Not another hockey blog

Quinn stepped out of the snow-lined street and into the warmth of the coffee shop, brushing flakes from his shoulders. The storm had emptied the city; the once bustling streets and sidewalks of downtown Minneapolis were nearly deserted.

On any other day, Quinn would have stayed home but Charlotte needed a place to ride out the storm. Her drive home on a good day was almost thirty minutes, but she didn’t want to take the risk, not when the snow was piled up higher than she’d seen it, so she messaged Quinn.

Her face lit up the second she saw him.

“Char.” He crossed the space in a few strides and wrapped his arms around her. She melted into him instantly. 

“Hi, Quinn,” she laughed into his chest.

“Got a snow day?” he asked, pulling back slightly. 

“Yeah. Buses were cancelled and as the weather got worse the principal told us to go home,” she said. “Might cancel tomorrow too.”

He grinned. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this excited.”

“Don’t expose me like that.” She grinned with a wink, then nodded to the table where two steaming mugs were waiting.

**

The wind was worse than it looked.

By the time they stepped back onto the street, the snow was blowing sideways. Charlotte tucked her chin into her scarf and buried her hands deep in her coat pockets. The sidewalks were coated with a white blanket - uneven and heavy.

Quinn instinctively grabbed her arm when she stumbled into a particularly deep drift. He walked slightly ahead at every stoplight, blocking the worst of the wind with his large frame. What should have been a six-minute walk took nearly twenty. They laughed through it — breathless and half-frozen — until they finally reached his place.

Inside, the contrast was immediate.

Warm. Quiet.

“Okay,” he said, already tugging off her soaked coat. “You’re freezing.”

He set both their boots near a heat vent and padded down the hall to his room. When he returned, he handed her a dry sweatshirt and track pants. His sweater swallowed her whole, sleeves dangled well past her hands. The pants were comically large - she rolled them four times and tightened the drawstring as much as she could but was still drowning.

The lights flickered.

Once.

Twice.

Then the entire condo fell into darkness.

They both froze.

“Does this happen often?” Charlotte asked. 

“Only been here a few months, but no.” Quinn said, moving toward the fireplace and flipped the switch. Flames crackled to life. “This is gas, so we have a heat source.”

Charlotte let out a slow breath. “Guess you’re sleeping on the couch tonight.”

“We are,” he corrected. “You’re not going outside until it calms down."

He opened a bottle of red and poured two glasses, the glow from the firelight casted everything in amber. For a while they just sat there, listening to the wind hammer the windows.

Then Quinn glanced at her. “How was your date with Jackson?” He asked.

Charlotte stared into her wine. “It was fine.”

He tilted his head slightly. “Just fine?”

“Did you guys do anything?” He asked carefully. This wasn’t a ‘did you go bowling’ or ‘where’d you go for dinner’ kind of way and they both knew it. 

She glanced up from her wine, her stomach instantly tightened at the question. It’s been two days since her date with Jackson - four since Quinn taught her things she never imagined. 

When she hesitated for a second too long, stuck remembering his hands wandering up her thighs, curling inside her, Quinn softly urged her. “C’mon, Char, I won’t be upset hearing about you two, that was the arrangement, right?”

“Yeah.” Her voice was quiet and gaze had dropped.

“So? How was your date?”

He raised an eyebrow at her, clearly not willing to accept the deflection. He wasn’t pressing to pry. He was pressing because he cared.

“We fooled around a little.” She admitted, heat burning behind her cheeks.

“And? How was it?”

There it was. The question Charlotte didn’t want to answer. She wasn’t sure how to say she clearly did something wrong because it was mediocre at best. 

“It was…it was fine.”

“Fine?” He scoffed, sounding offended. “What happened?”

“I gave him head, and he came.” She picked up the wine and took a dramatic sip. When she went for a second one, Quinn took the glass and set it down on the island. His posture shifted immediately. 

“Did he say something?”

“Not at first, he seemed to like it. He yanked on my hair, said some curse words, but when he started to cum, I pulled back,  wasn’t ready for it, and he… I don’t know, seemed annoyed or disappointed that I let it go to his stomach.”

Quinn’s jaw tightened. “That sounds like a him problem.” He was quick to suggest. 

“I guess.” She shrugged, but her shoulders were stiff.

“Something else happen?”

“Not really. After that he grumbled, got up, and cleaned himself.” She stared past him to the flickering flames. “Then we went to bed.”

Quinn blinked. “That’s it?”

She gave a small nod.

“He didn’t return the favor?” Quinn gave her a disbelieving look. 

“It’s not a big deal.” She dismissed it with a shrug.

“Yes, it is.” The firmness in his voice made her look up. He set his glass down and moved closer, comfortably in her air space. “It was the first time for you two,” he countered. “That’s supposed to feel exciting. You’re supposed to show each other how much you want them, leave them thinking of you. And he just rolled over and went to sleep?”

She looked away again. “There’s always next time.”

“No, Char. You get one first time with each person. That is the bar the rest of the relationship is compared to.”

Charlotte’s voice was smaller now. “Maybe I did something wrong.”

“Not possible.” He said, his mind flicking back to the other night in her bed. “If you did half the things you did with me, he should have been going crazy thinking of what he was going to do to you.”

Charlotte exhaled, low and uneven. She didn’t notice but Quinn was close, dangerously close. The fire cast a warm glow over his face but she could only see his eyes, dark and blown. “You deserved better. You deserved more.”

Quinn’s lips were quickly on her, sucking harshly at her neck. She gasped and leaned back, opening herself to him. His thick thigh slotted between hers and pressed into the fabric covering her folds. Charlotte grabbed at his shoulders for stability but it only encouraged him to roll his hips forward into her.

“Show me,” she pleaded, voice thick with desperation.

Without hesitation, two fingers slid inside her track pants and found their way to her cotton panties. “Fuck,” he groaned thickly. “You’re soaked, Char.”

Charlotte gulped and tried to think of what to say but all words became lost as his fingers split apart her folds. 

Quinn worked his fingers in and out. He was still learning what she liked. He knew fast and deep would get her there very quickly, but Quinn wanted to take his time. He wantedto revel in it, so he slowed his wrist and carefully dragged his fingers through her heat.  

“That feel good?” He murmured while sucking on her earlobe. “You gotta tell me.”

“S’good.” Her nails dig into his biceps. 

“You getting close?” He hummed into her ear. 

“Yes.” She gasped when his thumb came into play, kneading at her clit. 

“Can I taste it?”

Charlotte stiffened ever so slightly and shifted to look at him. “You…you want to taste it?”

“You.” Quinn clarified thickly against her neck. “I want to taste you, Char.” Flames of heat pulsed through her thighs at the thought of his lips, there. “Just a lick.”

