Forever

Chapter 5

“And that’s what has you tossing and turning?” I was stunned by how it hurt that he’d think, even in his dreams, that I’d do that to him.

“Of course not.” He glared at me. “Asshole. It’s what I see when I get to the interrogation room. You’ve been beaten. I can hardly recognize you because of how badly you’ve been beaten. An eye is swollen shut, blood is dripping from a cut on your forehead, your lip…” He touched his fingertips to my mouth. “Your lip is torn. Your arm is shattered, hanging uselessly, the bone gouging through the skin, and your fingers have been broken.”

“Ouch.”

“You bastard!” He hit me. “It wasn’t funny!”

“I know.” I smoothed the hair off his forehead again. “I wasn’t mocking you, Quinn. I’ve—” I bit back my words. I wouldn’t tell him I’d been beaten like that, minus the broken fingers. It had been so long ago that it made no never mind. “I’m sorry. Is that the worst of it?”

“No.”

“So what happens then?” I should have known not to push him, but I hadn’t become a senior special agent by not pushing.

“Richard shoots you between the eyes. The bullet blows out the back of your head.” He turned his face away, and the movement caused his cheek to brush against my arm, leaving behind moisture.

Quinn couldn’t sleep because in his nightmare I was killed? “Oh, baby….”

“f**k me, Mark.” He shifted, spread his legs, and I fell into the space between them. He gripped my waist with his knees. “Please, Mark,” he whispered against my neck, and I shivered from the moist warmth. “Take me now.”

My c**k was at his hole, and all it would take for me to be inside him was just a single thrust of my hips.

There would be nothing between us, no latex barrier, nothing to blunt his heat and tightness, the feel of his internal muscles clenching and relaxing, caressing my c**k. I’d be surrounded by him, and when I came, he’d be filled with my semen.

That thought made me so hard I ached.

And because I wanted it, because there was nothing in the world I wanted more at that moment than to be buried balls-deep inside my lover, without a goddamned condom separating us, I said, “No.”

“Mark?”

“I’ll make love to you, Quinn.” I shifted off him and scrabbled in the drawer of the nightstand.

“Mark!” There was desperation in his voice and in the way his hands reached for me.

“Not without a condom.” I smoothed on the condom and coated it with lubricant, then turned him on his side and worked a lubricated finger into him. It was his turn to shiver, and he thrust his ass toward me, easily accepting the second finger I eased into him.

“Please. I don’t need you to be careful—”

“I know what you need, baby.” I spooned up behind him, parted his cheeks, and drove into him, and we both groaned. For long minutes, we just lay like that.

“Are you…are you going to move, Mark?”

“No. I told you I knew what you need.”

“And you think what I need is to be tortured like this?”

I nipped his ear. “No. You need to know you’re safe. That we’re both safe.” I rocked my hips, his internal muscles clenched around me, and it was enough to keep me hard. “I’ve got you.”

“Yes, you do.” He shivered again.

“Now that we’ve got that settled, how about you go to sleep?”

“Always think you know what’s best, don’t you?” he murmured.

“Can I help it if I do? Go to sleep.” I kissed the spot just below his ear, and he hummed in drowsy pleasure and went limp in my arms.

And he didn’t have any more nightmares.

* * * *

It was almost three hours later when I woke up. I disengaged us without waking him, dropped a kiss on the back of his neck, petted his flank, then rose and stripped off the condom.

I disposed of it in the bathroom, used the john, and returned to the bedroom and turned off the lamp. Quinn was still sleeping, a relaxed look on his face. I pulled the sheet and blanket over him, put on a pair of sweatpants and a New England Patriots sweatshirt, and went to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee.

I’d hold off on breakfast until Quinn woke up. I’d never had the time to cook for myself when I’d been in the field—if I couldn’t do it right, I wasn’t going to do it. Anyway, I hadn’t needed to cook; there were plenty of restaurants that did takeout, and McDonald’s had a pretty good breakfast menu.

Now I had the time. Besides, Quinn had cooked for me on more than one occasion.

I looked from the bag that held the coffee beans to my grinder and swore under my breath. This place was so freaking small. The noise would be sure to wake Quinn, and I wanted him to sleep as long as he could.

There were no outlets in the halls of this building, so I found a long extension cord, plugged in the grinder, and took it and the bag of Peaberry Kona Viennese roast beans that I’d found at Cecil’s Koffee Beanery, and went down a flight.

I sat down on the stairs and set the grinder beside me, filled the chamber with enough beans to make a single pot, and turned it on.