Quinn's POV
You always come on Fridays, 11:00 pm. You refuse anything else: me picking you up, me taking you out, me anything. You come with no words, no trace. You creep in on me, like you always have and always will. But I don't mind. For one night, I get to feel your skin against mine, your breath on my neck, your lips kissing me. For one night, I get to dream. For one night, I get to love you. One night.
You drop your bag, your clothes. It's a routine, a never-ending cycle, one that always leaves me alone and brokenhearted.
But it's impossible for me to stop you. You are beautiful. As radiant as a star. And having you here is a privilege I can only hope to one day deserve.
I don't say a word and neither do you. You know what you want, and you get straight to it.
We melt perfectly into each other, if only you could feel it too.
Your lips taste like heaven. Your neck feels like home. Your hands make me shiver. You have such power over me, it sometimes scares me.
Making love to you comes so naturally to me, and knowing I am nothing more to you than a toy, a ragged doll for you to play with, shatters me. But I must be a masochist because I always want more, I always want you.
Your moans are the only sound to leave your mouth, and they are wonderful.
You always stay in my arms for a while. You lead me on, give me hope. Maybe it's your way of making me suffer after all those years of suffering yourself. I don't know.
"I love you, Rachel," I always want to say. But I always fail to find the courage.
I wish to hold you like this forever. But soon, this dream will fade, and you will leave. As always.
And as always, I will wait for the next Friday, the next time you'll break my heart, and I will wait impatiently.