Page 83 of Good Graces

I groan—low and rough—because hearing her beg for it drives me fucking wild. I let go of her wrist, and her hands are on me instantly, fingers pushing at my shirt, fumbling at my belt.

“Easy,” I mutter, catching her wrists again, pinning them just above her head. “You always did like your games,” I say, dragging my mouth along the shell of her ear.

“You’re the one playing games.”

I grin against her skin. “And you love it.”

I let her go, finally, and strip my shirt off over my head. Quinn’s hands are everywhere—dragging down my chest, scraping against my abs, tugging at the waistband of my jeans like she’s about to tear them off herself.

“Fuck,” I mutter as I shove them down.

My cock is already hard, thick and pulsing, aching to be inside her.

I push my boxers down, too, and drag the head through her folds, coating myself in her slick. She’s so fucking wet, and my mind spins with it—with the way she’s trembling beneath me, her thighs twitching as I tease her.

“Warren,” she gasps, hips jerking.

“You want it?”

“Yes,” she chokes out. “God, yes.”

I line myself up and press just the head inside her. “That what you want?” I taunt. “Just this?”

“Don’t,” she whines. “Don’t tease me.”

“You always liked it when I made you work for it.”

I thrust forward another inch, her body clenching tight around me.

“Please,” she begs. “Just fucking take me.”

I almost break. Almost slam inside her and lose myself in the heat and the friction. But then I remember—no condom.

“Shit,” I mutter, pulling back.

“No!” Her nails dig into my arms. “I’m on the pill. Please, I don’t care—”

“I do,” I cut her off, voice tight. “I’m not risking that.”

She groans. “Then hurry the hell up.”

“Do you need me to grab your inhaler?”

She huffs and glares. “I do not need myinhalerto have sex with you.”

I raise a brow. “You sure about that?”

“Just fucking go already.”

I force myself to roll off her, drag my boxers back up, and stumble toward my car. I’m still half-hard as I fumble in the glove box, digging through receipts and loose change until I find a few condoms.

Thank God.

Then I see it—the blanket in my back seat. I grab that too, drape it over my arm, and run back to her. When I get there, she’s still on her back, flushed and breathless, her thighs pressed together like she’s trying to ease the ache.

“You good?” I ask, half teasing.

Her glare is molten. “Get the fuck over here.”

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