Page 24 of His Wisconsin Wallflower (Stateside Doms #25)

Raisa sank onto the wooden stool, still bundled in her coat and scarf.

Her limbs were sluggish, weighed down by more than the layers of fabric.

Nana moved about, setting a pot on the stove with a quiet clatter.

The faint smell of tomato soup began to rise.

The first wisps of steam carried a sense of home and something deeper—something safe.

She reached up and unwound her scarf, the soft fabric slipping between her fingers as she folded it neatly and placed it on the table beside her.

Her coat followed, draped over the back of the chair as she exhaled, and her shoulders began to relax as she inhaled the kitchen’s familiar comfort. She ran her hand over the scarf.

Behind her, Nana opened a cupboard and pulled out a loaf of bread.

She opened and shut the fridge. The fridge door thudded shut, followed by the soft rustle of cheese being unwrapped.

A grill pan clanked onto the stovetop, and soon the comforting scent of toasted bread and melting cheese mingled with the rich aroma of warming tomato soup.

Minutes later, Nana set a steaming bowl of tomato soup in front of her, its rich aroma filling the air.

A plate followed, the grilled cheese sandwich golden and crisp, cut neatly in triangles with a dollop of ketchup on the side—exactly how Nana had made it for her on those long, tired afternoons after school.

Raisa’s chest tightened at the memory, the simple meal carrying a weight of love and care that words couldn’t express.

“Eat now, child.” Nana gently patted Raisa’s shoulder before sitting down across from her with her own cup of tea.

Raisa picked up the sandwich, the crunch of the bread giving way to the gooey warmth of melted cheese.

She closed her eyes for a moment, savoring the flavor and letting the comfort of the food settle over her.

A tear trickled down her cheek. She ignored it and let it fall. More tears followed. The kitchen was silent as she ate and gathered her thoughts.

When she had finished the last bite, Nana placed her mug on the table and folded her arms. “Talk, girl.” Her gaze, watery with age but sharp as her grandmother’s mind, pierced through Raisa’s defenses.

Raisa hesitated. “I don’t know where to start.”

“Is it about your young man?” Nana’s tone softened a fraction.

“That’s part of it,” Raisa admitted, her voice small and childlike. “And I’m not sure, he’s mine.”

Nana let out a mix between a snort and a huff. “All right, first tell me how you feel about him.”

“Oh, Nana.” Fresh tears spilled over. “I love him.”

Nana’s brow furrowed. “Love isn’t something to cry over.”

And then it all came pouring out—tangled and messy, like yarn unraveled too fast. She told Nana how hard it was to feel like the girl from high school again, watching Quinten and Beth fall into old patterns with barely a glance her way.

How seeing Beth’s pale face beside Quinten’s steady hand had triggered every buried insecurity she’d believed she’d outgrown.

She talked about Devaney—about the heels, the arrest, the sneer as she was led away.

About Vanessa and the gut-wrenching possibility that she might never come back.

About the quiet rage and helplessness of seeing people she’d known for years reveal cruel, ugly truths.

But mostly, she confessed the fear that clung to her ribs like ivy: that no matter how much Quinten claimed to care, he’d eventually see her the way she sometimes saw herself—too plain, too soft, too much and not enough at the same time.

That he’d wake up one day and remember what it was like to be with someone like Beth. Someone gorgeous and rich.

She talked until her throat was raw, until her chest ached from the weight of it all, until her tears slowed and the words ran out.

Silence fell. Nana didn’t rush to fill it.

Instead, she reached across the table and took Raisa’s hand, her grip strong and steady.

“Now listen to me,” she said, brimming with the unwavering confidence Raisa wished she had.

“You’re smart, beautiful, courageous, and kind.

A real man will value all those traits. And I think Quinten Carrington is a real man. Have you told him how you feel?”

Raisa’s eyes widened as the realization hit her. “No,” she whispered mostly to herself. “I haven’t. Come to think of it; I have been pushing him away.”

Nana shook her head. “What are you waiting for? Go on, go to your man. I’d like me a bonus grandson and some great-grandbabies. Go make them!”

Raisa let out a shaky laugh, wiping her tears away. “You’re impossible, Nana.”

“And you’re stubborn. Now go.”

Raisa stood, her heart pounding, as she grabbed her coat and smacked a big kiss on her Nana’s cheek.

Quinten paced the room, restless and worried about Gavin.

The situation with Devaney was a nightmare.

That Gavin’s lover might have killed her best friend made his stomach churn.

He shook his head and went to the wet bar, needing a drink despite not being much of a drinker.

He selected a sixteen-year-old Lagavulin and poured a generous two fingers into a whiskey glass.

The first sip was astonishing. The scent was more like Lapsang Souchong tea than Lapsang Souchong itself and deliciously smokey.

