Chapter 92: 92. Transitioning IX
Quinlan
I didn’t believe in restraint.
I believed if you clasped a chain on the wrists of a human, you were forcing them to act like an animal.
I only ever had women in chains if they wanted to be in chains. Questionable preferences, Mercer would say, but it took a different level of skill and experience to look at a woman and know without asking if she liked her cake very vanilla, or if she liked her venison raw.
And while I knew Maisie would come to discover soon that she did like her venison raw, I was content with playing these little games of vanilla with her, where I pretended I was the good cop and not the one they called ange déchu back home in France.
"Like this," I said to Maisie as she writhed against the sheets, trying to force my hand as I chose instead to watch her first before touching her.
I loved watching her.
She was a vision. Like this. And even before the transition. There were certain images of her that I could never quite get out of my head.
Like the flustered look she had on her face when she first saw my cock. The hunger and confusion that had warred in those eyes. She had wanted me even then, and she had wanted me every night after that, even if she didn’t know it yet.
Seduction was a game no one else could beat me at. Seduction was taking a single moment and turning it into something erotically memorable. So much so when they did something as simple as comb their hair, they would attach the memory you’ve gifted them to the action.
You could slap them, and the next time someone slapped them, their body would respond instantly by getting wet.
I really wasn’t a good guy. And if Maisie knew the depraved things I’d done, that lurked behind my decidedly deceiving calm blue eyes, she’d likely never have chosen me as her second.
My fingers closed over hers. "I’m going to teach you how to touch yourself, ma cherie."
I pressed her middle finger flat against her swollen clit, rubbing slow, firm circles until her hips jerked and a broken moan tore from her throat. Her spine arched hard, head slamming back against the headboard as her thighs trembled around our joined hands.
"That’s it," I murmured, ignoring the tightening in my pants. "When this is over, when you’re back to condemning us to hell...Every time need consumes you and your hand slips between your thighs, you’ll remember my lesson."
I increased the pressure, forcing her pulsing clit between her fingers, slick sounds filling the room as she soaked us both.
"You’ll come to the sound of my voice in your head. To my face burned behind your eyelids. And you won’t dare tip over the edge... until I give you permission."
Her breath hitched into a desperate whimper, body writhing as she lifted her hips. "Please," she sputtered.
My dick jumped like it had a mind of its own and white shot behind my eyes.
I always did like it when they begged.
I smiled against her ear, fangs grazing her skin. "Not good enough."
She whined like a spoiled, little kitten. "Touch me? Please? Please?"
"Très jolie," I licked over her pulse. "Still not good enough."
She began to sniffle, nose reddened, eyes growing bright with tears of frustration. Of course she was weeping like her pussy was. I’d been edging her for an hour.
"Please, fuck me. You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen."
I frowned. "I’m pretty sure you told Jericho the same thing." I stared at her hands. "Fuck yourself harder, May."
Her hips rolled in a circle and she sobbed as her body spasmed, her lips brushing against mine. "Quinn, please..." sweat broke across her flushed skin and she pulled her slick fingers out of herself. "I need you..."
There it was.
I flipped her onto her back and she arched her rump against me. I shut my eyes, arching, as I undid my buckle. "You will need to hold on to something," I rasped against her. "I won’t be as gentle as Jer was."
She nodded, clutching the headboard.
I fisted myself and stroked as I ran my fingers through strands of her hair and wrapped it around my fist twice. I loved the way the highlights in them shimmered.
I drove into her in one hard stroke.
Maisie cried out sharply, body bowing as she took every thick inch. She was burning hot inside, impossibly tight and wet, clenching around me like she never wanted to let go.
I watched myself sink into her, the obscene stretch of her pussy gripping my cock, and something dark and possessive unlocked in my chest.
Mine. Not just for the bond. Not just for tonight. This brilliant, defiant woman was mine.
I fucked her without mercy, hips slamming forward, the wet slap of skin echoing through the room. She grasped at my wood, nails raking down hard enough to crack it. "Oh god."
I flipped her onto her back and kissed her sweet, soft lips. "There’s no god down here, Adams. Call for me. Not him."
And I pushed into her again.
She made a guttural sound, nails tearing harshly into my skin and she arched upwards, biting down on my shoulder until she broke past skin and drew blood. And she sucked, hard with animal instinct like she couldn’t stop tasting me.
It drove me crazy.
Deeper. Harder. I shoved her thighs back toward her chest, folding her open as wide as possible. She was nothing but sensation and I wondered if it made me sick in the head for wanting her to remain this way.
But I knew I didn’t.
I loved the fire in her eyes far too much. I loved it even more when she thought she could stay away, flee from us. I loved that she thought out of sight was truly out of mind. I loved the challenge.
The rest could’ve had her first, but I knew for a fact that she would love me first.
Her hips jerked up erratically to meet my thrusts, sometimes losing rhythm entirely and just grinding desperately against me, chasing more friction.
I felt the others through the bond. Soren’s rage hadn’t ebbed in the last four days since she chose Jericho. Mercer’s hadn’t either. Their jealousy sharpened like knives and the faint awareness that they could feel every jolt of her desire made me fuck her a little harder.
I knew Soren was probably pulling out his hair. I almost chuckled when she screamed my name loud enough to tear down the walls of the house.
And I heard a distant crash upstairs. And a swear. Sounded like Mercer.
"Come for me, ma cherie," I ordered, voice rough.
She shattered with a hoarse scream, pussy clamping down like a vice, milking me in rhythmic spasms. Her whole body convulsed, thighs shaking uncontrollably, a fresh gush of wetness soaking us both.
I followed with a deep groan, burying myself to the hilt as I came hard, flooding her with hot pulses. I kept thrusting through it, greedy to stay buried in her fluttering heat as long as possible.
She didn’t tire, pulling me along with her on the high that never quite came down.
She rolled on top of me, trapping my hands above my head. I let her do it. As much as I loved telling a woman what to do, I loved it when she took control and did what she wanted.
Maisie ran her hands over my chest as she straddled my hips, fucking me back and forth slowly, and it was almost unnerving, but I could have sworn there was a moment where the haze cleared enough and a spark of recognition lit her eyes.
"Quinlan," she murmured softly, eyes widening.
But it was gone as swiftly as it came. And I knew it wouldn’t take as long as we thought it would before she regained her senses. A week at most.
As if trying to get rid of that part of her completely, she lurched forward and pushed her tongue into my mouth, kissing me clumsily. It made me hotter than any kiss ever had.
Hours later, she dozed against my chest, her arms wrapped tightly around me. "There’s something you should know, Maisie." My fingers tracked her hair. "About your father. About Kisten."
She snored softly.
Another day, I supposed.
I kissed the bite mark I’d left on her shoulder without realizing it, licking the faint taste of blood. She made a soft, needy sound and clenched around me again, as if even that gentle touch was enough to spark fresh hunger.
And her eyes slanted open, her lashes fluttering lightly. "My term paper. I still haven’t forgiven you for that." Her nose rubbed against mine. "I haven’t forgotten you for a lot of things, Quinn."
I stiffened.
I twisted to look in her face. Her eyes were slightly glazed. She was sleep-talking.
A soft laugh escaped me. "Tell me more things. Who’s your favorite?"
Her brows furrowed. "Trick question? I don’t like any of you."
"Okay, who do you hate the least?"
Her lips parted. Another frown. Then she turned her face into the crook of my neck and fell asleep.
