Page 16 of Dirty Quinn
I’ll let her get away with hiding it from me for now. But I make a mental note to find out what it was and how it worked so fast to open the car. Daria and her girls have all the cool toys when it comes to surveillance and crime.
She tells me about the conversation with her father as we work together, going through every inch of Quinn’s car. I have a hard time believing that she’s so complacent with him when he orders her to do things. Though if she’s not amenable and her actions are just a ruse to appease him—which I’m more inclined to believe—then I can’t fathom how her father thinks she’d be okay with his dictates.
We collect a small bag of assorted trash from Quinn’s car. It’s a mess on the inside: magazines, receipts, clothing returns, shoes, empty water bottles, and empty fast-food containers. The only thing it seems we don’t find is the one thing we’re looking for. I check the trunk, which is surprisingly clean and empty, especially given the state of the interior of the car.
I’ll never understand women.
“I don’t get it,” Daria says, running her hand through her long hair. “She never has her phone turned off. Not ever. And I’ve been calling and texting her all morning, with no response. And wherever she is, she doesn’t have her car.”
“That’s not good,” I say unnecessarily.
“No, it’s not,” Daria agrees. “Do you think. . .”
She doesn’t finish this sentence either, but I still know what she’s going to say.
“Yeah, I do. I’m sorry, babe. But I think Quinn is missing.”
6
Quinn
I have to admit, it’s a lot harder to plot out being rescued by the love of your life when he doesn’t know you’re missing. If he knew, I’m certain he would try to find me. If the way he treated me the other night is any indication. Even if he was a little drunk—okay, a lot drunk—he still touched me and looked at me with reverence. Like he was worshipping my body, memorizing every piece of me so he could relive our night again and again.
The same way that I keep it on a loop in my mind, as an escape from this cold, dank windowless room I need him to come take me away from. In my mind’s eye, I see his face smiling above me as he tells me what a good girl I am; how I’m so pretty.
“Have I told you how pretty you are?”
I shake my head, my hair swishing back and forth across my shoulders, the butterflies in my stomach going all aflutter at his words.
His hand reaches out to smooth my hair back from my face, I lean my cheek into his palm. Watching him as his eyes travel from mine, up to my forehead, down to my lips, my chest, and back up to my face. He leans in and takes my bottom lip between his with a gentle pull. Then lets it go to ghost his lips across mine. Spreading kisses up one side of my face and back down again with the softest of touches until finally returning to my mouth, his tongue snakes out to glide across mine, seeking entrance.
I can’t breathe. My head spins. As a first “real” kiss, Reed Roberts is absolutely killing it.
He groans as his fingers slide up into my hair, grip it tightly, and hold my head in place. His other hand creeps around to my waist and pulls me forward to straddle his lap. Then, with one little sentence, he rocks my entire world.
“Oh god, Quinn. You feel amazing. Exactly how I dreamed it would be,” he murmurs against my lips, making my heart burst and my insides melt.
“You dreamed about me?”
“All the time, pretty girl. All the time.”
That was all the motivation I needed to scoot myself closer, pressing our chests together and tilting my pelvis down against him so I could feel how hard he was beneath me.
“I dreamed about you too,” I admit, feeling emboldened.
His lips move from mine, down my jaw, and over to my neck, where he trails kisses along the sensitive skin, stopping to nibble on my collarbone, which makes me moan.
“What did you dream about?” he asks.
“This. Kissing. Being together.”
“Did you dream about us fucking, Quinn?”
I nod as he kisses his way to the other side of my neck. He has to be the best neck kisser around. By far.
“I did too. I dreamed about burying my cock deep inside your pussy as you beg me for more.” His words are a little crass. In my daydreams and fantasies, he has always been a bit more poetic with his choices. But something about hearing his deep voice whispering “cock” and “pussy,” his hot breath tickling my ear, it makes me want him to do exactly that. Right then. Without waiting a second longer.
He moves a hand inside my shirt and cups my breast through my bra.
