“You are not turning me on, Lo- Logan!”
She gasps as my other hand slides right up between her legs and slides against the front of her panties. She's wet there, very wet. “You're going to have to put up a better argument on that one, Doc.” She whimpers as I push her soaked panties to the side and slide my finger against her opening. I lean my lips close to her ear. “Because I'm not buying it.”
She bites her lip between her teeth, her brow furrowing as I slide my finger into her pussy. And there's something about the way she sucks on that bottom lip that has me rock hard in my pants, and I growl as I lean down, ready to suck that lip myself. Her eyes close, and she tilts her head up as if ready for the kiss I know we both want. Ready to close the distance. And I want nothing more than to bruise those lips with my own, and taste her tongue across my own.
“Doctor Archer?” Quinn's eyes shoot open as one of the analyst's voices calls from somewhere down the hallway. “Doctor Archer, did you want to look over those genome resistance reports again?”
Her eyes go wide for a moment, and then she narrows them at me angrily. It’s as if she’s suddenly realizing what’s happening. As if I’ve just tricked her into this position somehow.
“Logan!” She hisses, shoving at my chest. “Get your fucking hands off of me, you meathead.”
Meathead?
“One second!” She calls out to the analyst, all while pushing my arm away from her. I roll my eyes and slide my hand out of her panties as she fumbles to smooth down her skirt and button her blouse back up, shooting me a dirty look. “I can't believe you just did that!”
“Oh, what, like that's all me, Quinn?” I scowl at her as I lean in close, my voice low. “Don't pretend you weren't just dripping wet to feel my fingers inside you.”
Her face goes crimson red. “Don't be disgusting.” Somehow, the flustered look on her face makes her look almost as sexy as she looked when my fingers were stroking her wetness.
Trisha, the analyst, pokes his head into the room. “Doctor Archer?”
“Trisha! Yes!” Quinn’s face is flushed and she quickly clears her throat as she smiles at her. “Let’s, uh, let’s take a look at those reports.”
She shoots me a look as they both move past me towards the conference table, but I can’t help but bring my hand up to palm her ass as she brushes past. Quinn whirls back to me, her look tense, but her eyes wild, and I just grin at her.
“Get the door, would you, Logan?”
Trisha’s back is turned as she flips through one of the binders on the table, and I look Quinn dead in the eye as I bring a finger up to my mouth - the very same finger that was up until recently buried in her slit, and grin before sucking it clean. It’s the predictability of her squeamish and wrinkled-nose reaction that’s so much fun, and I smirk and give my finger one last dramatic lick before I turn and leave her to work.
Yeah, good luck with that, sweet cheeks, I grin to myself as I saunter down the hall back to my own office.
Chapter Fourteen
Quinn
“I can’t just let you out here, miss.” The cab driver wearing a leather vest and a porkpie hat is a big guy, but even he looks nervous as he glances at me through the rear-view mirror.
“Oh, it’s-”
What, ‘It’s scary as shit here?’ Here in whatever utter horror-show of a warehouse area of Brooklyn I’m crazy enough to have driven to in the middle of the night’? Cause, yeah, that’s actually exactly what it is. But I had to, and I have to be here.
“It’s fine, I’m meeting some friends.”
The cab driver mutters something and looks warily out the windows at the darkened, dilapidated warehouse that we just watched Logan’s car pull up to about five minutes before. “I got a daughter about your age, honey. Ain’t no way I’d let her hang out with any friends that hung around a fuckin place like this. ’Scuse the language.”
I push cash through the divider. “Good, don’t. I really am fine though”
Yeah, totally fine.
I definitely shouldn’t be here, I think to myself as the cab roars away into the depths of the night, leaving me alone in the shadows. Except by the thudding sounds of music and cheering coming from the warehouse looming in the darkness, I know I’m not really alone.
I’m still undecided which one is a worst prospect.
Granted, this was a terrible idea, but I couldn’t not follow him tonight. Not after I’ve spied on him ducking out of the building late at night and heard him stumbling home even later, usually nursing an ice-pack or bloody towel of some kind. So tonight, I was ready and waiting in the cab out front of our building when he slipped out and got behind the wheel of his Maybach. Tonight, I followed him here to the sketchiest, darkest block in the borough of Brooklyn. Whatever this is, I have to know and I have to see it, even if I’m not sure why.