Page 20 of Unmoored: How to Fail at Hating the Boss

“But…”

“Do you understand?” I grit out, clasping her body tight to mine so she can feel how ready I am to move on to the next thing. Her grip on my shoulders relaxes. I reach up and take one of her hands in mine and turn it over, palm up. I kiss the center of her palm, then spot where her hand meets her wrist, and then, slowly, drag my lips over the tender skin on the inside of her forearm.

She rasps, “Cake can wait.”

Quincy’s bedroom is so…her. It’s all bright mix-and-match furniture from different eras, a modern shag rug, dozens of blankets and throw pillows. It's a mixture of lacy and delicate things offset by quirky and sequined items. On the walls are framed Broadway musical posters, local artwork, and a hell of a lot of macrame. A huge art print above her bed shows a dreamy-looking woman lying in a field that I recognize as Waterhouse’s Ophelia. I’m sad to report my ability to identify this is not a result of my higher education, but of the proliferation of Ophelia paintings in internet memes.

I have thoughts about that hanging above her bed, but I keep that shit to myself.

I just feel honored she lets me into this space, with her colors and her scent and her personality splashed everywhere. Everything about it makes me even crazier about her.

As we tumble onto the bed together, we punctuate the kissing with tugging, wrestling and tearing at each other’s clothes. Frustrated, Quincy wriggles out of her work shirt withan angry grunt. She removes her bra with a sigh of enormous relief.

My heart hammers against my ribs, not just at the sight of her, but at how she seems to feel so much better without her breasts under wraps. Like she can breathe again.

She reaches for me the second I wrestle out of my shirt. The skin-on-skin contact feels better than it should. She looks like, smells like, and feels like mine. Mine.

I dip my head down, taking one of her rosy nipples into my mouth, licking over the hard tip. Quincy’s pink nails gently rake through the hair on the back of my head. I pull and pull, taking what I want, until she lets out a squeak and begins to writhe under me.

I let that nipple slip from my mouth with a soft pop.

I get rid of what’s left of her clothes and hover over her on the bed. Kissing her shining, swollen lips once more, I ask for what I want, even though I know the answer.

“Let me taste you?”

She nods and lets out an, “Uh-huh,” while nearly pushing my head downward. I can’t help the greedy smile as I get into position.

She spreads for me and I have to just stare for a moment, mindful about what I’m about to do. Everything changes after this. This is not something I do for someone I don’t care about. Care? I would burn down this whole mountain for her if it was for her own good somehow.

I lower my head and trace a line of small, licking kisses over her inner thigh, memorizing her soft skin, and teasing her until her folds are slick with her sweetness. By the time I slowly work my way back to her center, her fingers are working through my hair and her breathing is ragged.

I kiss her damp center more softly, with teasing kisses, driving us both mad.

Quincy is sweet and salty on my tongue, and every taste makes me crave more.

“Yes, Reef…oh god….”

I split open her folds and find her entrance, fucking her with my tongue. She cries out and lets go of my skull, apparently needing to hang on to something else to steady her as hips rise and thrust against my driving tongue.

She’s going to come hard and fast; I can feel the change in her breathing.

“Oh god…oh god!”

I flatten my tongue and drag slowly upward, finding her hard clit, red and erect. Fucking mine. First I drag my tongue over it, which sends her thighs trembling violently. I settle her legs on my shoulders, squeezing them against my ears as I take that clit into my mouth.

She curls upward off the bed as she cries out her release. I drink in every drop of what she has for me. I don’t let go until she reaches for me with scrambling, trembling hands.

I join her on the pillows and share her taste in a sustaining kiss as the waves of her orgasm wash over her.

Her breath eventually settles, and she makes quick work of my shorts and underwear, having found her way here before. “Give it to me,” she says greedily, happily, with smiling, flushed cheeks.

Laughing, I help her out by tugging my shorts down, letting her have her way with me.

But I’m not ready for how good she feels, with her soft hands wrapping firmly around my length, caressing, then pumping.

I’m still half-hovering over her, and she pushes my shoulder gently with her free hand. “Lie back,” she orders.

I do as she says, and then her head disappears under the sheet.