Unconventional Page 9

  “Finally, I confronted her. I was worried sick and threatened to involve her parents if she wouldn’t tell me what was going on.” His muscles tense and his tone becomes incensed.

  My stomach hurts at the thought of what he’s going to tell me, and I wrap my arms around his waist for comfort.

  “It turns out that when she supposedly had the flu, she wasn’t sick at all. She was pregnant,” he spits.

  Oh, Charlie. I squeeze him, distressed by what he had to go through. The words echo in my head and I can’t think of anything to say. He used past tense, so I’m assuming she didn’t stay pregnant. Did she have a miscarriage? An abortion? Either way, my heart squeezes at the devastation of losing a baby at such a young age. I wait patiently for him to continue.

  “I don’t even know how it happened. I used a condom every single time. In fact, I’ve never once had sex without a condom.” He laughs and it’s a brittle sound. “So, while I was buying her soup and taking care of her, she was pregnant. While I was rubbing her back as she vomited and asking if there was anything I could do for her, she was carrying my baby, and she never once mentioned it. We told each other everything—or at least I did—every mundane thought, every hope, every dream, everything. How could she not tell me? I go over it again and again and it makes no sense. We wanted kids, we even picked names out for them, for crying out loud.” He’s pissed now, his voice getting louder and louder with outrage. I’m outraged on his behalf.

  “And when she went to the doctor, it was to have an abortion.” He chokes on the last word, swallowing thickly. I feel his chest cave in as he struggles to control his emotions, and my eyes burn with tears for him.

  “Now, I believe in the woman’s right to choose, but what about the father? What happened to my choice? Didn’t I deserve to even know about it?” He’s definitely crying now, his voice guttural and broken. There’s no stopping my tears from overflowing at the sound of his anguish. I’m trying to picture Charlie at 16, hearing that his girlfriend aborted their baby without telling him.

  “The thing is, I don’t know what my choice would have been. Maybe I would have agreed with her. We were way too young to be parents. We had all these goals, and having a baby definitely would have put a kink in them.

  “But maybe I wouldn’t have cared if the timing was off. There was nothing I wanted more than to have a family with her. I could have gone to school first then stayed home with the baby while she went to school, or I could have changed aspirations, gotten a different job right out of high school. I don’t know, we could have figured something out, but she lied to me. She had the abortion without giving me a chance to weigh in on the subject. I didn’t even know about it until two months later. Two entire fucking months, she saw me every day and never told me. I hate her for what she did.”

  So do I, I think. Though she was in a difficult position, I can’t believe she didn’t tell him.

  “After that, I started having dreams about babies. I dream that I hear a baby crying, but I can’t find him, or I can find the baby, but he’s just out of my reach. Or he’s about to fall out of an open window, and I can’t get there in time to save him, so I have to watch him plummet to his death. If I’m especially lucky, Anna is there and kills the baby. They’re all different variations of the same thing: my baby needs me, but I’m too late to save him.”

  Oh, Charlie. How horrifying. I can’t imagine those dreams; my stomach churns just thinking about it.

  “I’m so sorry, Charlie.” Lifting my head up, I look at his face, so serious and sad in the darkness. He shrugs and looks away, not sure what to say.

  I’m not quite sure what to say either, but I want to comfort him. I throw my leg over his waist and straddle him. His hands land on my waist, but his grip is tentative; I’m not sure if he’s going to push me off or hold me close. Leaning forward, I kiss his lips gently. He doesn’t kiss me back, but he doesn’t push me away either. I decide to push my luck.

  “I’m so sorry she hurt you,” I murmur then kiss his cheek. “I’m so sorry you never had a choice.” I kiss his other cheek, and then his forehead. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” I tell him. I feel it more than he could imagine. Gingerly wiping his tears away, I kiss his lips again. My kisses aren’t sexual; they’re sweet, affectionate. I want to take his pain away. He squeezes his eyes shut and breathes heavily, chest rapidly rising and falling.

