Page 93 of Sex Positive

“It’s ‘Quinn’now.” His eyes are dark, burning with a fire she’s only seen when he’s on his knees staring up at her with so much heat she swears she’ll incinerate. The air is alive with palpable frenetic desire and anticipation. “But it’s ‘Wes’ when my fingers are inside you, when my tongue is on your clit. When you’re wet and needy and wanting andsoclose.”

A swoop of feverish lust erupts in her core. She squeezes her eyes shut, certain he doesn’t know what he’s saying, certain he won’t remember this in the morning. She needs to shut the door while she’s still thinking clearly, knowing he is not.

“I know what I do to you, Charlie.”

Dipping his head, he brushes his mouth against the skin under her jaw, dragging his lips down her throat. She gasps, and he chuckles.

“See?” He presses the pad of his thumb to her pulse point. “That right there. I can die happy, knowing I can make that happen.”

Charlie presses her palms flat against his chest, gently pushing him back. “It’s a physiological response to a pleasing stimulus.”

“Always so intelligent. It’s one of the things I love most about you.”

Somehow, she manages to pull back, steadying her nerves and fighting the urge to throw her intelligence out the window and wrap her legs around his waist until he knows exactly what he does to her.

“Good night, Wes,” she says, and shuts the door.

Twenty-Five

Quinn

Can we talk?

Charlie swipes the notification away before entering the clinic. If ever there’s a time to use her compartmentalization skills, it’s today. A contraception company that offers telemedicine appointments for people all across the country has agreed to a video call. She and Carolyn are going to pitch them on sending a representative to set up a booth at the expo and give a forty-five minute talk on how to choose what contraception is right for you. The meeting is in thirty minutes, and she arrived early to ensure that everything is perfect for her presentation.

After tickets to the expo went on sale three weeks ago, Betsy Jacobs announced it on her social media, and the numbers ballooned. Charlie’s to-do list is a mile long, but she’s buoyed by the hope surging in her chest that this might, in fact, work.

She does not have time to think about Wes. She does not want to linger on the memory of his mouth on her neck, the heat of his lips, the burn of his touch, the intensity of his words. She is only allowed to give herself over to these memories under the cover of night, when she’s in bed and has nothing to distract her from her wildest imaginings.

Passing quickly through the clinic, Charlie waves to Cristina, the PA working that day, and takes the stairs to the second floor. When she approaches Victoria’s office, she sees the door is open and hears murmurs from within.

“Hey—” she begins, pausing at the threshold, but she freezes when she sees the occupant in the guest chair.

“Charlie!” Victoria’s grin sparkles. “You know Gabriel Quinn, right?”

Gabriel shifts in his seat, flashing her a good-natured smile, all straight white teeth.

“Good to see you again,” he says, then tells Victoria, “My son, Wesley, is Charlie’s very good friend.”

Her heartbeat stumbles, his presence rattling the composure she’s been working to maintain all morning.

Victoria beams. Her makeup is flawless today, her signature dark bob perfect, and she’s dressed in a crisp olive blouse with an ivory blazer. “I spent time with Wes a few months ago when we visited New York to record Theo’s podcast.” She gestures to Gabriel. “Which, of course, wouldn’t have happened without your company.”

“Yes, of course,” Gabriel replies. “Theo’s show is one of our most popular podcasts.”

“I have to prepare for my meeting,” Charlie interjects quickly. She forces a smile in Gabriel’s direction. “Nice seeing you again.”

Before waiting for his response, she spins on her heel and hurries to her office.

She can’t begin to fathom why Gabriel Quinn is in Victoria’s office, but a sense of unease roils in her gut. She tries to forget the look in his eye as he observed her at Wes’s birthday dinner two evenings ago, telling herself the calculated glint was all in her imagination.

Ten minutes later, however, she’s halfway through reviewing her presentation when there’s a soft knock on her door.

“Charlotte.” Gabriel’s hand rests lightly on the door handle, a polite smile on his face. “Mind if I come in?”

Fingers hovering over her laptop, she stares for a second, speechless, then quickly nods. “Sure.”

He steps inside, but when he shuts the door behind him, a jolt of apprehension zips through her. Mustering all the confidence she can, she clasps her hands together on top of her desk. “Can I help you, Mr. Quinn?”