Page 16 of Wild Child
My pulse quickens, and my heart’s hammering so hard in my chest that he must hear it. My fingers twitch, about to relinquish the towel.
“Hey asshole, you done knocking? Some of us are trying to sleep.”
A man in loose pajamas appears on the walkway behind Quentin, and instead of dropping the towel I tighten my grip on it.
I take a step back into my room, not wanting the stranger to see me half naked.
“We leave in five minutes.”
Quentin’s scowl is back, and he closes my door as he turns to the man.
I lean against the door, listening to the muffled voices. Quentin gives the guy a dressing down, but I don’t hear what’s said. My heart’s beating too fiercely.
I almost dropped the towel. I almost exposed myself to Quentin to see what would happen.
There’s an ache between my legs, and I slide my hand down my body. My skin is slick with water, and my nipples are hard. My hand continues between my legs, and I moan softly when I press against my sensitive nub.
Would Quentin be rough with me or gentle? I can never tell what side of him I’m going to get.
I imagine his angry energy throwing me onto the bed, his arms pinning me down as I writhe underneath him.
My movements become faster, and I’m panting hard. I imagine him kissing me roughly as he grinds into me, thrusting into me and showing no mercy.
The pressure builds as I imagine him shoving me onto my knees and taking me roughly from behind, the headboard banging against the cheap hotel wall sending particleboard flying. I imagine him working my clit with his capable fingers as he loses control in me.
The orgasm races through my body, and I bite my cheek to stop from crying out. My fingers are soaked and my pussy throbs and I rub myself again, teasing out another climax. My eyes are shut tight, keeping me in the fantasy of Quentin pounding me over and over again as he loses control. Touching me and caressing me and taking everything he needs from me until we both come again and again.
I’m shaking from my third orgasm when there’s a bang on the door. My eyes fly open, and I scramble up from where I sunk to the floor.
“Two minutes and I’m leaving.”
I pant hard at the sound of his voice. He’s gruff and commanding and a pain in the ass, but no man has ever invaded my thoughts the way he does. I’ve never done what I just did while thinking about a man.
I should feel satisfied, but the dull ache between my legs is worse than before. I’ve fantasized about Quentin, and it’s made me hungry for the real thing.
8
QUENTIN
Ten minutes later Charlie’s door finally opens, and she emerges onto the walkway fully made up and in her black leathers with a smile on her face. She waves at me, leaning against the side of the truck as if she’s not got a care in the world.
I check my watch pointedly. It’s zero-seven-thirty-six. Thirty six minutes after the time I wanted to hit the road. And an hour and thirty six minutes later than what’s on the itinerary.
I made allowances for her yesterday and drove as late as I could so she could have an hour to sleep in this morning. She’s obviously not used to getting up at six. Or at seven, it turns out.
But as Charlie comes down the stairs with a smile just for me, it’s hard to stay cross at her.
“Is there time for breakfast?”
I scoff, because she really has no idea how to keep to a schedule.
“Breakfast was an hour ago.”
She frowns, and she can be pissed with me. That’s fine just as long as she gets in the van and we get on the road. There are still a lot of miles to cover today.
A man walks past with a large German shepherd, and Charlie smiles and walks over to them both.
“Hello big guy.”