**

Quinn soon found himself on his knees. Her thighs were thrown over his shoulders, track pants dangling by her ankles. It started as a lick. One small, gentle lick. But once he got the taste of her he couldn’t stop, and she wasn’t going to let him. 

Every stroke, every lick was precise. Heat was all she could feel. Pulsing, rippling heat that threatened to shatter her from the inside out. Pressure built from deep inside as Quinn fucked his fingers back into her while his tongue lapped at her clit. 

She had one hand tightly in his hair and the other grasping at the barstool; clinging for stability as her composure was beginning to unravel. 

Quinn suckled at her swollen bud and fucked his fingers back inside. He drove them as far as he could, and crooked them at the knuckle to create the perfect angle. Charlotte groaned and her entire body tightened as something inside her snapped, miniature explosions began to pulsate within her veins. He didn’t deviate, he kept the perfect cadence until she couldn’t hold on any more. With a loud cry she came, warm spilling onto his digits and tongue. 

Everything was tinged in white as the room spun. It wasn’t until she felt wet lips kissing over her thighs did she manage to find her way back to earth.  Quinn gently climbed out from under her and with a devious grin he licked his fingers. 

“So fucking sweet.” He told her. “Like honey.”

Charlotte was breathing heavily when she took a look at him. She gulped, her throat painfully dry as she eyed him up, unable to miss the giant tent that formed in his pants. 

“Couch.” She told him.

“Char, I didn't -“

“Weren’t you worked up over the lack of reciprocity?” She said with some authority in her voice. “I am going to give you a blow job, so get on the couch. Now.”

A flicker of surprise crossed his face, he had never seen this side of her. The authoritative, instructor side. He liked it, which is why he didn’t try to argue further. He shook his clothes off and walked to the living room. He fell into the couch and spread his thighs apart.

Charlotte moved to be in front of him and quickly fell to her knees. Her hands went right to his firm thighs and she kissed his chest.  Slowly her lips traced a path down until she grazed his shaft. Quinn shuddered.

She split her lips and licked up the angry vein on the underside of his shaft. Quinn was quick to tangle his fingers into her hair as she parted her lips and let his bulbous tip land on her tongue. Her mouth was wet and warm, and she slowly worked her way down.

Charlotte took her time, remembering Quinn’s advice to breathe. But when she brought a hand to his balls Quinn’s grip tightened in her hair, providing some much needed encouragement. 

She took him deeper, until her nose touched his thigh. She pulled back with a slight gag.

“Fuck.” Quinn hissed, his thighs tensed under her touch. It only spurred her on. 

Saliva dripped around his cock. Her hand gently massaged his balls as her mouth took in as much as she could. She glanced up at him through her lashes - his head was back and eyes shut with lips parted. With a flat tongue, she kept going, taking him as deep as she could. Her hand moved to the base of his shaft and collected the spit that had pooled there before she moved her hand in tandem with her mouth. 

“Yes. Char…keep doing that.”

Quinn was getting close as Charlotte followed his guidance. She took as much as she could in her mouth while alternating her hand between tugging on his length and massaging his balls. His breathing was broken, his fingers were twisted into her hair as tight as they could be. The sounds he was making came from deep within. They were raw, loud, and shameless, and it only fueled her determination.

“Char.” He gave her a tug, harder than he ought to. But she didn’t stop. She kept her breathing steady and throat relaxed as she worked at him. Her tongue drew along his underside and with a sloppy tug, he felt himself come undone.

Just as last time, Charlotte took her time to pull away, letting some hit her tongue. She pulled back with a cough and let the rest decorate his abs and thighs. Quinn’s entire body melted into the couch and he eased the grip on her hair. She craned her head up, spit and cum dribbled down her chin, and smiled.

Quinn was absolutely ruined - pupils were blown and his breathing was uneasy. He ran a hand over his face and chuckled, “That was -” he couldn’t think clearly.

“I like doing that,” she said quietly, as if the admission was wrong.

Quinn blinked surprised, then grinned. “Well, you can do it as much as you want,” he grinned, softening the air. He pulled her up beside him and gently wiped the corner of her mouth.

At that moment, Quinn wanted to kiss her, and he swore she wanted him too. It wouldn’t have been a heated or a passionate kiss - it would have been one that they needed, one to wrap the moment with a perfect bow. But it was also at that moment he remembered the rules, and there was no kissing - not when they were missing clothes. And it was in moment he understood why.

**

A few hours had gone by and the power had yet to return. With the storm showing no sign of letting up, Quinn dragged his mattress down the hallway. He shoved the coffee table against the wall and shifted the couch just enough to create a wide space directly in front of the fireplace.

“If the power’s going to be out all night, we’re doing this properly,” he said.

Charlotte, wrapped in a thick grey blanket, watched from the other side. “You are very committed to this survival plan.”

“Well,” he shot her a look, “your core temperature is barely above an ice box, you won’t survive without heat.”

He disappeared down the hall and returned with every blanket he owned, an armful of pillows stacked up to his chin, and a deck of cards precariously balanced on top. He dumped them dramatically onto the mattress and then flopped down beside the pile.

“There,” he smiled. “Luxury.”

The fire flickered steadily, the only source of light and heat. Outside, snow battered the windows in soft, relentless waves. Their wine glasses sat half-finished on the counter, forgotten. They sat cross-legged on the mattress facing each other, knees brushing, the warmth of the fire at their sides as they flipped cards in a frantic, chaotic game of war.

Six and two.

Seven and nine.

Ten and—

They both slapped their hands down at the same time. “War.” Charlotte's hand landed first. 

Quinn eyed the four cards in his hand and tossed them into the pile. “I don’t think I have a shot.”

“Nah,” she grinned. “You’ve been dying a slow and painful death for a while.”

He groaned as she scooped up the cards. “I’d like a rematch,” he told her.

“You couldn’t even handle this match.”

He stood, collected the plates from earlier and brought them to the sink. “I was distracted.”

“By what?”

He glanced at her over his shoulder. “Your ruthless competitiveness.”

She snorted.

When he turned back around, she was standing at the floor to ceiling windows, the blanket had slipped slightly off one shoulder. The firelight painted her in warm gold as she stared out into the darkened city. The skyline was nearly black. Snow fell thick and heavy, softening rooftops and streets. “It’s so pretty,” she said quietly.

Quinn walked up behind her - he was close but not touching. “Yeah.”

“I love how it blankets everything,” she continued, her head tipping back until it rested against his chest. “It makes it feel like a reset. Like the city gets to start over.”

He wasn’t watching the snow.

He was watching her.

“Remember junior year,” he said, smiling faintly, “when that massive storm was forecasted and your mom still made you go to school?”

“I was supposed to have a presentation but the teacher didn’t make it in.”

