I changed the rating to M as I felt the sexual content involved was possibly a little too explicit to rate as a T story.
Anyway, I hope everyone enjoys! Feedback is appreciated:)
The white-painted door of the faded summer house slammed impatiently behind them, Puck immediately pushed Quinn against the wall, his lips finding hers and kissing her deeply. There was so much longing and desperation in his actions that Quinn couldn't help but respond eagerly, sighing in pleasure, as he pinned her hands against the wall and trailed kisses down her neck. Puck's tongue was hot and wet and the graze of his stubble against the highly sensitized skin sent shivers racing down her spine. Finn's hands were always clumsy and awkward when they made out but with Puck it was different. His fingers trailed expertly over her skin and his mere touch was enough to reduce Quinn to a quivering mess.
"You're so beautiful," Puck murmured longingly, cupping Quinn's face in his hands and kissing her softly.
The soulful look in Puck's brown eyes was enough to render Quinn breathless for a moment, enough to make her forget that it was Noah Puckerman's fingers and not Finn's, that were entangled in her golden blonde hair and his lips that were pressed so gently against hers.
"I've wanted you for so long," he whispered, his breath hot against her ear as Puck pushed the strap of her sundress down and started to run his tongue along the sharp edge of her collar bone.
Her entire body trembling with desire, Quinn exhaled a shaky breath as Puck reached for the zipper of her dress and pulled it slowly and deliberately down, her heart pounding nervously with his every tug. The dress falling lightly to the floor, Quinn stood self-consciously in front of Puck, feeling exposed and vulnerable in her semi-naked state.
Thank God, she'd chosen matching underwear, Quinn considered gratefully, running a hand nervously over her pale-pink bra. Seeing Quinn, standing so self-consciously in front of him, did something to Puck and trailing a finger longingly down her cheek, he just stared at her, his brown eyes hungrily devouring her every curve.
The weight of his gaze on her was unnerving but Quinn couldn't make herself pull away.
"Come here," Puck commanded her with an enticing smile before gently taking her hand and leading Quinn to a faded, threadbare sofa that was shoved into a corner of the room.
The summer house was old and stale-smelling, crammed with unwanted remnants of Brittany's life. There were boxes of dolls that Quinn recognized, their blonde hair tied into clumsy plaits and left abandoned on the dusty floor. There were books too, their covers tattered and torn and heaped in untidy piles on a rickety shelf. As six-and-seven-year-olds, the ancient summer house had served as a sanctuary of sorts for Quinn and Brittany, the matching golden-haired children spending hours inventing games for their dolls and hosting tea-parties for their teddy bears. It felt strange to be here now, wrong as though she was violating her very childhood by drawing Puck into the ancient cabin.
Pulling her down beside him on the old, faded sofa, Puck's hands strayed immediately to her bra and feeling his fingers working expertly on the clasp, Quinn pulled away uncertainly as though she had only realized now, the true intentions of his actions.
"What are you doing, Puck?" she asked nervously, standing with her hands wrapped protectively around her bare skin and staring at him with betrayal shining in her eyes. "I thought you liked me, respected me,"
"I do," Puck retorted emphatically and Quinn could see the hurt expression on his face at her cruel accusation.
Inwardly she felt like a fool. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the white of her dress bundled in an untidy heap on the ground and her underwear was delicate and revealing, designed to tease and titillate. She had brought Puck here and had allowed him to pull off her clothes. What the hell did she think was going to happen?
Running a hand shakily over the tangled lengths of her blonde hair, Quinn exhaled a nervous breath as she forced herself to resume her place alongside Puck.
"I'm sorry, Puck," she murmured, forcing her gaze to meet his as she swallowed nervously. "I didn't mean to be such a bitch, it's just I haven't done anything like this before with Finn,"
"You mean you're a virgin," Puck prompted her in surprise, sudden understanding dawning in his eyes as Quinn nodded slowly in response.
"We won't do anything more than you're comfortable with, okay?" Puck murmured reassuringly as he traced a finger gently along her cheek before drawing her close for a tender kiss. "Just tell me to stop and I will. I swear," he added sincerely, Quinn closing her eyes in exaltation as he trailed hot kisses along her neck.
The kiss that had started out sweet and tender, Puck's fingers entangled in her long, blonde hair, quickly became more heated. Perched on his lap, her long, tanned legs, splayed revealing over his thighs, Quinn returned his advances longingly, practically moaning in pleasure as he ran his fingers softly along her inner thigh and darting away at the last second, his hand brushing teasingly against the delicate fabric of her panties.
"God, you're amazing, Quinn," Puck whispered softly against her lips and the way he was touching her felt so good, that Quinn didn't protest, didn't pull away, when he edged his fingers under the sheer material of her bra and explored her small, pert breasts eagerly.
That territory had been completely out of bounds for Finn; Quinn having ignored her boyfriend for an entire week once, when he'd had the audacity to slip his hand beneath the pink silk of her bra.