  His fingers tighten on my skin and his muscles tense—his thighs, his abs, up to his chest and arms. He’s liked a caged animal, torn between flight and fight. He still hasn’t kissed me back but our lips are connected, breathing into each other’s mouth.

  I place my hand on his chest, right over his heart. “It’s not your fault, Charlie. You know that, right? It’s not your fault.”

  Tortured blue orbs meet mine. “Quinn.” The use of my actual name as opposed to his nickname for me is a warning.

  “You are a good man. I know you are. You need to forgive yourself for something you didn’t do.”

  He shudders. “I don’t know how.”

  “Have you ever told anyone about this?” I ask gently. I suspect he’s bottled it all up inside.

  He confirms my suspicion with a shake of the head.

  “Not even Max or Logan?”

  He shakes his head again.

  “Maybe you should. Maybe it might help to grieve properly for what you lost. Let your friends lighten the load you carry.”

  “I don’t want anyone to see me like this,” he admits, looking at me warily.

  “It’s okay, Charlie. I won’t ever tell a soul,” I promise him. “This is your story, but thank you for sharing it with me.” I kiss him softly again.

  This time, he kisses me back. His strong arms wrap solidly around my upper body, crushing me to him, and he pours his pain into his kiss. I gladly accept, wrapping my arms around him. The kiss is angry and desperate at first, him eating at my mouth and me letting him. He flips us over so he’s on top of me, and I cradle him with my body. Minutes pass and he gentles, kissing me languidly with slow licks and deep breaths.

  We roll again, our bodies entwined, and I try not to get turned on. I want to keep sex out of this moment of comfort. Nothing about this situation is sexy. My heart is bruised from the story he’s told me, and my mind is on the past and the pain of losing a child.

  But we’re naked.

  And kissing.

  Our bodies rub together, creating a delicious friction in between my legs.

  I ignore it, determined to let him seek comfort from me. This is not about you, I remind myself. My nipples harden, screaming for attention. My pussy is so wet, I swear I can smell the faint musk of my arousal in the air. My heart rate escalates, but I keep my kisses slow and gentle.

  Another roll puts him on top of me again, and I feel his cock as we move. It’s hard and hot, a steel brand on the inside of my thigh. Oh, fuck.

  Ignore it. This is not about sex. This is about comfort.

  My pelvis tilts up without my permission, seeking out his erection, drawn to it like a moth to a flame. He shifts slightly and all of a sudden, it’s right in between my legs, his length resting on top of my slippery slit. I wrap my legs around him, holding him in place. His cock throbs, and I can’t stop my hips from moving, sliding up ever so slightly, then down. The small amount of friction is bliss.

  Charlie groans, a deep, masculine rumble, and his hips start to shift with me, sliding his cock through my wetness. His piercing rubs my clit and my breath catches at the sensation.

  “Quinn,” he murmurs into my mouth.

  “Charlie,” I say with a sigh.

  The next shift of his hips brings his cock farther back, and the forward thrust causes it to notch right into the entrance of my pussy. He freezes, realizing that any more forward movement will result with him inside of me. He isn’t wearing a condom, something he is always so careful about. Now I know why he’s so careful, but I’m clean; I get tested routinely and I know he does too, as we share our test
results every time. As for birth control, he’s safe from pregnancy with me.

  “Quinn?” Lust-filled eyes meet mine, searching for my answer.

  I hold his gaze and nod my consent.

  I haven’t had sex without a condom in a very long time, not since I was married, and I forgot how much more you can feel without that thin barrier. Charlie pushes in agonizingly slowly, looking into my eyes the entire time. I watch his face, rapt, as his expression changes from lust to wonder. This is the first time he’s ever had sex without a condom, and I realize he’s placing an awful lot of trust in me right now. He’s trusting me to be clean and to be safe.

  It’s humbling, his trust.

  When he’s finally buried inside, he stills, his eyes closing for a brief second of bliss. A beat later, he opens them and watches me as he pumps in and out of me, torturously slowly, dragging his piercing along the sensitive walls of my pussy. His eyes hypnotize me. I’m entranced, unable to look away, and I see every bit of pleasure wash over his face, every bit of emotion.

