Taking Turns (Turning #1)(68)

He stops, looks up at me and says, “Do you like me, Chella?”

I give him a slow nod. “I do. You’re so easy to like, Quin.”

“I think you’re pretty easy to like as well. I didn’t expect it. I really thought I’d hate you forever. But you surprised me that second time we were together. With your easygoing humor. Your willingness to play along. And for letting me feel my loss however I wanted. Smith and Bric just wanted me to move on. I get it, she’s gone. And like I said, I’m not going after her until I know why she left. I don’t want to be that guy, you know?”

“I don’t know why she left, but she’s crazy for leaving you behind. I think she’s gonna figure that out pretty fast, if she hasn’t already.”

“But I like this,” he says, playing with the long strands of dark hair hanging over my face. “I like what this is turning into. I was having a lot of fun already today. Even before you got horny.”

I smile and a laugh escapes. “We don’t have to do anything, if you don’t want.”

“Fuck that.” He leans up and kisses me. It starts gentle and soft, but then his hands are grabbing my hair, pulling me towards him so he can kiss me harder. “Fuck that. As long as you’re in, I’m in too.”

His hands drop to my shoulders and he slips my blouse down until I help him take it off. The heat is blasting into my back, keeping that side of me warm while Quin heats up my front. A moment later he’s unclasping my bra and tossing it in the back with his coat. I lean over into the passenger seat and unbutton my jeans as he takes off my snow boots and they join the bra.

He pulls on my pant legs as I wiggle them over my hips, dragging my underwear down at the same time. And then, when I’m naked, he opens my legs and fingers me.

“You’re always ready,” he says. “Always so f*cking wet.”

My foot finds the hardness over his zipper. “I like that about you too.”

We smile, then laugh together as he opens his jeans and pulls out his cock. Fully erect. Thick and perfect.

I get up from the seat and maneuver on to my knees, then lean down to take him in my mouth, but he stops me. “Just climb on top,” he says. “I don’t want to wait.”

I lift my leg over his lap and settle on top of his thighs. We kiss for a little bit, his fingertips gently dragging up and down my spine, sending chills through my entire body as we get to know each other better through our tongues.

But eventually we can’t wait any longer. I sit up, wrap my hand around his cock, and play with my clit until he takes over and the pressure of his hands on my shoulders makes me sit down.

We both moan. I bury my face into his neck, rub my cheek on his to feel the perfect scratch of stubble on his jaw.

We f*ck like that. Slow. Our hips moving just enough but not too much. Like we don’t want to rush it. Like we want to stay in this moment and savor it. Keep our release bottled up for as long as possible. Hold on to our longings, whatever they may be.

He comes inside me. I come all over him. And we sit there in the truck—in the middle of the snow-covered Arapahoe National Forest, windows steamed up with our heavy breathing, only the sounds of our hearts beating against each other to break the silence—and hug the loneliness out of each other.

By the time we get home it’s evening, we’re starved, so Quin orders room service from the kitchen and we don’t even have the strength to do anything to the tree except stand it up in front of the living room window.

We don’t have sex again, but we don’t need it. Quin pulls me on top of his chest and we pass out on the couch, still thinking about the forest, and the snow, and how we aren’t so lonely anymore.

It was the perfect day.





We wake the next morning to his cell phone ringing in his pants. He shifts me around so he can reach it, tabs the accept button, and then croaks out, “Yeah,” into the phone.

I move aside so he can sit up. I get a smile over his shoulder for my thoughtfulness.

“It’s f*cking Tuesday,” he says to the person on the other side of the phone. “I told you I’m out of the office today.” His hand finds its way under my shirt and begins to rub my stomach. My bra is still in the back of the Suburban, so he finds my nipple almost immediately as he tries to concentrate on the conversation. “Why can’t Robert handle that?” Quin says. His voice is rough and angry, but he’s smiling at me as he talks.

“Fine,” he says. “I’ll be there in an hour.” He ends the call with a long, heavy sigh. Then tosses the phone onto the coffee table. “I gotta go into the office today. I hate being the goddamned boss.”

“What do you do?” I ask, kind of embarrassed that we’ve gotten this far into the relationship and I have no clue.

“Online marketing company. Private consultant, actually. I have a big account starting tomorrow and Robert is supposed to handle it, but he’s out with the flu. I’m sorry,” he says, leaning down to kiss me.

“For what? If you have to work, you have to work.”

“Yeah, but we should be decorating the tree today. And you don’t have any ornaments. I’m pretty sure Bric threw away, gave away—whatever the f*ck he did with Rochelle’s things—all the ornaments and lights.”

“I can go down to Walgreens and get new ones. No big deal.”