“You were one of eight people at the school that day,” Quinn reminded her.  

“So were you, Ellen made you go too.”

“No, she didn’t.” Quinn smiled faintly.

Charlotte tilted her head back to look at him. With a furrowed brow, she said, “Quinn. You were there with me.”

“Yeah but she didn’t make me go,” he said quietly. “Jack and Luke were home.”

Her confusion deepened. “Then why were you there?”

He met her gaze and stared for a moment, when he finally spoke his words were soft. “I went because I wanted to make sure you got home safe.”

The air changed but not dramatically, everything just stilled. 

“You never told me that.” Charlotte said after taking a minute.

He shrugged one shoulder, almost embarrassed by the confession. “Didn’t feel necessary.” 

Snow drifted past the dark window beside them. The fire roared softly at their backs.

He reached up and brushed a strand of hair behind her shoulder - the same simple gesture he’d done a hundred times before.

But this time it didn’t feel simple. At least not to Charlotte.

They stood there for a long moment, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating off him through the blanket. Close enough that if either of them leaned an inch, it would mean something.

“Quinn,” she said, barely above a whisper.

“Yeah?”

She hadn’t planned this. At no point in her day did she expect these words to come spilling from her mouth but something about his confession cracked her open. The words came before she could overthink them. “Have sex with me.”

“Charlotte.” His reply was immediate. It wasn’t angry or shocked, it was protective. 

She swallowed, but she didn’t look away. “Quinn,” she repeated, steadier this time. “I want to have sex with you.”

Before, when they blurred the lines of friendship, it had been practical and under the guise of lessons. A way to feel more prepared for Jackson. But she wasn’t thinking about Jackson now. She wasn’t thinking about practice. She wasn’t thinking about being better for anyone else. She was thinking of herself and Quinn.

He studied her face carefully, searching for hesitation, pressure, something he could blame this on besides her own choice. He found nothing.

“Why?” he asked quietly.

It wasn’t accusatory, he was being careful. This revelation caught Quinn off guard, a few weeks ago she was saying she didn’t want to have sex, that she wasn’t ready. Quinn had to ensure there weren’t outside forces driving her to this decision. While he understood they would get to that point eventually, he didn’t expect it now. He needed to protect her and their years of friendship.

She took a breath. “I feel safe with you.” The vulnerability in her voice shifted something in him.

He lifted his hand and brushed his thumb along her jaw. His forehead hovered just centimetres from hers, like he was fighting gravity.

She studied him. “Are you worried about me regretting it?”

“Yes.”

“Are you worried you’ll regret it?”

That made him pause. “I’m worried about you,” he repeated.

She stepped closer and closed the final inch that had been holding them apart. Her hand slid up his chest. “I want to have sex with you, Quinn.”

His eyes flickered at that. He rested his forehead against hers at last, giving in to closeness if nothing else.

“You have to talk to me.” He said quietly. “And if at any point you change your mind—”

“I’ll tell you.”

He hesitated one more time, long enough to make sure this was the right decision. Then he cupped her face gently.

“You’re 100% sure?”

“Yes.” 

She kissed him first. It wasn’t practice or exploratory. It was slower, softer, and intentional. He kissed her back like he understood the difference. His lips barely left hers as he guided her toward the mattress by the fire. When they sank to their knees, he pressed a kiss to her forehead before pulling away. 

“I need to get a condom,” he told her. 

He returned less than a minute later.

Charlotte had stripped and left her clothes neatly folded in a pile. She sat on her knees on the mattress, red flames dancing over her skin. He stopped for a second to take her in - the swell of her breast, the patch of hair that was perfectly trimmed. How her lips broke into a small smile when she saw him. The way her composure didn't falter under his eye. 

He had seen her naked before. But this was different, it wasn’t rehearsed or practiced. 

This wasn’t for someone else.

He undressed more slowly than usual. Charlotte watched with pristine patience as one by one his clothes landed in a pile. He set the condom beside the mattress and moved toward her, lowering himself until the mattress dipped with his weight. He slowly crawled over to her, then ran his hand up and down her stomach. “You’re sure about this?”

“Yes.” She replied without hesitation. 

He ran a hand up and down her thigh, letting his fingers gently dance with her folds. He placed open mouth kisses starting at her collarbone then moved methodically down her chest, inch by inch. He spent time at her breast, then continued on, until he was staring directly at her dripping folds. He gently hooked her legs over his shoulders Charlotte immediately popped up, her haste catching Quinn off guard. 

“What are you doing?” She leaned on her elbows and watched as two fingers gently played with her folds. 

Quinn let them both sink in, then curled them the way he’s learning she likes, and smiled. “Another lesson - warmups are important." He told her right as his mouth connected to her swollen bud. 

“Fuuuu-“ she fell back onto the mattress. Quinn worked his fingers, in and out, each stroke getting more wet than the one before. “Faaaaaster.” She whined, and of course Quinn obliged. 

Charlotte's hips began to lift, her cunt being shoved against his face as she struggled to retain composure. He worked at her, thrusting his digits in and out, gently sucking on her clit. He could tell she was close by the way her breathing sputtered and heels dug into his back, it only encouraged him to go faster and deeper. 

It was all becoming too much. His tongue, thick fingers, his left hand deathly holding her hip down. The coil in her stomach tightened and her thighs became earmuffs around his head, desperately clinging to him. His fingers curled right into that spot she needed, and her thighs trembled. She immediately became undone.

Quinn worked her through it. Using his tongue to lap up her release, every single drop. It wasn’t until her entire body softened and her thighs eased did he pull back with a sheepish grin. This time, he didn’t even think, he just kissed her. Hard, passionate, full of need. And Charlotte was quick to welcome his tongue, moaning at the faint taste that lingered. They kissed, and kissed, and kissed and neither one wanted to stop.

It was only when he pulled back did Charlotte notice his member - thick and hard - pressed into her stomach. Her eyes lit up and he kissed her once more while reaching for the foil wrapper.

Finally, Quinn pulled away to create some space. He tore into the condom with his teeth and slid it over his throbbing cock. With one hand on the mattress and the other on his cock, he lined himself up to her entrance, then brought his gaze back to her.

“You’re absolutely sure?” His entire demeanor had shifted.

“Never been more sure.” She smiled from underneath him.

Quinn once again brought his lips to hers and kissed her. Her hands went into his hair as she welcomed his tongue. She could feel his length nudging at her entrance and it sent a jolt through her. Her heart was racing as he began to press himself inside.

Quinn didn’t rush it.

He stayed steady, deliberate, watching her face as if it held instructions only he could read. His movements were slow at first, almost cautious, as if he was testing fragile ground. If it were anyone else, Charlotte knew it would be too much, but it was Quinn. The hand on her hip felt like it belonged, his tongue in her mouth grounded her, her body was at complete ease with him.