  He doesn’t say a word, not one dirty command, not one filthy request. He just stares into my eyes as he feels me from the inside.

  My orgasm is a surprise, stealing my breath as blinding pleasure crashes into me. I clench around his erection rhythmically and he grunts at the feel of it, watching me fall apart as if it’s the most amazing sight he’s ever seen. When I can open my eyes again, I hold his gaze and push on his chest, telling him I want to be on top. He sinks deep, rolling us without separating our bodies.

  Then I ride him, continuing his slow, languid pace. The angle hits a new spot deep within me and though I wasn’t expecting to come again, a second orgasm is approaching. I ignore it, focusing only on making Charlie feel as good as he just made me feel. Soon, though, the pleasure becomes too much and I lose my coordination. I lean down, laying my chest on top of his, and kiss him, conveying how amazing this is with my lips and tongue. I try to keep moving, but he senses my difficulty, grabs hold of my hips, and takes over, thrusting up into me.

  The movements are so slow that I can feel his orgasm approach. His cock swells, his strokes stutter, and he grunts, burying himself as deep as he can while he fills me up with his cum. The pulsations of his cock push me over the edge and I follow him into bliss.

  My orgasm paralyzes me and I sink on top of him, resting my head on his skin as we catch our breath. I can feel his heart thump against my chest. Once I feel like I can move again, I attempt to get off of him, but he wraps his arms around me, keeping me draped over his body, so I settle back down.

  My eyelids suddenly weigh a thousand pounds. I close them and try to stop myself from yawning, but it’s no use. I drift off to sleep, surrounded by Charlie’s warm embrace, his cock still inside me. This time it’s my past that haunts me when we fall asleep.

  Sweet baby Jesus.

  MY JOB TAKES ME to New York City for meetings with current and prospective clients. I’m happy to get away, actually. Things with Quinn are getting a bit…intense, and some distance is just what I need to put things into perspective.

  I don’t want a relationship—absolutely not. The word alone is enough to give me hives.

  But…

  I can’t stop thinking about Quinn, especially that last night with her.

  Her sketching me. Fucking her in her studio. Waking up from my nightmare surrounded by her scent. Telling her about Anna and the baby then sinking into her body as I shared my pain with her. I woke up feeling amazing, light and happy. I caught myself whistling on my way home.

  Whistling.

  I’m getting attached, and that won’t do.

  So here I am, at the bar in my hotel, nursing a scotch. Dim lights paint everyone in shadows, and slow, sultry music charges the atmosphere with sex—the perfect scenario to find a random hookup. A month ago, I’d already be balls deep in some willing woman.

  Now?

  I’m scrolling through pictures of Quinn.

  Fuck. Me.

  I stop resisting and text her.

  Me: Hey.

  Could I be any lamer? Shit. I cringe at the stupid message, wishing I could take it back, but texting does not have an unsend option, so I’m forced to sit here and see whether or not she texts back.

  As I wait for Quinn’s response like a little puppy waiting for scraps of food under the dinner table, a woman slides onto the barstool next to mine. Her perfume wafts in my direction, tickling my nose with the citrusy scent. I look over, smiling politely as she orders a drink from the bartender. She’s probably mid-twenties, and from the looks of it, she’s wealthy. Her dark brown hair is glossy and perfectly coifed, makeup flawless, clothes expensive, and sparkling jewelry winks at me from her ears, neck, and wrists.

  She catches me taking her in and her eyes flare with interest. She’s actually quite gorgeous.

  But my dick doesn’t respond.

  Nothing.

  Not one twitch.

  “Hey handsome,” she croons.

  Who the hell says that? “Hi,” I respond tersely. My cell phone is a beacon and I can’t stop myself from checking to see if Quinn has responded.

  Nothing yet.

  “Waiting for someone?” she asks, eyeing my phone.

