Man Candy (19 page)

“I’m kidding, it was fine. We’re

fine.” She laughed. “Your face was so

funny just now.”

Picking up my wine glass, I took a

generous swallow. “Yeah, I might like

kids
eventually
. Not necessarily this

year.”

“I know, I was teasing.” She focused

on the wine in her glass as she swirled

it. “But do you want to talk about Friday

night?”

I studied her a moment. She looked

curious, but not upset. “We broke a rule,

didn’t we?”

“We did. And while it was OK the

one time, I don’t think we should make a

habit of breaking it.”

“I agree.”

She took a breath. “But there might

be another rule we could break.”

“The sleepover rule?” I asked

hopefully.

“Not the sleepover rule. But the

talking rule.” Another deep breath as she

met my eyes. “I want to talk.”

“You mean, you want to talk about

feelings
?” I looked around the room.

“What planet is this? Am I in some

alternate reality?”

She threw her napkin at me. “Keep

making fun and I’ll
never
break the

sleepover rule for you.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, retrieving her

napkin from the floor and throwing it

back at her. “Let’s talk about feelings.

What’s up?”

“Well, I thought about what you said,

about wanting more than just no-strings

sex.”

My heart beat quicker. “And?”

“And…” She lifted her shoulders.

“I’d like to try. I’d like to be…closer to

you.”

I moved my chair back from the

table. “Then you should definitely come

sit on my lap.”

Smiling, but in no particular rush,

she got up and came around the table to

stand in front of me. “Hi,” she said

shyly.

It was the most unsure of herself

she’d ever looked, and it made me feel

both aroused and protective. “Hi.” I

tugged at the sleeve of her sweater.

“Come here, you.” I pulled her onto my

lap so that she straddled me, and she

laughed softly.

Putting her arms around my neck, she

rested her forehead against mine. “I

don’t know if I’m good at this.”

“At what?”

“Strings.”

I put my hands in her hair, gently this

time. “Strings don’t have to mean you

owe me something specific. We don’t

need to put a label on this, Jaime. I just

want it to mean something to you.”

“It does,” she said, kissing my lips.

“You do.”

“That’s good enough for me.” I

kissed her back a little harder, tilting her

head in my hands, tasting her with my

tongue. My cock stirred between us, and

she sighed as she circled her hips.

Her hands traveled down my chest

and around my lower back, and I felt her

start tugging my shirt from my jeans. But

then she seemed to change her mind

about undressing me and moved her

hands back up my torso, leaving them on

my chest. The kiss grew more intense,

and I slid my mouth down her throat and

one hand up her sweater.

When it closed over her breast, she

whimpered a little. “I’m trying to go

slow, I swear to God, Quinn. But when

you touch me, I want to tear your clothes

off.”

I laughed. “Is that why you stopped

before? You’re trying to go slow?”

“Yes. But I’m so impatient.” She

moved her hips sinuously over my

erection and whispered, “I can feel your

cock beneath me, and I want it inside me

so badly.”

Oh, fuck.
Moving my hands beneath

her ass, I stood up and walked down the

hall toward the bedroom with her legs

wrapped around me, her lips setting my

neck on fire. “We can slow down once

we’re naked—maybe. But at this point,

I’ll be lucky to make it to the bed.”

She laughed throatily. “Wall, floor,

bathroom sink—it all works for me. As

long as it’s you.”

I reached the bed, set her on it, and

we undressed each other frantically, her

sitting and me standing. When she was

completely bare, I pushed her knees

apart, knelt down, and put my mouth on

her, licking into her warm wetness as

she lay back, hands in her hair. I did all

the things I knew she liked, licking her

slow and then fast, hard and then soft,

sucking her clit. She came quickly, her

legs across my shoulders, crying my

name.

My cock was so hard it was almost

painful, and I grabbed a condom from

the drawer and rolled it on in record

time.

Then I picked her up again. “So

little,” I said, easily holding her in place

as she positioned me between her legs.

“So big,” she murmured playfully as

she slid down my shaft, her eyes locked

on mine in the shadowy dark.

I turned and placed her back against

the wall, feeling I showed great restraint

in not fucking her right through the

plaster, especially the way she was

talking to me.

“You’re unbelievable,” she

whispered in my ear as I drove inside

her again and again. “You know how to

make me come so hard—with your

hands, your tongue, your cock. No one

has ever made me feel this good.”

I tried to last a little longer but felt

powerless against the rushing current of

desire inside me, which refused to slow

down. Faster and harder I pounded into

her, encouraged by the wetness of her

pussy and the clawing of her nails and

the loudness of her cries, telling me to

come, come, come…

The orgasm spread throughout my

body, every limb vibrating with pleasure

as I went stiff and my cock throbbed.

Afterward, my arms and legs weakened,

and for a second I worried Jaime and I

might both hit the floor.

Summoning my strength, I hitched her

up a little higher before moving back to

the bed and carefully setting her on her

back. Expecting her to let go, I was

surprised when she clung to me, arms

around my neck, legs around my waist.

Braced on my hands, I looked down

at her. “What are you doing?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I just…

don’t want to let go yet.”

“Then don’t.” I kissed her forehead.

“Then don’t.”

EIGHTEEN

JAIME

THREE DAYS LATER, I met Claire

and Margot for cocktails and oysters at

Rockefeller’s for our weekly GNO. We

were sitting at the bar, listening to the

live piano music and waiting for our

drinks, when Claire pounded her fist like

a gavel.