His movements were slow but precise as he kept pressing his way inside, but when she gasped at the stretch, he froze and immediately looked at her.

“I’m okay.” She reassured him. “It feels good. You feel good.”

“You’re doing good. Just relax,” Quinn murmured. “Over half way.” Charlotte didn't know how her body could take anymore. She felt a fullness she didn’t know was possible. But as Quinn kept pressing inside, her body didn’t hesitate to welcome him in. Once Quinn had himself swathed inside her heat, he kissed her deep and slow. 

“You okay?” He asked a minute later when he finally pulled away. 

“Yeah.” Charlotte let out a long exhale.

“Do you need a minute?” He asked softly, forehead pressed against hers.

“No.” Her nails ran along his jaw as she brought him back down for another kiss.

Quinn slowly withdrew and Charlotte felt weird as he pulled back. Empty, as if her body needed him inside. He kept his pace slow, but with every thrust there was less resistance until he could slide in and out with ease.

Her body adjusted to him slowly, inch by inch. It felt like too much and not enough all at once - a fullness that stole the air from her lungs.

He kept his eyes on her the entire time, adjusting at the smallest hitch in her breath, the slightest tightening of her fingers against his skin. Outside, snow fell steadily against the dark city skyline. Inside, the fire was warm, casting yellow and red across their tangled shadows.

Her free hand dug into his shoulder, grounding herself in the solidness of him. There was something hypnotic about Quinn being inside her. It could have been the patience in his movements - the control he was exercising purely for her - or perhaps it was the way his cock struck that sweet spot again and again. Every careful shift, every subtle change in rhythm, felt deliberate. Like he was memorizing her.

And slowly, steadily, she felt herself unraveling again. Warmth pooled low in her stomach, building in waves she couldn’t quite outrun. Her breath grew uneven. Her nails dug harder into his skin.

He noticed immediately and dropped his forehead to hers. “Charlotte,” he warned softly — not to stop her, but to stay in the moment.

Quinn was using every ounce of composure to keep his pace. He wanted nothing more than to hook one leg around his hip, to drive into her harder and faster. He wanted her hot body to be writhing underneath as she moaned his name, but this wasn’t about him. None of this was about him, and as she clawed desperately at his shoulder blade he had to remind himself.

The light from the flame kissed her chest and he could see the beads of sweat pooling between her breasts. He watched as her head arched back and she tightened the grip on his hand. With a shuddering breath, she trembled underneath him. “Come on, Char.” He whispered. “Come for me.”

It all happened in a blur. Nothing but pleasure existed for a brief moment; however, this time, the moment was drawn out by Quinn fucking her through it. Every thrust hit exactly where she needed and wave after wave of pleasure erupted through her. Her body settled into the mattress as the lingering wave pulses through her.

Feeling her walls clamp around him and watching tears slowly roll down her cheeks threw Quinn over the edge. He grunted into her collarbone and with a few shallow thrusts his own release spilled into the condom.

His hips gently stilled and Charlotte's cobalt eyes scanned over his face. She didn’t say anything, she didn’t have to. Instead, she smiled and with his cock slowly softening inside her and brought his face down to hers. Then she kissed him. She remembered the rules, her rules, but she didn’t care. This wasn’t about practice, it was simpler than that, and that’s why she kissed him again. 

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Four days later Charlotte found herself at a Minnesota Wild game.

She had a royal blue ribbed turtleneck tucked into a pair of high-waisted dark washed jeans. Half her curls were pulled back into a scrunchie, her bangs were left loose to frame her face. Her makeup was minimal, a touch of concealer, a sweep of mascara to wake up tired eyes. Nothing too ambitious, considering she’d spent the day wrangling twenty-six seven-year-olds through subtraction and indoor recess.

Michaela and Brent sat to her left, both in Wild jerseys. 

Normally, Charlotte would wear his Vancouver jersey when she watched him. She had memorized the weight of it, the way his name curved across her shoulders. But that was when he played for Vancouver. She didn’t have a Minnesota jersey yet and something about wearing his old team’s colours felt… wrong. Like clinging to a version of him that wasn’t there anymore.

When the horn erupted at the end of the third period, the stadium exploded. Two goals in thirty seconds to seal it. The crowd was electric, on their feet, high-fiving strangers. With only a few games left before the Olympic break and the Wild sitting second in the West, the building hummed with anticipation. It wasn’t just about tonight. It was about what was coming.

Charlotte rose to her feet and clapped. Even though she only watched hockey when Quinn invited her and only understood about seventy percent of the rules she understood the importance hockey had to him. 

The three of them lingered as the crowd began to pour into the concourse.

“Do you know where you’re going?” Brent asked, shrugging into his jacket.

“I think so.” Charlotte folded her coat carefully over her arm. “All the times I met him before, he was on the visiting side. I’m sure it’s simple enough.” She hoped it was simple. She hated not knowing where she was going, it always stirred anxiety deep in her stomach. 

“Well, we’re making sure you get there,” Michaela said, her maternal instinct permanently set to high. “Don’t want you wandering around the arena by yourself.”

Charlotte laughed softly. “I’m sure I’d survive.”

They made their way down toward the ice and slipped through the thinning crowd. The smell of popcorn and beer hung in the air. They turned down an aisle and stopped when a security guard stepped forward.

“Hi,” Charlotte said, offering her gentle teacher smile.

“There is not and exit. You’ll have to go around and up the stairs to the main area.” They said blankly, as if they dealt with this on a consistent basis. 

“Oh, um.” She shifted her weight. “I’m trying to get to the Wild family area.”

The guard’s brow lifted slightly.

Right. Of course.

Charlotte swallowed and opened her purse; her fingers brushed past lip gloss and spare hair ties before she found the laminated pass. She handed it over. The guard examined it carefully, flipped it and scanned the barcode. The beep felt louder than the final horn.

“Do you two have passes?” he asked Michaela and Brent.

“Yes, but we’re not staying,” Michaela said. She stepped forward and wrapped Charlotte in a hug. “Tell Quinn thank you, but we had to get home for the sitter.”

“I will,” Charlotte promised. “Drive safe.”

Brent gave her a quick side hug. “Don’t let him keep you out too late.”

She rolled her eyes. “Goodnight, Brent.”

The guard gestured for her to follow, leading her through a set of double doors and down a quiet hallway that felt worlds away from the arena noise. The sound dulled behind her with every step.

He opened another door and stepped aside.

Inside, the energy shifted completely.

The room was warm and softly lit. Women sat in small clusters on couches, speaking in low voices. A few toddlers dozed across laps. In the corner some of the older children raced around with mini sticks, the plastic clatter echoing faintly against the walls.

