Alessandra
When I wake up, I’m cuddled against Quinn’s sleeping form. We’re entwined on the couch, his head tucked into the crook of my neck and his arms wrapped around my torso. I lift my head and find it’s still dark outside. We must have fallen asleep, talking about everything from me being a nanny to him being co-owner of an escort service and all of the insanity that ensues in both of our day-to-day jobs.
A blush warms my cheeks. How long did I talk? I was so comfortable. . .. It must have been over an hour before we both dozed off from the wine.
With a cringe, I recall telling Quinn about the time Ben threw up on me at the park, otherwise known as the most humiliating moment of Erica’s life. I think I even reenacted the completely bereft expression on her face when I approached her at the monkey bars, covered in baby puke, and told her in front of her new friends that we were going home. Quinn’s chuckles fueled me as I described the melodrama of her tears and vows to never, and I mean NEVER, speak to me again. Since when is that a good post-sex story?
My embarrassment subsides as I look at his sleeping face. He liked the story. He likes me. He may more than like me.
How much do I like him?
Quinn’s eyes flutter open, as if I had asked the question aloud.
“What time is it?” he asks. His voice is rough in that sexy, just-woken-up way. Oh God, do I like that voice.
“It’s late, I don’t know,” I whisper. More so, I don’t care. Time isn’t on my mind when there are these long eyelashes to count and those cheekbones to powder with kisses.
“I do have a bed,” he whispers back.
“Oh.” I smile. “I remember that bed. You should show it to me again.”
He smiles for the briefest of moments before burying his face in my neck and planting the warmest, sweetest kiss there. I squeeze him hard, bursting with feeling. With matching sighs, we lift our lazy bodies from the couch and shuffle back toward his room, my arm wrapped around his waist, his around my shoulder. He plants a kiss on my hair as our bare feet pad across the cold floors.
Under his plush covers, my feet instantly find warmth. He curls his body around mine, spooning me without the usual awkwardness of finding a comfortable position with another body in bed. Again, I take a moment to marvel about how well we fit together. I push my ass flirtatiously against his groin. Why not?
“Can I help you?” he murmurs.
“Maybe we can help each other.,” I murmur back in my sexiest, honey-sweet voice.
Quinn growls into my ear and nips at my earlobe. I giggle uncontrollably, and we’re at it again.
This time, the sex is slow and warm. His one free hand cups my breast, massaging my nipple before running his fingers up and down my belly. The other hand I refuse to let go of, planting wet, tender kisses on each knuckle. Cocooned so tightly together, with his torso pressed against my back, it’s easy to find a lazy, comfortable pace. Our climax is a slow, heavy burn, rocking us back and forth in indescribable bliss.
“Grazie,” he says softly against the back of my sweat-soaked neck, half-asleep from the power of his orgasm. I hum contentedly in response, sated and ready for a restful sleep.
• • •
A hand stroking my hair wakes me the following morning. Quinn, fully dressed, crouches in front of me next to the bed, brushing what I can only assume is a rat’s nest back from my face.
“Buongiorno, stella marina,” he says, his eyes glimmering with amusement.
Starfish?
Then I realize the position I’m in. I’m sprawled across the bed, my hair wild and my legs twisted in the satin sheets. Realizing I’m not exactly at my most elegant, I groan.
“It’s early,” he says kindly.
I moan into the pillow. “Young people need more sleep.”
“Are you calling me old?” He gasps quietly in mock offense. “So rude, when I’ve brought you…”
His hand roams over to the bedside table to reach for something, and my nose catches up to my grumbling stomach. I nearly squeal at the sight of freshly brewed coffee in a ceramic mug.