8
In the moments that hung afterward, Charlotte felt as if time no longer existed, as if they would remain like this—Quentin gazing at her gleaming naked form for the rest of eternity. But the clock on the wall gave them away, ticking mindlessly toward two in the morning. Quentin exhaled gruffly, roughing his fingers through his dark, s*x-crazed hair.
“I heard something today,” Charlotte said quietly, lifting herself from the small chair and gliding onto the couch, patting the side tentatively.
“Oh yeah? What’s that?” Quentin asked, his voice still broad and dominating, but finding more companionship with her after making love. He took two easy, long strides and then planted himself beside her on the couch, wrapping his muscled bicep around her small, bird neck. He cradled her.
“I hear