Charlotte paused just inside the doorway. She suddenly felt hyperaware of everything, the winter boots she wore instead of expensive name brand heels, the way her hands clutched her coat, the fact that she was new. That she hadn’t been here before.

A few heads turned toward her with polite smiles or curious glances. She gave a small smile in return; the same one she used when meeting parents at curriculum night. She found her way to a chair and leaned against the arm rest, tucking her head down out of instinct. 

A burst of laughter erupted from the hallway, followed by the unmistakable sound of footsteps against the concrete floors. The door opened and there he was - hair still damp from the shower, suit jacket slung over one shoulder, tie loosened at the collar. He looked tired and exhilarated all at once.

She smoothed her hands over her target jeans, trying to steady the sudden rush of emotion. His eyes scanned the room lazily at first.

Then he found her and everything in his expression changed. Like he hadn’t realized how much he needed to see her until she was standing right there.

He crossed the room in long strides. “Char,” he said, low enough that it was just for her.

Charlotte smiled, “Good game, Quinn.” He dropped his jacket onto a chair without looking and reached for her, pulling her into him like it was instinct. “You were unbelievable tonight,” she said into his chest.

He huffed a quiet laugh. “We won.”

“I know. I watched.” She smirked. “Brent and Michaela wanted to stay but they had to get home for Henry.”

“Oh, right.” He tipped his head back slightly so he could see her face. “How big is baby H now?”

“Seventeen months.”

“Wow, he must be so big. You didn’t wear a jersey,” he said, glancing at her outfit.

“No,” she said lightly. “I don’t have a Minnesota one.”

“Yet.” A slow grin spread across his face. He leaned in slightly. “I’ll fix that.”

Her stomach fluttered. “You want to get out of here?”

**

Quinn's car was already running by the time they reached the garage. The engine hummed low and steady against the cold. He walked her around to the passenger side, opened the door, waited until she was settled before closing it gently behind her.

By the time he slid into the driver’s seat, he’d already typed her address into the display screen.

The seat warmers were on and he turned the setting up two clicks. He knew she always ran cold. He clicked on Spotify then glanced at her. “DJ?”

She smiled faintly and reached for the screen, scrolling through playlists while he pulled out of the garage.

The drive was quick, less than twenty minutes but the city felt quieter as they made their way to the outskirts. Streetlights reflected against patches of snow along the sidewalks.

“I just know it’s going to be chaotic,” she sighed, leaning her head back against the seat. “I’m not sure who thought doing this on a Friday afternoon was a good idea, but it seems like a perfect way to ruin my weekend.”

“It won’t be that bad.”

She turned in her seat to face him fully. “Quinn. There are going to be five adults and almost fifty students. That’s ten kids per adult. Ten sets of skates I need to tie. Ten helmets I need to fix. Ten kids I need to—”

“Do you plan on asking me?” He kept his eyes on the road but his jaw tightened ever so slightly. “Your friend,” he added carefully. “The professional hockey player. To help? I do know how to tie skates.”

There was something in his voice. Not anger. Not ego. Something closer to hurt.

Charlotte stilled.

Of course it had crossed her mind.

The idea of him in the dressing room with blades tucked between his thighs as he laced up skates. Him on the ice with her students, showing them how to stand and stop. The thought flickered through her mind the second the trip was confirmed.

But she also knew what would happen.

Once word got out that Quinn Hughes was going to be at the rink, other teachers would be annoyed. Parents would call to complain. It would become less about the kids skating and more about the NHL player in the building. She could already hear it: Why didn’t our class get to meet Quinn? A part of her wanted to avoid that circus entirely.

And then there was the other part.

Asking Quinn, her friend, for a favour? Easy. Asking Quinn Hughes - the Minnesota Wild player - to show up to her elementary school field trip? That felt like crossing some invisible line. Those were her thoughts before they kissed, before his hands were on her, before they were in her. Asking him for a favour now felt like she was manipulating their agreement, using him for more than just a friend.

“I figured you had practice,” she said quietly. 

“I have an off day,” he replied immediately. Too quickly. “I even have some friends who could join.”

She blinked. “Friends?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged one shoulder. “I play on a team; I can bring some backup.”

She stared at him. “I couldn’t ask you,” she softly responded.

“I know,” he said. “That’s why I’m offering.”

The car came to a stop in front of her building. The engine idled, warm air filling the quiet. Finally, she looked at him. “You’d just… show up? Tie skates? Help herd a bunch of seven-year-olds?”

He huffed a small laugh. “You’ve met my brothers, right? I can handle some kids for a few hours.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is?”

She hesitated and searched for the words. “I don’t want it to feel like I’m using you.”

His head snapped toward her and he practically laughed. “Using me? Charlotte, you cannot be serious.” The word hung there and she could see the hurt blanket his face. He found it odd that she was comfortable to ask him for assistance in the bedroom but not confident enough to ask him for help on a hockey rink. The one place Quinn always felt at home. “We’ve known each other for ten years, and you have never asked me for anything. When we play in New Jersey, Chris messages me for tickets, every summer Brooke will DM me and try to go to dinner. You kept in contact with me in Vancouver. You’d check in on me more than once a year, ask me about my day with no ulterior motive. You are my friend, which means you get to ask me for help.”

“I’d have to talk to my principal,” she murmured. “And make sure it won’t cause any issues.”

“Whatever you need,” he said. “I’ll just be a guy tying skates.”

She laughed faintly. “You’re not ‘just a guy,’ Quinn.”

He tilted his head. “I am to you.”

She swallowed and her breath hitched. The quiet between them thickened, filling with something fragile. She reached for his hand without thinking.

“I’ll talk to my principal,” she said as his fingers curled around hers.

“Okay.”

“I’ll text you in the morning,” Charlotte added, a small smile forming.

A slow grin spread across his face. “Deal.”

“If one of my kids trips you on the ice, I’m not liable.”

He leaned closer, brushing his thumb along her knuckles. “I’ll take my chances.”

**

Quinn was twenty minutes early.

He leaned against the wall of the local ice rink lobby, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket, baseball cap pulled low. The principal had very politely suggested that perhaps the entire Minnesota Wild roster descending on a second-grade field trip might be disruptive. So, it was just him. 

The lobby smelled like sharpened blades, rubber mats, and stale popcorn. It had a cold-air bite that sat deep inside his bones. He hadn’t stood in a rink like this - small-town, slightly chaotic, full of birthday party posters and vending machines - in years.

He heard them before he saw them.

Fifty children spilling off a school bus sounded like a stampede. Excited chatter echoed through the glass doors as they burst inside in a flurry of winter coats and knit hats. Quinn straightened instinctively. The kids all stopped just inside the entrance, teachers shushing and corralling them. It was loud and chaotic, just as Charlotte said it’s be.

