CK’s palms glide up the length of my arms, his fingers carefully working mine from where they are tangled in my hair. My hands held in his, he slowly lowers my arms between us, his thumbs ghosting back and forth along the backs of my knuckles.
“Why were you going crazy?” The sincerity in the question is one of those things that tug at me.
“Aw, look at you knowing what I said without translation,” I tease, needing to lighten the heavy. “I’ll make a bilingual man out of you yet, Superman.”
“Not that I want to ruin your Spanish-speaking dreams for me, Red”—I have to clamp my teeth together to hold in the squee at him calling me Red—“but you use that phrase quite a bit.”
Sonofabitch.
I slick my tongue across my teeth but can’t help but laugh.
“While I’m sure that statement is factually accurate”—I shake off one of his hands, pressing a finger to his chin and tilting his face up to mine for a change—“I find it prudent to point out it was your insistence on being stubbornly blind to me and my charms”—I lift my hand under my chin, creating a shelf with the back of my hand as if presenting said charms—“that tested the limits of my sanity on the reg.”
My phone vibrates on the coffee table, and the extended buzzing tells me it’s a phone call instead of another Instagram notification. When I glance over my shoulder at it, I groan at Tessa’s smiling face lighting the screen. “I swear that chick has some freaky voodoo sixth sense for when she’s being talked about.”
CK pushes forward to see who I’m talking about, all of his hard muscles rippling around me and pressing into me. “Tessa Taylor is the one who talked you off the ledge?”
I understand his disbelief. People may use the adjectives perky and bubbly when describing me, but Tessa? I don’t think there’s a person on God’s green earth more extra than she is.
“I was in bad shape, mmkay.” My voice turns breathy when his large hands cup my ass, holding me steady.
His cheek brushes mine, the smell of his evergreen shampoo stronger thanks to his recent shower. I nuzzle into him, breathing in that intoxicating scent.
“I like you too.” His warm breath caresses the shell of my ear with his whispered confession.
It’s not the first time he’s finally admitted as much, but things have been so one-sided between us it’s going to take a bit before it sinks in.
“You do?” Is that my voice that sounds like a strangled sob? Gah! I’m such a girl.
CK pulls back, his eyes bouncing over my face, my breathing hitching at the dilated heat banked in them. It’s the first time he’s ever looked at me with such naked want. It’s heady, but not nearly as much as what he says next.
“Of course I like you, Quinn.” He drags a knuckle over the apple of my cheek. “I don’t think I’ve ever met a more kindhearted, effervescent person than you.” He cups the side of my throat, his thumb stroking down the center with my heavy swallow. “You also scare the shit out of me.”
“Because of my fiery temper?” I tease, but his expression remains stoic.
“I kinda like that side of you, Red.” His fingers flex around my nape. “But, no…you scare me because I could easily become addicted to you.”
Oh.
My.
Word.
I’m not exactly sure how to respond to that.
Neither of us says anything, the only sound in the room the continuous buzzing of my cell phone. The thing has been going off nonstop thanks to the damn UofJ411 account. I have a whole new appreciation for what Kay and Mason deal with.
CK’s gaze tracks to my mouth when I lick my lips. The corners of his eyes flare fractionally as he watches the motion.
“You’re too fucking beautiful for me,” he says in a guttural admission.
I’m self-aware enough to recognize that, yes, by society’s warped beauty standards, I’m considered very pretty. I get it. My features are symmetrical, and I inherited the killer Bautista bone structure along with their curves. I may have issues with the emphasis and single-minded importance others have placed on my looks, but I’m not blind to it.
But…
The open candor in CK’s statement gives me an entirely new appreciation for them.
Until the last part of his sentence registers.
“Bullshit,” I counter. “No one, no fucking one is too anything for you, Christopher.”
The corner of his mouth twitches at my use of his full name, but for the first time ever, I don’t return his amusement. I’m dead fucking serious about this.
Cupping his handsome face in my hands, I hold him in place and say, “You…are beautiful inside and out. You could have turned bitter and cold after everything you’ve been through, but instead, your heart is as kind and loyal as they come. That”—I smush his cheeks until his lips pucker like a fish—“is why I’ve crushed on you for an embarrassingly long time.”
He takes me by the wrists, lowering my hands to rest on either side of his neck. “How long?”
I shake my head, refusing to answer, my ponytail whipping us both in the face.
CK reaches up, fingering the ends. “Is this brighter than it was yesterday?”
I can’t see it, but based on how it feels, my grin is cheesy as hell at him noticing. “Yeah, Bette gave me a refresh while the others bugged me for a status update.”
He continues to absentmindedly twirl my hair. “Status update?”
“On us.” I let my tone imply the Duh I leave off.
“On us?”
I look toward the vaulted ceiling. “Is there an echo in here?”
CK tugs on my hair. “Smartass.”
“Dumbass,” I counter with a tilt of my head.
We grin at each other until the joking atmosphere settles and is replaced by a simmering intensity.
CK brushes his knuckle along my lips. “You like me?”
I place a kiss on that knuckle and respond with my own question. “You like me?”
“This is crazy.”
“Maybe.” I shrug. “But life’s too short to try to be anything but happy.”
I shift closer again, sliding down his thighs until I’m pressed against the bulge straining against his gray sweatpants. “I want you, CK,” I whisper against his lips.
He emits this groan from the back of his throat that has my hormones sighing, and this time, I’m the one who kisses him.
His strong arms band around me, bringing me back with him as he falls against the cushions, my hips oscillating of their own accord.
He’s hard, and based on how long it takes me to slide along his length, a ripped torso isn’t the only thing CK hides under his clothes.
My breathing hitches and my stomach flutters. My body undulates, my fingertips tracing the outline of his handsome face, using my sense of touch to see him with my eyes squeezed shut. I’m lost in a sea of sensation.
His hand cups my rib cage, squeezing to help guide my movement.
CK may have frustrated the fuck out of me with his inability to see what was right in front of him, but when he kisses me? Whoa. It’s like he was made for it.
The Christopher Kent model of human: specializes in kissing Quinn Thompsons.
His lips are soft, but the pressure he wields with them is insistent, commanding even.