Page 68 of Delayed Penalty

He closes his eyes as I kiss one corner of his lips,then the other. “It’s wrong. You’re here for Flora. Not for me.”

“It can be both. I can be here for you both.”

What the hell am I even saying?Stop this, Quinn! Be better than this. Don’t repeat your past mistakes.

But I don’t listen to me. I don’t listen to what Ishoulddo. I listen to what I want.

“That’s not… This isn’t what I intended when I hired you.”

“I know that.” I kiss down his chin and neck, and he groans when my lips trace the column of his throat, the noise so loud it vibrates against my lips. “But it’s what I’m offering.”

“Quinn…” he whispers.

“Adam,” I respond, and I know it’s his downfall.

Suddenly he’s not trying to resist me anymore. No, he’s tugging me closer, hauling me against him, his lips crashing into mine with such force I’m not sure how I won’t be bruised later. I don’t care. My mind is in other places as he slides his hand into my yoga pants and right down past my underwear, cupping my pussy with his warm hand.

“Fuck, you’re already so wet,” he mutters, his fingers slipping between my folds.

I nod, even though he’s not asking a question.

“Feel so fucking good,” he says as he slips a single digit inside me, and I cry out in relief.

He laughs, but this time I’m not even upset about it. I can’t find it in me, not when he’s dragging his finger in and out of me and it feels so, so good.

“I want to fuck you against this door, Quinn. I want it to be so loud and so hard that people walking by know exactly what’s going on. Would you like that?”

I nod. I’d like thatverymuch.

“Me too. So much.”

“Then do it already.”

Another laugh.

“Patience, honey,” he says.

Honey.

It’s the first time he’s called me that, and I don’t hate it. If anything, I like it entirely too much. I want to hear him say it again. I’m about to ask him to, but he yanks his hand from my pants, and this time, when I cry out, it’s not relief—it’s pure frustration.

“What the fuck, Hayes? I?—”

But I don’t get the chance to finish. He’s yanking my yoga pants down my legs, then scooping me into his arms. I allow it, curling my legs around his waist as he carries me to the couch, too impatient to take us anywhere else. He drops down, and I straddle his lap, his cock straining between us.

“Fuck,” he mutters when I roll my hips against him, loving the way he feels sliding against me.

It’s not enough. I need more. I grab the hem of hisshirt, tugging it up, and Hayes gets the picture. He grabs the shirt himself, sliding it over his head and tossing it I don’t know or care where. I’m too distracted counting the ridges on his stomach, too busy running my hands over each and every dip, then dragging them up through the light hair that covers his chest.

He lets me explore him. Lets me lean forward and press my lips against his collarbone. Allows me to kiss the base of his throat, to run my teeth along his skin, to trace every freckle he has with my tongue. Then start all over again.

Quinn, you need to stop. Be responsible for once in your life.

I ignore the voice in the back of my mind and scoot down to get more of him, but he drags me back up, pressing his mouth against mine in a possessive kiss. His hands dive into my hair, tugging me so close I don’t know where he ends and I begin, and I don’t give a shit. None of it matters when he’s kissing me like he is.

He drags his hands down my back, breaking our kiss to pull my shirt over my head, tossing it across the room like he did his own. I expect him to reach for me again, but he doesn’t. He just sits there, catching his breath and staring at me as I sit in his lap.

I wonder what he sees. Swollen lips from his kisses? My hair a wreck from his hands? My chest red from getting so worked up?

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