Deborah Armstrong

Love’s Embrace – Quinn’s Story

Deborah's Diary

In celebration of my birthday month, I thought I’d share a chapter I wrote a while ago for Love’s Embrace. Quinn called out to me, telling me that he had a story to tell. I haven’t quite figured out where we’re going. Please comment below if you’d like to read more about Quinn’s journey.

Love's Embrace
Quinn and Davina

Chapter One – Quinn


What does it say about a man who, for purely selfish reasons, wishes for another man’s death?  I am a selfish bastard. I am not ashamed to admit it. When it comes to my wife and family, they are mine, and I will protect them with everything I’ve got. I will fight for them with my dying breath. And there’s the irony of it. The man whose speedy death I wish for wants to spend his last breath with my wife. How can I deny him that, when that is exactly how I would want to leave this world?

When she first told me about his request, my immediate response to Davi was to say no. One doesn’t say no to my wife. Not that she’s spoiled and used to getting her way. Far from it. She’s always right. It’s one of the things I love about her as well even though it’s the most frustrating thing about her. After sixteen years of marriage, I should know enough not to argue with her, to let her follow her heart, and yet my heart tells me to hold on to her as tight as I can because if I let go, she may never return.

We were in her office having our afternoon coffee break, our time to discuss our day and our various projects. Our quiet hour before the kids returned from school. Sometimes we skipped coffee and spent the hour in bed. I wished we were in bed now instead of discussing Foxx O’Connell. We argued quietly and calmly because that’s how my wife wins every damned time.

“Foxx needs me.”

“Your place is here with me and our kids,” I said, from the comfort of my old leather armchair as I watched her from across her desk. “We need you.”

“I won’t deny him, Quinn. I owe him. We both owe him for all that he’s done for us.”

“It’s not appropriate. You’re my wife. Doesn’t he have someone else to sit by his deathbed?  I’m putting my foot down on this, Davina Stuart Thomas. I’m your husband. My wants take precedence over his.” I use her full name when she ignites a fire in my gut that always works its way down to my groin.

Her head lowers, and she gives me that look, the one where her beautiful blue eyes turn a deep sapphire, warning me that I’ve crossed the line. She sees that I’m playing with my wedding band. I know that I am done for before she speaks words that will cut me deeper than the letter opener lying on top of today’s unopened mail.

“If I remember correctly, dear husband, you wanted nothing more than to wear my ring so that you could show the world that you belonged to me. It was also your wants that put all of us in a terrible mess—one that Foxx was kind enough to help me through. He may have had his agenda, but Foxx has always been a friend to me. He manned up when you refused to. I shouldn’t need to remind you of that. And I won’t be lectured on how to act appropriately, especially by you.”

She never brings up the past unless I force it upon her. She’s forgiven me although both of us can never forget what happened. Our son David is a constant reminder of the consequences of my wants, and although we love him dearly, it is I who have never been able to shake off fully the shame from my actions.

“Damn it, Davi!”

“Foxx has no one else. No family. No friends close enough to offer to be by his side. He has asked for me, and I will honour his request. It’s only for a few days, and I can give him that. I will give him that.”

She gets to her feet and walks around the desk to join me. She offers her hand to me and I take it willingly. I pull her onto my lap. She makes herself comfortable, clasping her hands around my neck.

“There’s no need to be jealous,” she says softly, comforting me. “Foxx was never a threat to you. He still isn’t.”

“I’m not jealous of him. I’m jealous of what you are giving him.” I see that look in her eyes, the one she gives only to me. ”You think I’m an idiot, don’t you.” I can feel the tightness in my chest begin to ease as my cock hardens. She knows how to get to me every damned time.

“No, but if you are an idiot, you are my idiot.”

She lifts her face up to me, offering me a kiss. It’s a soft kiss she gives me. I want more, and I pull her in tighter, my mouth covering hers, my tongue tasting her delicious mouth. Her body softens against me, her pleasure evident in the soft hum she makes. I want her. My hands find the hem of her T-shirt and slip underneath it. Her skin is soft and warm. She’s always warm. Always wet for me. In a nanosecond, my mind gives me options for making love to my wife—on her desk, on this chair, or the soft carpet at our feet. Papers and half-full coffee mugs cover the desk. I want her underneath me. The floor needs no clearing. The carpet wins.

Davi holds on as I move to the floor, our kiss unbroken. She releases me, her hands now working on her pants, pulling them down over her hips to give me access. I fumble with my belt, then my zipper. I work my jeans past my ass, giving me enough freedom to get down to business.  We have to be fast. The kids will be home in ten minutes. Fifteen if we’re lucky.

Davi reaches for my head. Her fingers run through my hair, causing my cock to harden more. “Hurry,” she says, almost breathless when she releases me from our kiss. “Fast and furious, stud.”

Fuck. She wants me to bang the hell out of her and I know that’s what I have to do, what I want to do because she owns me and I give her whatever she needs. And, our kids will be home soon and we don’t want them seeing this.

She arches her back as I thrust into her. I clench my jaw. She’s tight. I move my hips, working my way inside her, stretching her. She pulls my hair. Her hips move with mine. She’s working me as much as I am her.


I groan. Beads of sweat form on my forehead. I strain against my jeans, cursing that I didn’t kick them off. The floor hurts my knees. I’m too old for this, but I don’t care. She wants me inside her. She loves me even though I’m a jealous prick. I’m her jealous prick.

It’s as though she can read my mind. Davi takes my face in her hands and pulls me closer to her. She smiles and says, “You’re mine. Forever.”

I lose it. My climax is hard and fast. I collapse onto her, burying my face into her neck. My ragged breath is hot against her neck. Her hands make their way underneath my shirt and I feel their soft caress. She gives me time to get myself together and then reminds me of the time by patting me on the back.

I grunt my displeasure before realizing her discomfort. This rug doesn’t give the floor much padding for sex. I get to my feet and pull up my pants. She holds out her hand to me and I help her up. I watch her while she adjusts her clothing. The slight blush on her face and her messy hair are definite signs that she’s just been fucked. I wonder if our kids will notice and then I remember that my T-shirt is soaked from sweat. Of course, they will.

Davi runs her fingers through her hair while she returns to her desk. She retrieves a lipstick from the top drawer and applies it expertly to her lips without the use of a mirror. I marvel at how she does that. Then she sits in her chair and motions for me to sit in mine.

Everything is back to normal as we wait for the sound of our children’s arrival. We both reach for our coffee mugs and sip the now cold brew.

Davi gazes at me and says, “I’m leaving tomorrow.”

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