Page 13 of Love Potion No. 69
And it’s here, in the middle of a hotel bed in Sacred River, with Clementine on her knees and declaring my cock is hers with absolutely no apology, that I officially fall in love with her.
Clementine
QUINTON LAUGHS AND shakes his head. He’s on his back, propped up on his elbows and looking up at me, his golden brown skin absolutely flawless against the white sheets, his chest flecked with a smattering of black curls.
He is delicious.
And I can’t stop this anymore. Can’t fight the constant pull to be near him, to touch him, to be touched by him. I know it’s the love potion—how else does something like this happen?—but I have to give in. Letting go, watching his face, seeing how he looks at me as though I am a goddess sent from above for him and him alone as I roll the condom on, it feels like sinking into a perfectly warm bath. Everything is relaxed inside me, content.
As I lower myself onto him, we both go quiet. Quinton’s fingers dig into my hips as we breathe, his dark eyes unmoving from mine. I read his every feeling in there, and I know they mirror my own. I raise again, lowering another bit, then do it again and again until I’m so full of him it’s almost too much.
“Quinton,” I breathe, “you feel so good.”
“That’s not the right word.” He skims his hands down my thighs and back up, curving my ass and up to my back. “Incredible is better.”
I nod and start to move. He groans as I manage, “Delicious,” the word from my earlier thought rising to the surface.
“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he says.
I am. The partners I’ve had have been few and far between, and none of them were Quinton’s size. All I can do is throw my head back in agreement as I find my rhythm, swirling and moving up and down. When he cups my breasts, I place my hands over his, showing him how I want to be touched. He’s a quick study, and as his thumbs coast over my nipples, I squeeze my inner walls.
He grunts, using his hips to thrust deeper into me. I hitch a breath and fall forward, my hands on his chest as my hair falls around us, blocking out the world. Our eyes meet again and we stop talking, nothing but the sound of our breath filling the air. When he reaches to cradle my chin, angling his torso up, I’m already bending down to meet him.
I swear I hear a rumble of thunder as we kiss, or maybe it’s my heart cracking wide open. All I know is that this kiss feels different. Tender and loving, exploring, learning. His lips are soft, luscious and thick like the rest of him, but he yields to me without question, following my lead as I nip at his lower lip, then upper. I plunder his mouth, wondering all over again at the softness of his beard, how it doesn’t hurt the sensitive skin around my mouth at all.
When he whispers, “Let me on top,” I go willingly, happy to cede control.
As he settles between my hips, he brushes my hair back, he scans my face as though he’s memorizing me, learning me. I do the same, noting the freckles dotting his nose, the hint of baby crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes, the way they crinkle in delight as he takes me in.
“Tell me your full name,” he murmurs.
“Clementine Ameliafuck,” I swallow the word as he thrusts into me, “Rowan.” Oh god. He might tear me apart and I will die a happy woman. I pull my knees up, opening wider for him as he cages his arms around my head.
“Quinton Anthony Robert Henry the second,” he pants, grabbing one of my legs and changing the angle.
I quirk a grin. “Nice to meet you.”
“Figured you should know the name of your future kid,” he grins back.
I don’t hesitate. “The one playing under the willow tree?”
His eyes flare as he pushes again.
“Always wondered what his name was,” I gasp.
He pauses, pulls my leg over his shoulder, and thrusts home again. I let out a growl to match his own, and then he says, “Anthony.”
“What he goes by? JesusfuckQuinton you feel so good,” I say, my teeth clenched.
“Can’t have you calling out our son’s name when I fuck you, babe,” he says, then pounds me.
My orgasm starts to crest and all I can do is hold on, panting and swearing and calling his name, my entire world condensed to the man surrounding me, consuming me, loving me. When it comes, the orgasm overrides all thought, all logic, washing through my body like an electric surge of power. There’s no stopping the animalistic yell that comes out of me, or the way I clutch Quinton to me, needing every bit of his skin and mouth possible, needing him, always him.
Quinton holds me tight, his hips pumping as he chases his own pleasure, and he’s there seconds behind me, shouting into my ear, both of us tightly bound to the other.
In the stillness that follows, all I can do is breathe, my chest heaving into his as my heartbeat slows, dimly aware of the way my legs are pretzeled. I’m surrounded by his wintry pine scent, and my head fills with an image of a snow-bound forest, ice cracking the branches, the white snow twinkling from the sun’s rays in the bluebird sky above. In the distance, a figure tracks through the landscape, his face tilted up to the sun. I know, without question, that it’s Quinton, and that it’s only the first of many images I’ll see.
The realization is a tectonic shift, because I’ve never had it happen. Maybe there’s more to my gift than I’ve known. Or maybe it’s Quinton, or maybe the love potion…and that thought hurts more than it should.