  “No.” Yes, but just a text message.

  “I’m Topaz.” She sticks out her hand for me to shake, looking at me expectantly.

  Oh, I guess this is the part where I tell her my name. “I’m Charlie.”

  “Mind if I keep you company, Charlie?” She licks her lips, gaze lowered to my mouth. Topaz is definitely down to fuck, or at least she’s giving me some signals, and still no response in my pants. My cock is soft, maybe even retreating at the thought of fucking this woman.

  “Sure.” I shrug. What else am I going to do other than sit here like a pathetic fool and wait for Quinn’s text? What is she doing tonight anyway? Is she out at a bar on a Monday night hooking up with someone? We never discussed making things exclusive, so she’s free to fuck someone else.

  Maybe that’s what I need to do—fuck someone else to get Quinn off my brain.

  I pocket my phone, trying to force my attention away from the unanswered text. I turn to give Topaz my full attention and notice that her drink is half empty. “Can I get you another drink?”

  She smiles a model-perfect smile. “A cosmo would be great, thank you.”

  I signal the bartender and order another round for both of us. “So what brings you to New York?”

  “Work.”

  “Me too.”

  “And what is it that you do?”

  “I’m a photographer,” I tell her.

  “Well, that’s interesting. I’m a model.”

  I knew it. “So you must be sick of photographers, then.”

  Her eyes travel down my form but my cock remains unaffected by this woman.

  “I might like to be photographed by you,” she purrs.

  Her flirting fails horribly because now all I can think about are the pictures I took of Quinn. I smile stiffly. Come on, get your head in the game. “Sorry, I’m off duty tonight.”

  “Well, that’s a bummer.” She sidles up to me, placing her hand on my chest. My nose tickles again with the heavy scent of her perfume, and instead of wanting to pull those lush curves into my body, I just want her to stop touching me.

  “You okay over there?” Topaz runs her hands up my chest to my neck, and I reach up to grab her wrists, preventing her from touching me anymore.

  “Huh? Oh, yeah, just thinking,” I mutter.

  “Do you have a girlfriend? Wife?”

  “No.” The denial sounds hollow, but it’s the truth—Quinn isn’t my girlfriend.

  Just then, I feel my cell vibrate in my pocket. I don’t even try to act cool. I back up, giving myself some space to reach into my pocket and bring the screen to life. My lips curve up when I see Quinn’s name.

  “Excuse me, this is important,” I tell Topaz as I sit at my barstool and open up Quinn’s text.

&
nbsp; Red: Hey hotstuff, I was just thinking about you.

  Me: What were you thinking about?

  Red: Well, I was scrolling through Tumblr, getting ready for my self-love session of the night, wishing someone would have sent me those pictures…

  Sweet baby Jesus. I don’t know which part of that statement to focus on first. My dick stirs to life, quickly hardening in my pants as I imagine Quinn lying in bed, playing with herself as she watches porn.

  Me: Let’s break that statement down and deal with it one scintillating part at a time, shall we?

  Red: Did you just text the word scintillating?

  Me: I did. Autocorrect helped me spell it. ;-)

  Red: Me too.

  Me: I want to talk about your self-love session.

  Red: What’s to talk about? I like orgasms and you weren’t available to give me any, so I’m going to give myself some.

  Me: And you have a Tumblr account?

  Red: Yeah, don’t you? Tumblr is the best.

  Me: Yes, what’s your account?

  Red: You show me yours, I’ll show you mine.

  Me: Pierced&Horny

  Red: Ha! I might already follow you!

  Me: What’s yours?

  Red: I don’t know if I want to tell you.

  Me: Hey, that’s not fair. I showed you mine, now you show me yours.

  Red: You may find some surprises on my page.

  Now I’m curious. What does she have on there that she doesn’t want me to see?

  Me: I promise not to judge. I just want to see what turns your crank.

  Red: A variety of things.

  Me: Red…

  Red: Red_Hot&Horny

  Me: Ha! We’re both horny.

  Red: Well, we already knew that.