Chapter 123: 123. Sweet Dreams III
Maisie
Quinlan pulled out of me with a wet pop, and I gasped for air, thighs trembling on the ground as I tumbled from the high, insides still fluttering wildly around my fingers.
He tucked my hair behind my ear. "Jer’s got a little something for you," he said softly.
And stepped around me. His fingers were wonderful in my hair, teasing my scalp gently one second and yanking back firmly, so that all I could see was Jericho towering above me.
Jericho canted his head to the side, amber eyes dragging over my face. And my breasts. Even here, his gaze felt like a touch, so real, it made me tighten all over again.
My fingers started to move again and a whimper tore from my throat as he took a step forward, until he was inches away from my lips. My tongue darted out of my mouth. "Please."
His strokes grew slightly out of control and he seemed to make a mental decision because warm spurts of cum slapped against my cheek, dribbling down my chin and onto my breasts.
My eyes fell shut, but Jericho let out an inhuman growl. "Eyes open, malyshka. I want you to remember you begged for this."
It was like painting a canvas with multiple brush strokes. I knew it told more about me as a person to dream of being splattered across the face and breasts and thighs. Still, it didn’t stop my second orgasm from slamming into me like a tidal wave, my body shaking with the aftershocks of pleasure so intense it was almost pain.
And then—
I woke up panting, my heart hammering against my ribs. The morning sun filtered in from somewhere and for the first few seconds, I stared, disoriented by my surroundings.
Plane. France. Private jet. Right.
I glanced down at mg fever-hot body drenched in sweat. I still had my oversized t-shirt on. My shorts had ridden up my thighs, soaked and clinging to me.
Relief slammed hard into me. It was just a dream.
The door to the bedroom swung open and Quinlan strolled in looking like a goddamn Ralph Lauren ad. Seeing him in all put together in a loose white beach shirt, a pair of matching white shorts and a soft pink cap sitting backwards on his fair head, I almost laughed myself hoarse wondering why the hell I thought it had been anything but a dream.
How could anyone that innocent looking have brutalized my throat last night?
Quinlan’s lips kicked up in a small smile. He looked so painstakingly handsome this morning. "Sweet dreams?" he asked.
"More like a nightmare," I shot back. My voice was wrecked. Weird. Must’ve been from screaming in my sleep. "Nightmares."
He snorted, hands pushing into his pockets. "Oh, I’m sure." He trudged over and leaned by the side of the bed to lift something lacy. He sniffed and stuffed it into his pocket swiftly before I could catch a glimpse of it. "We didn’t want to wake you, but we’ve touched down. Since an hour ago. Think you could get your royal ass out of bed and take a shower? Your breakfast is getting cold."
I remained in bed. I was frightened that if I pushed back the sheets, he’d smell me. How wet I was.
But Quinlan had already turned. He pointed towards the armchair.
Armchair?
I shook my head free of the images of Soren coming in his hands right there, just in time to hear him say, "Wear that."
I squinted at the neatly folded pile. It was the obscene swimwear Mercer had purchased yesterday. Or was it the day before yesterday? "There’s not enough material on that to cover a child."
"Well, it’s a good thing you’re not a child," he muttered, leaning down to pick something else off the floor. He sniffed again before shoving it into his pocket, too.
"You want me to meet your parents in a bikini set? Absolutely not," I said, temporarily forgetting my fear as I kicked off the covers, clambering to my feet.
My legs were wobbling. Why were my legs wobbling?
I lifted my fingers to my chest and itched slightly. My skin felt smooth. I mean, it was always smooth lately, but it felt like touching my fingertips to silk.
"Why, Maisie?" he asked innocently. Far too innocently. "Looking to make a good impression?"
I narrowed my eyes. "It is generally considered polite not to traumatize people’s parents."
He let out an amused laugh. "When I was fourteen and hadn’t kissed a girl to my mother’s knowledge, she became concerned. She was frightened that I was asexual." He leaned into my space. When had he gotten so close? "Want to know what she did?"
I shook my head. He was so close. I caught the whiff of something dark and electric on him.
"Every evening, she had the maids dress in a little get up in front of me while they served dinner. Little black and white dresses with aprons that didn’t quite cover their asses. No panties. No bras. Most times, they were topless. And when she thought that didn’t move me, she began employing more men, too. Had the designers make them pants with their cocks sticking out, incase I felt inclined towards sucking one."
My jaw was on the floor. I had a question. I’m sure we all had the same question. "Did you?"
He blinked, then burst out laughing. "I appreciate beauty in all forms, cherie, but I like my holes warm, wet, female, brunette, blue-eyed, fat-assed, plump-lipped, and with teeth."
A mortifying flush crawled up my neck.
"I’m straight," he said. Then paused, considering. "Mostly. Does jerking off to two guys creatively fucking each other count? Because they get very inventive."
"You’re unhinged," I breathed.
He nodded, agreeing with me. "Correct. My point is, you cannot traumatize my mother. It is more likely that she traumatizes you in the first five seconds of meeting. So, wear the damned bikini, Maisie. Plus, it’s not like you’re sticking around long enough for her impression of you to matter. Divorce, remember?"
I flushed again. Sure, I was getting divorced, but that didn’t mean I wanted to walk around his parents wearing nothing but strings.
Still, his point was valid. Pushing would make it look like I cared, which I absolutely did not.
So, I trudged past, heading for the shower with a mumbled, "Whatever."
When I got into the bathroom, however, I halted in front of the mirror, eyes growing wide. I swept my hair over my shoulder. There were fingerprints around my neck. They were faded, and something told me there had been much worse hours ago.
My brain shuttered, trying to make sense of it, when I noticed the itchy spot on my chest had something slightly flaky. I peeled it off, but there was more. On my face. My chin. My breasts.
With growing apprehension, I realized something was wrong with my outfit, and I shrieked when I realized what it was.
My panties and bra were missing. And the flaky substance was dried cum.
I started to hyperventilate. It was in my hair. It was in my throat. In my lashes. My lips. My hands fumbled with the body wash and I was horrified at how washing it away made my skin practically glisten with an afterglow.
Oh goddess. Had it not been a dream?
I yanked the towel off the rack, bundling myself in it, stormed into the bedroom.
Quinlan was lounging on the bed, looking far too pleased with himself.
"What the hell happened last night?"
He cocked his head, staring at my bare legs. "Drop the towel and I just might tell you."
Panic swirled in my chest. "D-did we...?"
A slow, angelic, blonde blink. "I have no idea what you’re talking about, cherie."
"Quinlan."
"Hm?" He was still staring at my legs.
"Are those my panties in your pocket?"
He glanced down at the lace peeking out of his pocket like it had personally offended him. "Could be. Could be the flight attendant’s. Hard to keep track." His eyes sparkled. "Is yours missing, by any chance?"
Oh god. I was going to die.
"Quinlan?"
"Yes, love?"
"Get out."