He rolled this sip around his mouth. The taste was complex.

He swallowed, letting the drink warm his esophagus all the way down to his belly.

The tang of smoke and vanilla lingered in his mouth.

He hummed in appreciation and lifted the glass back to his lips for another sip. Before he could take it, the doorbell rang. He went to the door, tumbler in hand, and opened it to find Raisa standing there.

Emotions rushed through him and heated his blood better than the whisky had.

She stepped inside, wordlessly took the glass, and gulped down the contents.

Raising an eyebrow, he asked, “You came here because you’re thirsty?”

She coughed and handed him back the glass. They stared at each other for a long moment.

“I love you.”

He didn't know who said it first, but when it registered, he dropped the now empty glass, ignoring how it shattered on the floor. He lifted her, and she wrapped her legs around his waist. Carrying her upstairs, he knew nothing was more important than burying himself to the hilt inside his woman.

Taking the steps two at a time, he jogged up with a speed that rivaled his glory days on the field. Raisa buried her face into his neck, and her breath tickled his ears as she exhaled raggedly. Against his chest, her heartbeat thudded and drowned out everything except the desire to be inside her.

With her still in his arms, he struggled with the bedroom door but managed to open it. He stumbled inside and lowered her to the bed.

Standing before her, he ordered, “Unzip my pants.”

Raisa obeyed immediately. He loved that about her. She pulled down the zipper and shoved the jeans down his hips. He wore no underwear, and his engorged cock sprang free into her waiting hands. She looked up at him, desire and insecurity in her eyes.

“Touch me, baby.” He meant it as an order, but it sounded more like a plea.

But when she wrapped her hand around him and gave him a first tentative stroke, it didn’t matter.

She rubbed him—fast and inexpert. So, he wrapped his fingers around her hand and guided her.

She tightened her grip and nodded along as he showed her how to stroke his thick length.

When he let go of her hand, she took over like a champ.

His head fell back, and he enjoyed her hand around his cock.

It was so much softer and smaller than his own callused palm but just as tight.

He groaned when the tight grip vanished and was replaced by a wet heat that felt so fucking amazing it made his head spin.

God damn it!

Looking down, he grabbed a fist full of her hair and carefully lifted her off his cock. “I don’t think I gave you permission to suck me off, bright-eyes.”

She licked her swollen lips, and grazed the head of his dick with the tip of her tongue. His knees almost buckled. The sneaky minx .

“Uhm, actually, you didn’t specify with what body part or parts I could touch you,’ she replied with sparkling eyes.

Fuck me.

He burst out laughing. “You’re right.”

She eyed his dick. “So, can I continue?”

“You can, but not until you make me come. I want to be balls deep inside you when I blow my load.”

Quinten swallowed hard as Raisa sank to her knees before him, her eyes locked on his.

She took him in her hand, her fingers wrapping around his length, and began to stroke him with slow and deliberated moves designed to drive him crazy.

With her other hand she cupped his balls, gently massaging them as she alternated between stroking his length and fitting as much of his cock inside her mouth as she could.

Quinten’s breath hitched as she worked him, her mouth hot and wet around him. He tangled his fingers in her hair, guiding her movements, his eyes crossing when he bumped the back of her throat, and the muscles there reflexively contracted around the head of his cock.

He groaned as the sensations grew almost too much to bear. Again, he used her hair to pull her face away from his body, careful not to hurt her. “Enough, baby. I want to be inside you.”

They shed the rest of their clothes in a frantic rush, garments tossed aside without a second thought.

Quinten’s pulse thundered in his ears as they tumbled onto the bed, grasping, pulling, clutching.

Every touch, every movement was charged, driven by a raw, unspoken need that consumed them both.

The air between them crackled with urgency, the sheets crumpling beneath their feverish motions.

He pressed her into the mattress, giving her his weight as he moved a hand between her legs, checking if she was ready. “Oh baby, you’re drenched,” he murmured.

“Sucking you off made me needy for you. I love you, Quinten,” she told him, her soft voice filled with emotion.

“I love you, too,” he replied, taking her mouth in a wet kiss and positioning the head of his cock at her entrance.

He moved his mouth over her lips and sank his cock partly inside her, the tight grip of her cunt squeezing the head just right.

The first sensations were even better than her wet, hot mouth wrapped around him.

Her body clung to him, inner muscles pulsing around the thick head of his cock, resisting just enough to make him grit his teeth as he pushed deeper.

He pulled back and sank back in, a little further now.

Repeating the movement, he flexed his ass as his thrusts went deep, and his rhythm became faster, until he was driving into her like a man possessed, flesh slapping against flesh as he drove in and sucked out wetly as he withdrew.

And maybe he was possessed, and she had cast some spell over him, because he had never felt this fucking amazing before in his life.