Page 81 of The Fire We Crave

I reach for her hip and begin to move her more aggressively. Tugging hard on her hips so we smash into one another.

My cock gets used to the rhythm, expecting the slam, chasing the sensation.

My breath starts to come a little quicker, and I fuck her asshole with my thumb at the same pace.

Quinn shakes, and I grin to myself. Think I’m going to get her that second orgasm she doesn’t believe she’s capable of after all.

I reach beneath her and find her clit. It’s rock hard and I circle it.

My burns pull, and I don’t care because the pain of it bleeds into everything else we’re doing.

“I want another, sweet thing,” I say against her ear. “I want you squeezing my cock when you give me that second O you’re chasing.”

“I can’t,” she says, almost on a whimper.

“Want to bet?”

She shakes her head. “Please, Smoke,” she cries.

So far, she’s shown me how open she is to new things. “Maybe you like a little pain with it too. You don’t like it, say red and I’ll stop.”

I squeeze her clit between my thumb and forefinger and then pull on it, hard.

Quinn screams, but doesn’t say the wordred. Instead, she comes, maybe harder than the first time. And this time, I come with her.

It catches me off guard, hurtling in so quickly, I barely have time to prepare for the rush I feel.

The world feels unstable, and I balance myself by putting a hand on Quinn’s ass as she cries out again.

“Quinn,” I bark. “Fuck.”

I continue to thrust, milking every moment, savoring every shudder and uncontrolled gasp.

She’s the thing that’s been missing from my life.

Something I’ve never had with anyone else.

I want this expression of who we are together. That anything is possible between us, and that we both want it.

But more than all that, it’s after I’ve removed the condom and cleaned up and she’s tucked up close against me that I realize I want Quinn to be my woman.

And that my demons mean I might not be the man for her.

24

QUINN

It’s hard to believe it just turned into September. But as I stand on the porch, nursing my coffee cup in Smoke’s T-shirt, it’s still warm enough that it feels like summer, not fast approaching fall.

The sun casts shadows over the ridges of the mountains and makes everything seem gold around the edges.

The only difference is, there are some rolling clouds in the distance, and I’m praying that it’s gonna be the first big deluge we’ve had in a while.

It’ll be good for the bakery because people will linger and make use of the bench and stools that line both windows. Maybe have more than one coffee or a single pastry.

My bread sales, bizarrely, increase in the fall too. Like people have had enough of yogurt and granola for breakfast and the whole ridiculous get-your-body-ready-for-the-beach diet. They’re now ready to embrace toast and thick stews and soups and chilis with slabs of properly buttered thick-sliced bread.

But for right now, I’m going to stand here and simply enjoy the fact that last night I got well and truly railed by Smoke.

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