Midnight Muse

I have no problem doing that.

Focusing my attention on her breasts, I pinch, twist, and tease her with my touch. It makes Quinn moan, makes her hips grind harder, her bounces becoming fast and messy instead of controlled and calculated. Always overthinking, my girl. I’m glad that I can fuck it out of her, have her complete putty beneath the hands I’ve spent so much of my life hating.

I find her hips again, not only to slow her down before I prematurely orgasm, but to help guide her. Quinn plants her hands on my forearms to steady herself, and I love the feeling of her nails digging into my skin.

Her head rolls back as she releases a pleasured mewl, shifting her hips as she searches for new angles. She’s moving more frantically now, a slight furrow to her brows as she tries to chase that feeling.

“That’s it, Princess. Take what you need,” I encourage, unable to look away. I’m desperate for her, for everything that she gives me. I cherish it. Her. “Take everything that you need.”

“I need you,” she breathes, just as delirious with arousal as I am. I can feel the warmth in my gut, the way that her tight pussy grips my cock, fucking down onto me as she chases her high.

Her nails drag down my chest, leaving long lines of red in their wake, puckered and raised. As I peer down at them, licking my lips, I wonder for the first time if I should get a tattoo with color, because these marks look pretty damn good.

Quinn’s request is all I need to hear for me to take over, holding her closer, tighter, and I plant my feet into the mattress and begin fucking up into her, faster and harsher, as deeply as I can go.

She feels too good, better than anything I’ve ever experienced. And the way that she clings to me, just as tightly as I am to her makes me proud, like she might love me just as much as I do her.

The cry she releases when I hit that spot inside of her is loud, drawn out as I plunge myself deeper, focusing my movements on that exact site. Her hands against my skin turn desperate, a scramble of pleasure that she’s nearing. Her eyes are squeezed shut just as tightly as her pussy is clamped around my cock, and I can feel myself hurtling towards my own orgasm.

“Mark me,” Quinn begs. And I do.

Rolling the both of us, she cries out but I’m already bending forward, marking her with my mouth, sucking bruises into her skin. I bite into the meat of her shoulder, not hard enough to break skin, but enough to leave an imprint of my teeth. Her fingers pull harshly at my hair as she moans, long and hard, but I don’t care. I’m on a mission and I will not be deterred.

I hook a hand under Quinn’s knee, pressing it higher to give myself a better angle. Her eyes are rolling into the back of her head and her hips are moving to meet my strokes thrust for thrust, only heightening our shared pleasure.

Quinn marks me back, her nails against my arms, my sides, my spine, adding to my quickly growing collection. Every time I press into her, I gain another pretty piece of artwork from a quickly crumbling Quinn, who I know is on the verge of orgasming because of the way she screams “Right there!” when my fingers find her clit, begging for my attention.

I circle the nub, darting down to kiss her roughly before she shuts those pretty eyes while she comes. I press my forehead against hers, sharing a breath, watching Quinn intently as my hips piston into her and my thumb strokes her over the edge of oblivion.

My arms tremble with my own impeding pleasure, holding myself above her, caging her in while I work her to the brink.

“Mark me,” she says again, desperately.

“What?” I pant back.

The words roll off of her tongue in an urgent cry. “A tattoo that reminds me of this,” she whimpers, and I almost buckle. “Of you. I—” Quinn’s words are silenced with the moan that drowns out the rest of her pleas. Her pussy tightens around mine, body shaking with her orgasm.

It hits me like a wave, her words, rattling in my head. She wants me to give her her first tattoo? Even with my fucked-beyond-belief hands, even though she knows how much they shake, how many times I’ve been rejected apprenticeships, she still wants me to be the one to ink her skin…

Fuck, if that doesn’t make me want to come with her.

Pulling out with a groan, I rip off the condom, fisting myself down my length as I come with a throaty groan, painting Quinn’s body in white streaks, dotting her perfect skin.

It has always been far from my favorite color, but I think it could become my most treasured if I get to keep seeing my come splattered across her body like this.

Collapsing next to her, I wrap an arm around her waist and drag her into me. I’ll get up and clean her off in a bit, but right now I just want to lie here and admire her, revel in the words spoken with the remnants of my ebbing euphoria.

Quinn’s touch is soft, nails scratching lightly up and down the arm I have draped across her body. Her eyes are closed and she has a soft smile on her face, a content one, one that I wouldn’t mind seeing every night for the rest of my life.

The noises we shared are ones that would have definitely had Quinn pounding on the plaster separating us at the beginning of the semester. Now, we’re on the same side of the wall, cuddled up tightly, sharing more than just words. I think about how moments ago she was a writhing heap under me, begging for my touch, my tattoos, and it all hits me so full on that the only thing I know how to do in this moment is to kiss her again, giving her all of me as the realization rears its head.

I love her.

I really fucking love her.

CHAPTER 31

QUINN