“OK, that’s all the time I’m giving

you. Tell us what’s going on with you

and Quinn.”

“Well, we’re…talking.” I tucked my

hair behind my ears.

“Just talking?” From the other side

of Claire, Margot eyed me suspiciously.

“OK, talking and fucking,” I

conceded. “But talking is a big step for

me.”

Claire laughed and clapped her

hands. “It is. We’re very proud of you

for talking.”

“What are you talking
about
?”

Margot asked as our martinis arrived—

gin for Margot, Cosmo for Claire, vodka

for me (dirty, of course).

“Different things.” I sipped my drink.

“We actually talk quite a bit about his

mom. He misses her a lot. I think he

likes talking about her with someone

who knew her from before she got sick.”

“That’s sweet,” said Margot.

“It is. He’s actually much sweeter

than I thought.” I tried to say this

casually, but I didn’t miss the look my

friends exchanged. “What?” I said in

self-defense.

“Nothing, don’t get your panties in a

twist.” Claire patted my shoulder. “We

were saying as much to each other

yesterday, that we think he’s funny and

sweet and would be really good for you

if you’d give him a chance.”

“Too bad he’s so unattractive,”

Margot quipped.

“I know, right?” I shook my head. “I

keep thinking about that. He could have

anyone. What’s wrong with him that he

wants me?”

“Oh, shut the fuck up,” said Claire,

who rarely cursed. “You’re hot, he’s hot.

There’s chemistry. That’s that.”

I sipped my martini and listened to

the pianist play “Let It Be,” which we’d

heard Sunday night as we made the

pierogies. Quinn had sung along to it.

“You know what? He’d like this place. I

should bring him here sometime.”

“You should,” Margot said. “We

could have dinner at the restaurant.

Tripp and I, you and Quinn, Claire and

—”

“Don’t.” Claire put up a hand. “No

more set-ups. I will meet someone

somewhere on my own; I can’t handle

the disappointment anymore. You guys

go. I’ll stay home with my Kindle and

my cat. They never disappoint.”

I tipped my head onto Claire’s

shoulder for a second, feeling sort of

guilty that Quinn had landed in my lap

after all this time. I hadn’t even been

looking to date someone—in fact, I’d

been looking to avoid it. It didn’t seem

fair.

“So the talking is going well, then,”

Margot encouraged, her tone telling me

she wanted more.

“Yes. I mean, it’s only been three

days, but…” I inhaled and exhaled. “I

am cautiously optimistic I can handle

what he wants from me at this point.”

“Which is what?”

“He hasn’t said, exactly, but I think

it’s just sex and conversation at the end

of the day. He doesn’t call or text me—

actually, he hasn’t even asked for my

number, which is perfectly fine with me

—and honestly, it’s been me knocking on

his
door the last three nights.” This last fact was a tad worrisome when I let

myself think about it too much, but I told

myself it was OK because A) sex with

Quinn was really good, so who wouldn’t

knock on his door, and B) he was

leaving for New York tomorrow for six

days. We’d have a break then.

“I’m happy for you,” Claire said,

lifting her Cosmo to her lips. “Sex and

conversation sounds great.”

It was pretty great. So great I

knocked on his door for the fourth night

in a row when I got home from GNO,

even though it was almost eleven.

He answered it wearing black

athletic pants and no shirt. The bare

chest and warm smile he gave me made

my insides flutter, which was a feeling I

was learning to appreciate.

“Hey,” he said, his voice a little

scratchy. “I thought it was girls’ night.”

Suddenly I noticed his apartment

was dark behind him and realized he’d

probably been in bed already, which got

me all flustered. “It was, and I swear I

was just going to go upstairs and go to

bed because it’s so late, but then I was

thinking about you because I heard this

song tonight that reminded me of you,

and I thought about how I’d like to go to

this place with you sometime because

they play this old-school music, but I

really shouldn’t have knocked because

it’s so late and I know you have an early

flight tomorrow, so I should let you go

back to sleep, really sorry to wake you

and—”

But then I couldn’t babble anymore

because he’d grabbed my head and

pressed his lips to mine.

“I’m glad you’re here.” He moved

backward, pulling me into his flat with

his hands on either side of my face. “You

should stay a while.”

“Well,” I mumbled against his lips,

kicking the door shut behind me. “If you

insist.”

AFTER A SWEATY BOUT of me-on-

top sex, we fell asleep, and I woke up

around two. Silently, I crept out of bed

and gathered my clothes, not bothering to

put them all on, just my underwear and

top. With the rest gathered in my arms, I

couldn’t resist giving Quinn a quick kiss

on the shoulder.

“Hey,” he said groggily. “You

leaving?”

“Yeah,” I whispered. “Sorry to wake

you. Have a good trip, OK?”

“OK. Hey, can you leave your

number for me?”

“Sure. I’ll put it on the kitchen

counter.”

“Thanks.” He was already drifting

back to sleep when I left the room.

I MISSED him way more than I should

have while he was gone, considering

we’d only been “fucking and talking” for

less than a week. But the house seemed

so empty knowing that he wasn’t there,

which was ridiculous since I’d been

living there for two months before that

with no one in the downstairs flat.

He texted me every day, but it wasn’t

annoying. Just once or twice to say hi or

send me a picture of something cool on

the street or one of his ridiculous selfies.

I confess, I stalked his Instagram

relentlessly. One day he posted a pic of

me I’d had no idea he’d taken—it was in

his kitchen the day we made the