And then he saw her.

She stood near the front, clipboard in hand, curls bouncing as she turned to answer something one of the kids asked. Michaela stood beside her, already looking slightly overwhelmed. He didn’t realize he was smiling until she looked up her whole face changed. Her serious teacher face softened and she smiled in his direction. 

She walked over; cheeks pink from the cold. “You’re early.”

“Coach always said if you’re on time, you’re late,” he said lightly.

She rolled her eyes but he knew she was pleased. She introduced him to the other volunteers. Mrs. Boisclair a support staff from the school, Kati; Bonnie’s mom, and Marco; Steven’s dad. Quinn shook all their hands and explained he and Charlotte were friends he had offered to help for the day. They all smiled and mentioned how any help would be appreciated, seemingly unphased by Quinn.

“Christopher lost his glove, I’m going to check the bus,” Michaela tells them as she approaches the group. “Hi Quinn, good game last night.”

“Thanks Mick.”

Everyone’s face twisted slightly. Then a look of realization settled over Marco’s face. “You’re Quinn Hughes.”

“Yes.” He blushed slightly. “Charlotte and I went to high school together. Now that I play here, I am forcing my friendship upon her.” Quinn teased, earning yet another eye roll.

“That’s amazing.” Marco beams. “Would I be able to get a picture of you with Steven at some point?” He motions over to a group of boys chattering away. 

“Of course.”

“We’re getting a group photo at the end too,” Charlotte chimed in. “Alright!” Charlotte called out, her teacher voice slicing cleanly through the noise. “Twenty students per dressing room…”

She paused, silently counting heads, then drew a line through the air with her arm to divide them. The kids shuffled slightly to mark the divide.

“All of you,” she pointed decisively, “are with Mrs. Boisclair and Kati, Bonnie’s mom.”

She pointed to another group. “You’re with me and my friend, Quinn. And you are in room 4 with Marco and Mrs. Kaiser.”

“Hi Quinn!” a chorus of voices overlapped, as the group of kids surround them. 

“Hey guys,” he said. “Who here’s skated before?” Over half the hands shot up confidently. The rest looked either nervous or way too excited. 

The dressing room was chaos in the way only kids could create. Zippers stuck. Gloves went missing. One child insisted their left skate was actually their right. But the tying of the skates went faster than Charlotte had anticipated.

For every one student she tied, Quinn tied two. He worked quickly, efficiently, double-knotting laces with muscle memory. He chatted with the students the whole time, fully engaged in them.

“Can you skate backwards?” one girl asked him suspiciously.

“Sometimes,” he shrugged.

“Are you good?”

Charlotte bit her lip to keep from laughing.

“Sometimes,” Quinn shrugged again. 

By the time the last set of skates was tied, the room looked like a tornado had passed through, but every kid was upright and mostly balanced.

Charlotte reached into her bag and pulled out a pair of white figure skates.

“That wasn’t bad,” he said, exhaling. He sat beside her, their shoulders brushed as he shook of his own boots. 

“That was the easy part,” she laughed. “Now we have to keep them from getting hurt.”

On the ice, it was loud.

Blades scraped in uncertain lines. Kids shrieked every time someone fell, which was often. The sound of giggles bounced off the boards.

Charlotte moved carefully around the rink. She figure skated until she was twelve at which point her mom said it occupied too much time, but it stuck with her even after all those years. 

When a student toppled, she was there immediately, kneeling to eye level. “You okay? Wiggle your fingers for me. Good. Now let’s try that again.”

Quinn watched her more than he watched the kids. The way she never got impatient. The way she celebrated the smallest victories, like standing up after a fall. 

He skated beside her, steady and controlled, occasionally catching a wobbling child before they crashed too hard.

“Mr. Quinn!” one boy shouted. “Race me!”

Charlotte snorted. “Please don’t.”

He leaned toward her. “You don’t want me embarrassing a seven-year-old?”

“I don’t want to fill out incident reports.”

There were photo ops, lots of them. Many of the kids were too young to understand who he was but there was a group of hockey obsessed kids, who immediately went into awe once word got out.

When the hour finally wound down and the rink staff started herding them off the ice, the noise softened into tired chatter. Their cheeks were red, mittens were damp, but they were all beaming from ear to ear.

Back in the lobby, the kids were buzzing about who fell the most and who “almost did a spin.” Charlotte did one final head count before lining them up for the bus. Quinn stood off to the side, giving high fives to kids as they ventured onto the bus. 

“Thanks for coming today,” Charlotte said, stepping up to him once the kids were boarding. “It was significantly better with you here. And I don’t just mean because of the skate tying.”

“I had a good time,” he admitted. “Told you it wouldn’t be that bad.”

She smiled. “Nobody cried, myself included, so it’s a good day.”

He stepped closer without thinking and pulled her into a hug. She melted into it immediately. And before he could overthink it, he pressed a soft kiss to her cheek. She pulled back slightly, searching his face. Her eyes were bright—not overwhelmed, just… full.

“Make sure you get a hot chocolate on the way home,” she said with a wink. She squeezed his arm once and turned, climbing the bus steps.

**

When Charlotte parked her car at home, she immediately spotted the familiar BMW. Quinn leaned against the passenger door, two paper cups in his hands; every exhale was visible in the cold air.

“The tradition,” he called as she walked toward him, “was hot chocolate together. Felt wrong to drink it alone.”

Charlotte couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face. “You’re very committed to tradition.”

“If you don’t do it right, why bother doing it?”

He handed her one of the cups, their fingers brushed briefly. “You want to come up?” she asked, casual but not quite.

“Yeah,” he said easily.

They moved through the brick apartment building together, past the mailboxes, down the narrow hallway that always smelled faintly of detergent. The elevator rattled on its way up to the sixth floor.

“Reassuring sound.” Quinn joked. 

“It builds character.”

“It builds anxiety.”

She laughed softly.

Once at her apartment, she slipped the key into the lock and pushed the door open. Warm air and the faint scent of vanilla met them. She hung her coat, then took his, before tucking her skates onto the top shelf.

“It’s not much,” she said, stepping into the living room. “But it’s home.”

Quinn took his time looking around. The shelves were cluttered with framed photos, mismatched trinkets from the two trips she’d been on, stacks of books threatened to topple over. A throw blanket was folded over the couch arm; another was already half on the floor.

“It feels like you,” he said. “Comfortable.” His gaze caught on the scratching post beside the couch. “You have a cat?”

“Macaroni,” she said automatically, glancing toward the hallway. “He’s probably stretched out on my bed; it gets the best light this time of day. He’s tolerant of strangers.”

“So, he’s a mama’s boy.”

“Very much.”

Her phone chimed in her back pocket. The sound shifted the air slightly. She pulled it out, read the screen, and typed back quickly.

