in her ear, his words from that awful day reverberating in her brain.

“Don’t give up on us, Quinn
.
”

He made it sound so easy, so possible, like he didn’t have a wife, like they could just sweep away the past, the lies between them.

Like love was enough.

She felt tears welling and beginning to clog her throat, but she pushed them down and shut off the water. Life wasn’t a fairy tale and the sooner she accepted that, accepted that she and Alexander could never be, the better off she’d be.

••••

Perhaps sensing her emotional state, Quinn’s mother didn’t say anything about her furtive return and didn’t ask about what had transpired. She simply hung around, played cards, made silly faces at Ethan, and gave the loving, unwavering support that she had for Quinn’s entire life. She left around dinner, and about twenty minutes later, the phone rang.

“Hello?” she said, her mind on alert with the thought that it might be Alexander.

“Quinn. Hello.”

At confirmation it was him, her heart rate skyrocketed, and she squeezed the phone so tight she thought she might break it. Not the smoothest beginning for her getting-over-Alexander resolution.

“Alexander…I can’t. I can’t do this now,” she said, struggling to keep the anger and sadness, the…affection out of her voice.

“Do you want me to apologize for today? Say I’m sorry it happened? I won’t. Because I’m not. And you aren’t either, and maybe one day, you’ll accept that,” he said angrily. Then after a pause, he said, “But I didn’t call to talk about that. I want to see Ethan.”

“Fine,” she said, though Alexander wasn’t asking for permission, “we’re in for the night, so you can drop by whenever.”

“I’ll be there within the hour,” he said and hung up.

She was both relieved and disappointed that he wasn’t coming for her. The emotional whiplash had her almost seasick, but she’d focus on the positive. This was a chance to prove that she no longer had to hide from him, prove that she could be in the same space with him.
Without
touching him. Before she knew it, there was a knock at her door. She opened it and noticed the limo again idling outside.

“You don’t drive anymore,” she said as he entered.

He looked a little sheepish before responding, “I had a lot to do and didn’t need the distraction.”

They stood awkwardly in the foyer, staring at each other, neither willing to speak.

He finally broke the silence. “Thank you for letting me come over,” he said as he stood on the threshold, his gaze a swirling mix of anger and a deep, profound desire that took her breath away.

“Of cou-course,” she said, trying to inject a happy inflection into her tone. “He’s in here.” She gestured toward the living room.

“Hello!” Alexander said as he entered the living room and immediately scooped up Ethan, any angst and anger he may have felt swept away at the sight of the baby.

He lifted the baby high in the air, to squeals of delight, then pulled him down and held him close, softly kissing his curls.

“I have to go away,
fils
, but I’ll be back soon. You be good for your mama, okay?”

Ethan smiled, and promptly leaned over, trying to maneuver Alexander’s cufflink into his mouth. Alexander laughed and handed the boy his favorite stuffed frog, which briefly distracted him from his task. It should have looked ridiculous, Alexander, tall and dashing in his expertly fitted suit, standing in the sloppy imperfection of her living room holding a baby and a stuffed frog.

But it didn’t.

To Quinn, it looked like warmth and happiness and the home she’d always dreamed of. Her lip began to tremble at the sight and at the thought that this was all over, the family they’d managed to build destroyed in the blink of an eye. Oh sure, Alexander would see Ethan and thus would still be a part of her life, but this…this
rightness
, the simple perfection of him and her and Ethan together, as a family, was gone.

“Don’t give up on us, Quinn.”

She didn’t want to. God, she didn’t want to. A tear slid down her cheek before she could stop it, and at the same moment, Alexander looked at her. Other than the tic in his jaw, he showed no outward sign that he’d seen her tear. But he had, and in that moment, she knew that he felt the loss and longing as much as she did.

“Do you mind if I stay for bedtime?”

Apparently he was going to ignore her tears. She couldn’t blame him. It was all so exhausting, his lies, hers, the mess they seemed to keep making of things. And talking wouldn’t fix it. Maybe nothing could.

“Sur—sure,” she said around the lump of tears that clogged her throat. “I can leave you two alone if you’d like.”

Alexander sighed and then nodded, and relief filled her. She knew it was weak, running from him, but seeing that, Ethan splashing the bathwater, fighting not to put his pj’s on, fighting not to sleep before finally giving in, all of it so mundane, so
normal,
and a soul-crushing reminder of all that had gone…Her heart might break in two, or she might do something crazy like beg him to stay. Both propositions were too risky, so she sat on the couch, unmoving as she listened to the familiar
thud
of his footsteps, the surprisingly on-key song he sang, Ethan’s laughter that soon quieted as he slept.