Hunter’s callused hand pushed between their joined bodies and grabbed Quinn’s cock, holding it tight as he thrust repeatedly. Hell if he knew where his coordination was coming from considering his brain was melting from craving his mate’s body to come all over him.
He leaned forward, lapping at his mate’s neck and then sinking his teeth into Quinn’s shoulder. The rush shot through Hunter at lightning speed, Quinn crying out as he bathed Hunter’s hand with his seed. The tight grip Quinn’s ass had on Hunter’s cock took him over the edge, and his body shattered as he filled Quinn with his cum.
Licking the wound closed, Hunter’s head fell back on the headrest, trying desperately to catch his breath. Quinn laid his head on Hunter’s chest, his breathing just as erratic.
“As much as I want to stay just like this, we have to get back to our mate.” Hunter ran the tips of his fingers down Quinn’s spine, hating the fact that they had to move.
“I know. Five more minutes, Ma.” Quinn chuckled, his laughter vibrating Hunters chest.
“Come on, troublemaker. We have to go.” Hunter gave Quinn a tight hug and then released him. “Get dressed. I don’t want you walking in there naked, or I’ll have to carve everyone’s eyes out, except Tristan’s.”
“I’m moving,” Quinn grumbled, pulling his leg from the other side of Hunter’s hip. “In the rulebook of sex, it clearly states that a man is entitled to a nap after unloading his balls.”
“As soon as we get back, you nut.” Hunter laughed, straightening his clothes out and waiting for Quinn to get dressed and buckled in. Quinn had a point. A nap was in order.
Chapter Eight
Quinn leaned against the counter, Tristan’s back pulled to his chest and his arms wrapped lightly around his jellybean’s waist as he threw his head back and roared with laughter. Tristan was covering his mouth, trying his best to cover his giggle.
“I’m serious, man. You have to see Sid at bingo on Red Bull. It’s not a pretty sight. I thought those women were going to beat him with their bingo cards. Missy had to pull him out of there.” Dino held his side as he tried to speak and laugh at the same time. He dried his eyes, after-giggles bubbling up from his chest. “Poor Sidney was running down the street with Missy, trying to hide from Missy’s grandmother who swore Sidney dabbed each space on purpose.” Dino held his chest as he gave in and laughed out loud.
“She had a lethal handbag.” Sidney pouted. “I couldn’t help it. I got overly excited and began dabbing everyone’s card.”
“Are you banned from bingo now?” Tristan asked with merriment.
“No. They agreed to let me come back if I stayed sugar-free on Wednesdays.”
Quinn held onto Tristan as he laughed until his sides and cheeks were sore. He didn’t fail to notice how relaxed and happy Tristan appeared. His jellybean was even more gorgeous when he smiled. The word sir was almost nonexistent now. The only time he heard Tristan use it was when he was nervous. Which, these days, was rare.
“Don’t pout, baby.” Dino pulled Sidney into his arms. “At least they let you come back.” He laughed again, Sidney punching him in his arm.
“Thanks to Missy calming everyone down and promising that I would behave.” Sidney’s lips curled in, and then he began to laugh as well. “And I have to sit at my own table, away from everyone else’s cards.”
Tristan wiped his face, his smile lighting up the room as he laughed.
“That’s like the time my mom had to rescue me from the neighbor’s poodle. My cousin convinced me that Mr. Fluffy Bottom liked to be hand-fed sausages. He omitted the part where the dog always thought your fingers were the sausages. Mrs. Gladstone ran around in circles with her arms in the air, screaming for Mr. Fluffy Bottom to let my fingers go as my mom tried to distract the dog with a can of tuna.” Tristan laughed. “What dog eats tuna?”
Quinn listened closely as he chuckled. This was the first time Tristan talked about something from his childhood. “How old were you?”
“Believe it or not, seventeen.”
Dino and Sidney roared with laughter. Quinn could see how pleased Tristan was with the feeling of belonging. All his baby needed were good friends and two loving mates to help him through the murky waters. “My cousin was grounded for a week after that. But every once in a while, he would leave a can of tuna by my bedroom door and run away, swearing it wasn’t him when I asked.”
“Did you throw the cans away?” Quinn asked, kissing his man on the cheek.
“No, I became very good at making tuna salad, tuna casserole, and feeding the neighborhood cats.”