“Jackson,” she tells him. “He wants to grab dinner tomorrow.”

Quinn took a sip of his hot chocolate. “How are things?”

Charlotte studied him for a beat. “We haven’t slept together if that’s what you mean.”

His eyebrows shot up. “That’s not what I was asking.”

She softened. “They’re good. He’s good. I like him.” There was a small pause. “I think you’d like him too,” she added.

“Yeah?” Quinn asked. Another quiet moment settled between them - not awkward, just aware. “We should all get dinner sometime,” Quinn finally added. 

**

They ended up on the couch without quite deciding to. One minute they were sitting side by side, the next they were shifting to get comfortable, the blanket pulled over their legs against the draft near the window.

Charlotte lay on her back, Quinn stretched along the length of the couch, one arm behind her head. The space was small; proximity was inevitable. Their legs tangled under the fleece blanket, warm and familiar. The TV played something neither of them were watching. His hand rested lightly on her stomach, not possessive or exploratory. Just there. Outside, the winter night deepened. The city lights reflected faintly against the soft sage blinds. The lamp in the corner cast a low, golden glow.

“Thanks for today,” she said quietly.

“For standing beside you while you absolutely crushed it?” he replied. “Anytime.”

She huffed a small laugh. “You did more than that.”

“I think it would have gone well without me. You had it under control.”

“Maybe.” She smiled while glancing up into his soft eyes. “But it helped having you there.”

“That’s because you like spending time with me.” Quinn teased.

“Yeah.” She whispered after a minute. “I do.”

Silence settled again - but his was different. Charlotte was the first to move, slow and deliberate. She brushed her lips against his.

Quinn didn’t rush it. He responded cautiously and kissed her back, letting Charlotte take the lead. But when a soft ‘mmm’ spilt from her lips, his hand began to gently nudge the fabric of her sweater up. 

“Too much?” He murmured against her mouth.

She shook her head.

He kissed her again, deeper this time but still careful, giving her room to set the pace. Her fingers slipped into his curls - something she’d done a hundred times playfully - but this felt different. It was intentional.

There was a faint hum in her throat she didn’t mean to make.

For a moment, Charlotte got lost in who she is kissing. She forgot the framework of it - the fact that this was practice, that he was here to help her feel less uncertain with someone else. It simply felt warm. Safe. Electric in a quiet way.

When they finally separated, he rested his forehead against hers. His eyes shut and his calloused thumb gently rubbed over her stomach. 

“No notes.” Quinn whispered.

“Hmm?” Charlotte whispers back, afraid to use the whole weight of her voice.

“I’m supposed to be teaching you, remember? I have no notes. You’re good at this.”

A faint smile tugged at her mouth. “You’re biased.”

“I take offense to that; I am nothing but professional.”

She laughed under her breath, then shifted, getting quiet. “Bedroom?”

He swallowed, then nodded. “Yeah.”

**

Her bed was made perfectly, almost with hotel style corners. A crisp white duvet stretched smooth across the mattress, a muted pink quilt layered neatly overtop. A row of frilled pillows lined the headboard, decorative and unnecessary. At the foot of the bed, a small, indented circle marked where Macaroni had clearly claimed his spot.

She moved to the cushioned bench at the foot of the bed, her fingers were slightly unsteady as they caught the hem of her sweater. She pulled it over her head, folded it out of habit - then seemed to remember she didn’t need to be neat right now. The rest followed more slowly. Fabric slipping to a pile on the floor. A quiet exhale she hadn’t meant to release, tumbled out.

She stood there in soft, nude cheeky bottoms, shoulders back in a way that wasn’t fully confident but was trying to be.

Quinn had already shed everything but his boxers. He didn’t rush toward her. He didn’t stare in a way that made her shrink. He just softly looked at her. Finally, he stepped closer, giving her enough time to step back if she wanted to. She didn’t. 

His hand lifted slowly, brushing up the center of her stomach. Not possessive, not hungry, just there. Goosebumps followed in the path of his fingers, and her breath caught in her throat, not from shock, but from the intensity of being so aware of herself.

He dipped his head, pressing a slow kiss just beneath her ear. As he crowded her space, she felt his erection beginning to bloom. He traced another kiss along her neck, testing pressure, waiting for her reaction.

Charlotte’s hands came to rest on his shoulders for stability. He let his mouth skim along her collarbone, softer this time. Driven by patience rather than urgency.

His hands slid around her waist and down her back, resting at her hips. As his tongue moved across her warm skin, he reached down to cup her ass. When he pulled her a little closer, it was instinctive - but the second he felt the shift in his own body, he stilled.

A sharp breath left him as he remembered the rules.

He pulled back and let his forehead rest on hers. His hands retreated and he gently walked her toward the bed. They both shrugged out of their underwear and when the backs of her knees hit the mattress, Quinn guided her onto the bed, easing her against the cool sheets.

Quinn’s large frame loomed over her for a minute. They held each others gaze as she gently raked her nails over his jaw. 

His hand roamed her body, exploring every curve so gently it made her skin tingle. Eventually, his hand settled on her breast, and he began to run her pebbled nipple through his thumb and index finger. Slowly and methodically, he worked his way to her hips, over her pelvis, and to her thighs. Her legs instinctively spread and his fingers began to dance around her entrance. 

“Mmm,” she moaned, the sounds making his cock twitch against her thigh. 

Quinn gently licked around her breast and sucked on her nipple. His tongue traced from her neck down to her navel, earning sweet little moans with every pass. His thumb gently nestled against her swollen bundle of nerves, and she gasped. Quinn smirked, but continued to take his time, revelling in the soft sounds catching in her throat. 

Quinn could feel the slick building between her legs and let a devious smirk cross his face. He sunk one finger and curled it in deep, pausing to fully embrace her cry. With a few painfully slow thrusts, he buried a second finger and her legs kicked out in pleasure. 

“Quinn.” She gasped sharply. 

“Hmm?” He drags his fingers in and out at a dramatically and purposely slow place. 

One hand found his shoulder and the other ended his hair. Every part of her started to get hot. 

“What do you want, Char?” Quinn murmured against her breast. “Slower? Deeper?” 

There is no way for him to do either, or so she thought. But as he says each word, his wrist mimics the action. The sound from between her legs was nothing more than a disgusting slop, her slick building and building over his digits but she knows that as good as this is she needs more for her release. 

“Your thumb.” She finds herself begging. 

“What about it?” He plays coy. 

“Use it, rub…” she trailed off as Quinn gently sucks the underside of her breast, careful not to leave a mark. 

Quinn brought his thumb up to her swollen bundle of nerves and presses rhythmic circles into it. Her eyes fluttered closed and her head fell back. 

