Read Online The Sweet Under His Skin by Portia Gray - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Portia Gray
Tags: Suspense, Romance, Literature & Fiction, Contemporary, romantic suspense, New Adult & College, Mystery & Suspense
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knowing it was rude to stand there with a table covered in food and let someone just leave.
"Nah, thanks Aunt Arielle. I'm still technically on the clock here. But thanks. I'll see 'ya tomorrow."
He left then, and the kitchen got bigger and brighter. She exhaled, then caught Calvin staring up at her. "What?" she asked, taking her seat.
"You look weird."
"Calvin, that's not very nice."
"Not in a bad way. Your smile looked different." She didn't even know she'd been smiling. "Are you warm?"
"Why?"
"Do you feel sick?"
"Calvin, what's with the twenty questions?"
He shrugged and picked up his fork. "Your cheeks are all pink."
She put a hand to the side of her face not healing from being punched. It did feel warm. Actually, she was warm, and she hadn't been until Calvin dragged Quentin into her house. Or maybe this was another symptom. It could be.
Yeah, definitely a symptom.
Chapter Seven
"Where are you, Quentin?" the blonde asked breathlessly, tossing waves of curls over her shoulder and staring down at him with a flushed face and heaving chest.
He had a bottled blonde with huge fake tits riding him, and he was completely, absolutely distracted by other things that were nowhere near his dorm room at the clubhouse. Things that looked fantastic in cut-off shorts and an old 49ers T-shirt, her hair pulled to a ponytail at the side of her neck. Things that smelled great and still cooked fucking chicken with potatoes for supper.
That house had smelled like her. He hadn't been expecting that, but it was all over the place. And it smelled good.
Quentin shot a look up at the blonde. "I'm right here, baby. Who told you to take a break?"
She smiled, rolling her hips again. He was pretty sure she'd really come just then. If not, it was a hell of a fake. Well, good for her. But it wouldn't be a win unless she got him there, too.
Quentin tried to keep his head out of his head, eyes trolling up her tanned skin, over her breasts which were close to the best money could buy, her tight stomach, and her long-nailed fingers playing with her own nipples, throwing her head around and arching so far she looked about ready to break her own back.
He closed his eyes. Her show wasn't doing much for him. But closing his eyes just meant he was seeing Arielle—the fucking neighbor again—in her shorts and bare feet, one tanned leg bent towards to the one holding her weight like she was nervous to have him in her house. He couldn't blame her for that. But then she'd smiled at him and…damn. It was all he could do to get his ass on his bike and head to the clubhouse immediately.
Which, of course, brought him here.
"Fuck, Quentin, baby. You feel so good."
He grit his teeth, sat up, wrapped an arm around her lower back and tossed her to the side onto the mattress. He flipped her over by the hips, pulled her up onto all fours and sunk deep into her roughly on one thrust. She gasped. He did it again and she whimpered. He did it again and something changed.
"Fuck, Quentin. That hurts." He did it again. "Quentin, ease up. That hurts."
That was all it took. He planted deep, came hard—mousey, angelic neighbor Arielle nowhere in his mind—all because suddenly this girl wasn't into putting on a show for him.
"Christ, Quentin," she muttered as he pulled out, flopping next to her on his bed with his arm over his eyes. "You're not really packing a small calibre weapon there. You gotta ease up."
"Shut the fuck up and leave," he answered with indifference, ignoring the berating comments she dished out as she pulled on her miniscule outfit. It was all noise.
Once she was gone, he wished she'd taken the stink of her perfume with her. The smell of the neighbor's house was completely gone from his head now, and that was too bad, even if he had come here to get rid of it.
Fuck…that sweet. It wasn't just tingling his jaw anymore. It was sparking on his skin and messing with his fucking head.
He liked that kid. A lot. Being away for a few days
"Nah, thanks Aunt Arielle. I'm still technically on the clock here. But thanks. I'll see 'ya tomorrow."
He left then, and the kitchen got bigger and brighter. She exhaled, then caught Calvin staring up at her. "What?" she asked, taking her seat.
"You look weird."
"Calvin, that's not very nice."
"Not in a bad way. Your smile looked different." She didn't even know she'd been smiling. "Are you warm?"
"Why?"
"Do you feel sick?"
"Calvin, what's with the twenty questions?"
He shrugged and picked up his fork. "Your cheeks are all pink."
She put a hand to the side of her face not healing from being punched. It did feel warm. Actually, she was warm, and she hadn't been until Calvin dragged Quentin into her house. Or maybe this was another symptom. It could be.
Yeah, definitely a symptom.
Chapter Seven
"Where are you, Quentin?" the blonde asked breathlessly, tossing waves of curls over her shoulder and staring down at him with a flushed face and heaving chest.
He had a bottled blonde with huge fake tits riding him, and he was completely, absolutely distracted by other things that were nowhere near his dorm room at the clubhouse. Things that looked fantastic in cut-off shorts and an old 49ers T-shirt, her hair pulled to a ponytail at the side of her neck. Things that smelled great and still cooked fucking chicken with potatoes for supper.
That house had smelled like her. He hadn't been expecting that, but it was all over the place. And it smelled good.
Quentin shot a look up at the blonde. "I'm right here, baby. Who told you to take a break?"
She smiled, rolling her hips again. He was pretty sure she'd really come just then. If not, it was a hell of a fake. Well, good for her. But it wouldn't be a win unless she got him there, too.
Quentin tried to keep his head out of his head, eyes trolling up her tanned skin, over her breasts which were close to the best money could buy, her tight stomach, and her long-nailed fingers playing with her own nipples, throwing her head around and arching so far she looked about ready to break her own back.
He closed his eyes. Her show wasn't doing much for him. But closing his eyes just meant he was seeing Arielle—the fucking neighbor again—in her shorts and bare feet, one tanned leg bent towards to the one holding her weight like she was nervous to have him in her house. He couldn't blame her for that. But then she'd smiled at him and…damn. It was all he could do to get his ass on his bike and head to the clubhouse immediately.
Which, of course, brought him here.
"Fuck, Quentin, baby. You feel so good."
He grit his teeth, sat up, wrapped an arm around her lower back and tossed her to the side onto the mattress. He flipped her over by the hips, pulled her up onto all fours and sunk deep into her roughly on one thrust. She gasped. He did it again and she whimpered. He did it again and something changed.
"Fuck, Quentin. That hurts." He did it again. "Quentin, ease up. That hurts."
That was all it took. He planted deep, came hard—mousey, angelic neighbor Arielle nowhere in his mind—all because suddenly this girl wasn't into putting on a show for him.
"Christ, Quentin," she muttered as he pulled out, flopping next to her on his bed with his arm over his eyes. "You're not really packing a small calibre weapon there. You gotta ease up."
"Shut the fuck up and leave," he answered with indifference, ignoring the berating comments she dished out as she pulled on her miniscule outfit. It was all noise.
Once she was gone, he wished she'd taken the stink of her perfume with her. The smell of the neighbor's house was completely gone from his head now, and that was too bad, even if he had come here to get rid of it.
Fuck…that sweet. It wasn't just tingling his jaw anymore. It was sparking on his skin and messing with his fucking head.
He liked that kid. A lot. Being away for a few days
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