Fighting Solitude (On The Ropes #3)(62)

Wrong or right, I’d wanted him for forever.

Wrong or right, I was finally going to follow through.

My head was a jumbled mess, my emotions had been put through the wringer, and my body was on the verge of spontaneous combustion, but one thing had become abundantly clear.

“Stop freaking out. We’re doing this,” Quarry stated.

My eyes were clamped shut as I signed, “It appears we are.”

“Jesus. Don’t look so excited.”

“It’s weird!” I whined.

“Was it weird when you were coming on my cock last night?” he asked in a deep voice, skating the fine line between frustration and hilarity.

“It is now!” I replied, skating an equally fine line between joining a convent and dropping to my knees in front of him.

“Well, was it weird when I was finger-f*cking you not even ten minutes ago?”

No. That had been the furthest thing from weird. The man was incredible with his hands.

I decided not to inflate his ego and lied. “A little.”

Water suddenly doused my face, causing my eyes to pop open in surprise.

“Stop!” I yelled, doing my best to keep my gaze aimed at his chin or higher.

His laughter was infectious, so as much as I wanted to crawl into a hole and hide, I started laughing too. Unfortunately, this act gave my mind a chance to forget the whole chin-up thing, and my eyes took the opportunity to drop to Quarry’s hand gliding over the defined ridges on his stomach.

And they didn’t stop there. They continued down until they landed on Quarry’s long, hard dick jutting out in front of him.

Did I forget to mention that Quarry was naked?

And hard? So damn long and thick.

And in the shower, waiting for me to join him?

It.

Was.

Agonizing.

After I’d finally given in and agreed to give a relationship a shot, we’d quickly packed up and left the bus station.

However, Quarry hadn’t driven us home. He’d taken us to the nicest hotel Indianapolis had to offer. He’d immediately been recognized by the staff, and after he’d posed for a dozen selfies, the valet had eventually rumbled off in Till’s clunker.

When we’d arrived in the lavish suite, I’d discovered that this wasn’t just the impromptu overnight stay Quarry had made it sound like. My travel bag had been sitting on the sink beside his, and a five-hundred-dollar bottle of champagne had been chilling in a silver bucket next to the bed. Beside it had been a bottle of my favorite ten-dollar wine from the grocery store.

A random collection of snacks had been neatly organized across the long bar. Everything from elegant chocolate-covered strawberries to—my favorite—a bag of Oreos and a half-gallon of one percent milk.

On a chair in the corner, I’d spotted the pair of purple Chucks he’d bought me for my birthday. My jeans and one of my fitted “The Stone Fist” T-shirts had been draped over the arm. One of my simple everyday bra and panty sets had been sitting on top of them.

Huge bouquets of white roses had covered nearly every surface, including both nightstands, and a playlist I’d recognized as my own had been playing from a set of speakers hidden somewhere in the room.

Oh, Quarry Page had been busy.

Looping his arms around my waist from behind, he’d said, “Broke sixteen-year-old me took you on the date. Loaded twenty-four-year-old me is stepping in for the evening.”

I’d craned my head back to flash him a huge grin over my shoulder.

He’d stepped away and announced, “Let’s shower.” He then had gone to work removing his hearing aids and stripping out of his suit.

I had to admit that watching him slowly unbuttoning his shirt with his eyes glued to me had done some seriously tingly things between my legs.

Over the course of the evening, Quarry had stroked, touched, and teased me with his fingers numerous times—including on the way over here, when he’d snuck his hand under my dress while he’d been driving—but never once had it been long enough for me to find a release.

And, as I’d ogled his naked ass sauntering to the bathroom, it had almost been enough.

It hadn’t been though, and against my better judgment, I’d followed him to the bathroom, which was where I found myself standing, fighting desperately to keep from watching his hard-on bob in front of him as he washed his gorgeous body.

When he noticed my eyes aimed at his hips, he chuckled softly, drawing my attention back up. The moment we made eye contact, his mouth split into a gorgeous grin, popping that dimple that drove me wild.

“Get in the shower, Liv.”

“It’s a little intimidating,” I replied.

“Getting naked or my cock, which you can’t stop staring at?”

Definitely the latter. “Getting naked while you stand there gawking. What happened to the whole heat-of-the-moment thing?” I replied rudely only so I could cross my arms over my chest to hide my rock-hard nipples.

He threw his head back in laughter. When he finally sobered, his gaze was no longer filled with amusement. “Fine. You want heated and in the moment?”

“Uhhh…” I mumbled, instantly realizing my mistake as he prowled from the shower.

His tattoo-covered arms, swayed as he made his approach. His pecs flexed, and his abdominals rippled.