“This what you wanted?” His wrist picked up speed and began to move at a hurried pace, all while his thumb drove against her clit. Her breathing became broken and she tugged on his hair. “It is?” Quinn grinned to himself. “You getting close, Char.”

She barely heard what he said as white began to flood her vision. Like a mantra, she began whispering his name, each time more quiet as her voice trapped in her throat. 

Quinn worked exactly like he had been, thrusting and curling his fingers, nudging her toward the edge. Her toes curled into the mattress and she gasped as her warmth spilled over Quinn’s digits. He worked her through it, waiting until her body settled before he slowly pulled his fingers out. 

Charlotte lay there, breathless, for a minute, letting her heart rate settle. She eyed over to Quinn, who has fallen onto his side, and smiles. 

“That was-“ she stopped herself, unsure of what word adequately describes the multitude of emotions roaring through her veins. 

“Yea,” Quinn gently tucks her sweaty bangs behind her ear. 

Charlotte continued to settle, her entire body hot. After a moment; she eyed to Quinn. His cock was hard against his stomach, and while she had no comparison, it seemed big. Thick. 

Her fingers hovered just above him, unsure. At the first brush of her hand, they both jump, red floods her face. 

“Char, you don’t -“

“I want to.” She told him.

Quinn searched her face, he wasn’t sure what for, but she had a confident smile on her face. Without a word, he nodded and adjusted into the pillow and carefully watched as she shimmied down the bed.

Hesitantly, Charlotte wrapped her hand around his shaft and swallowed at the weight of it. She gently tugged, almost as if she was scared to fully embrace it. Slowly, she worked her hand up and down his length and Quinn let out a deep guttural groan and tipped his head back against the pillow.

Quinn let her work at her own speed. Moaning as she worked over him, finding a rhythm that worked for her. After a minute with a hoarse voice, he said, “use some spit.”

Charlotte stopped and gave him a look. “Trust me,” he breathed.

Charlotte let a little spit dribble from her mouth onto her hand and she wrapped her palm around his shaft. The slick helped her hand move with ease. “A little faster,” Quinn said through nothing more than a broken breath. 

Charlotte followed his direction and picked up the pace, smirking when his eyes fluttered with pleasure. She tugged up and down in a rhythmic pattern, keeping the pace as Quinn fisted the sheet.

Her lips brushed his stomach, and he quivered, mostly out of surprise. But as she continued to place soft gentle kisses near his hips, he felt his high quickly approaching. 

“Mmm…s’good, Char.” He encouraged her. As much as he wants to get lost in this, he knows this about more than release, it’s about Charlotte and building her confidence. 

“Quinn…” her voice was low “Should I use my mouth?” Quinn immediately propped himself onto his elbows with enlarged eyes. “Guys like that, don’t they?”

“Yes.” He quickly stammered out. “I think most men enjoy that but uh-“ he trailed off lost in the feeling as she continued to work at him, inching him closer and closer to completion. “But it’s not something you have to do tonight. Hands are good too.”

Charlotte stopped for a moment and thought over what he said, then turned and looked up at him. Maybe it’s because he wasn’t pressuring her, maybe it’s because she wanted to try it with Jackson but needed the experience, but somehow, she knew she wanted to do that with Quinn.

“I want to, but I um, I’m a little nervous.”

“Right. Okay. Um-“ Quinn tried to gather his thoughts. “It’s easier if you’re in between my legs.”

Charlotte quickly shimmied between his thighs and glanced up to him, waiting for what’s next. Quinn’s gaze was already locked on her -dark and brimming with need.

“You um… you want to take your time, don’t go all in at once, use your hands to help if you want, and most importantly, remember to breathe.”

“That’s it?” She cocked a brow, thinking it cannot be that easy. 

“As you get going, I’ll give some pointers.”

“Okay.”

Her left hand gently raked over his firm thigh as her right hand guided his shaft toward her mouth. 

“Oh, Char.” Quinn calls out. “I’ll tell you when I’m going to finish, I um-“ he trailed off for a moment, trying to find the correct words. “Don’t swallow it.” Her eyes bulge. She had no idea what would happen when he finished, but swallowing it wasn’t something she had ever considered. “Let it go on my stomach.”

Charlottes’ eyes drifted from his face back to his hard member that rest in her hand. With a nod, she gave him a few more strokes, then, ever so gently, she placed a kiss to his tip. 

She continued to use her hand, working up and down as she placed more and more kisses along his member. His salty precum hit her tongue and he let out the softest sigh as her tongue grazed his tip. 

The sound encouraged Charlotte like she hadn’t anticipated. She parted her lips and let the underside fall onto her tongue. She slowly worked down, then pulled back not quite ready to take him all in at once. 

“Char.” Quinn is quick to grab at her hair. “Remember to breathe,” he said when he felt her gag. 

She pulled back and took a deep breath, then began working him back into her mouth. Taking deep breaths through her nose as she went. 

Her tongue traced along the angry vein on the underside of his cock. Inadvertently, his hips twitched, and she gagged again. 

Eventually she found a rhythm. Hand and mouth moving in sync, her tongue focussed on the tip. She could tell his composure was beginning to fade. His thighs had tightened and he had a fist of hair in his grasp. Charlotte hollowed her cheek and took him as deep as she could, Quinn shuddered under her. 

“Char,” his voice broke. “Fuck, Char, I’m getting close.”

Charlotte hummed in response but don’t let up. She kept taking him, using her hand to work up and down his shaft as her other gently clawed at his thigh. 

“Char,” his hips jut up as he clings to the limited restraint he has left. His body was trembling under her touch. “Char..shit…I’m gonna…”

Charlotte felt his stomach tighten and noticed his breathing was staggered. With a heavy, broken gasp Quinn lost control and Charlotte immediately pulled back. A little of his warm release hit her tongue, but as he told her to, most of it landed on his stomach. She waited for a second before swallowing the sweet and salty liquid. 

Quinn let out an awkward chuckle as his entire body eased into the bed. “I was not expecting that.”

His grip was loose but his fingers remained in her hair as she climbed up his body. “Was it good?”

Without even thinking. Quinn pulled her to him and kissed her. “So good, Char. It was so fucking good.” He slipped his tongue inside her mouth and could faintly taste himself on her. “How was it for you?”

Charlotte scratched along his jaw, then smiled. “I liked doing it.”

“Really?” He asked with a hint of excitement in his voice. 

“Yeah. I think I even liked the taste.” A light blush hit her cheek. :I may want to try it again,” she said with a slow, satisfied smirk. 

“Fuck me.”

“Maybe next time.” Charlotte said with a playful wink. 

Charlotte climbed out of the bed and confidently strutted to the other side of the room. She left the bathroom door open and started the shower, giving Quinn a wink before pulling the curtain back.