With Puck it was different. He was gentler somehow, more in control and every time his fingers strayed daringly towards the lace edged waistband of her panties, Quinn almost wished he'd be less hesitant and trespass beneath the smooth material.
"It's okay," she whispered encouragingly, taking his hand and leading it determinedly to the soft silk of her panties. The rational part of Quinn was screaming at her, wondering what the hell she was doing but Puck's touch was hypnotic as was the effect the ridiculous mix of alcohol was having on her head.
"Are you sure, Quinn?" he asked uncertainly, pulling away momentarily from their embrace and resting his hand on her cheek. "Because we don't need to do this. Not that I don't want to," he added with a cheeky grin, that made Quinn feel warm inside.
"Positive," Quinn smiled shakily, twisting her hands nervously in her lap as Puck leaned in and kissed her. Closing her eyes, Quinn luxuriated in his touch, her every sense coming alive as he grazed a hand lightly over her skin.
"You're so beautiful," he murmured appreciatively, letting his gaze roam hungrily over the expanse of tanned, gleaming skin before reaching behind her back and expertly unhooking her bra.
Quinn's breath caught in her throat as he pulled off her bra, exposing her bare breasts, her nipples hardened by the sweetness of Puck's touch.
"Fuck, you have the most perfect breasts," he murmured enthralled, Quinn's heart thumping violently as he cupped one of her breasts gently in his hand and ran his tongue over her nipple lightly. "I could do this all day for the rest of my life and not get bored," Puck declared with such utter sincerity in his voice that Quinn couldn't help but laugh nervously.
Silenced by his lips pressed softly against hers, Puck pushed Quinn down onto the sofa, his fingers tracing lazily over her skin.
"Are you sure about this, Quinn?" he demanded again, though his hands lingered longingly on her ass, his fingers straying experimentally beneath the cool silk.
"I'm sure," Quinn insisted with carefully widened eyes, feeling suddenly terrified and needing Puck to take charge before she lost her nerve.
Curving a finger around the waistband of her rose-pink panties, Puck tugged them slowly and deliberately off before tossing them eagerly onto the floor.
--
Waking up hungover and miserable, Quinn rubbed a hand wearily over her sleep scrunched face, her blue eyes immediately shutting in protest at the impossibly bright sun that seared in through the curtainless windows. She became slowly aware of a presence beside her and turning over forlornly in the bed, Quinn's stomach knotted unhappily when her brain made sense of Puck, slumbering contentedly beside her, his arm draped lightly across her stomach.
What the fuck, she wondered panicking, her distress only growing when she realized she was completely naked beneath a worn, woolen blanket, the itchy material rubbing uncomfortably against her skin.
What had she done?
Whenever Santana and Brittany had filled her in knowingly on the intimate details of their trysts with the various members of the football team, Quinn would listen to their stories with rapt attentiveness. Inwardly, though, she would be smiling, smug that she was better than them, that she respected herself more than just throwing herself at the first guy that got her drunk on cheap beer and tossed an interested glance her way.
Not anymore.
Her head throbbed furiously and turning over carefully on the narrow sofa so as not to wake Puck, Quinn tried in vain to snatch together whatever recollections of the night she could glean. They were vague, hazy but the memory of Puck ripping off her dress and her underwear was frighteningly clear. As was the memory of what came after that.
Fuck, she had to get out of here.
Consumed by sheer panic, Quinn disentangled herself carefully from Puck's arms before rummaging frantically on the dust-strewn floor for her clothes. Tugging the crumpled white dress over her head, Quinn was just reaching for her silver sandals, when she heard Puck shift his weight unhappily on the creaking sofa.
"So it's like that, huh?" Puck mumbled sleepily, gazing at Quinn through painfully slitted eyes as she hastily dragged a comb through her sleep tangled hair.
Frozen, Quinn's stomach plummeted as she forced herself to turn around and look at Puck.
"How else did you think it would be?" she shrugged sadly, regarding Puck guiltily as tied her blonde hair into a neat ponytail. "Finn's your best friend, I'm his girlfriend. What other end could there possibly be?"
There was silence after that, Quinn busying herself with blusher and mascara in a bid to make herself presentable to her parents, while Puck just stared forlornly ahead, though his eyes followed her every movement.
"You know, I meant what I said last night, Quinn," Puck mumbled, his voice finally breaking the painful silence.
"I know," Quinn smiled wistfully, pressing her lips softly to his cheek before quietly stepping out into the waiting sunshine, never once looking back.
--
The day was glorious, all blue skies and sunny temperatures and Judy Fabray had arranged to have dinner served on the deck, the table immaculately spread with the best china and silver.
"It's perfect, honey" Russell Fabray declared heartily, taking a bite from his medium-rare fillet steak and smiling broadly. "What did I do to deserve such a wonderful wife?"
Judy's answering tinkle of laughter was normally endearing but today it grated on Quinn's nerves, her stomach rolling unpleasantly as she forced herself to hesitantly cut into her steak.
"Is your dinner okay, Quinn?" her mother demanded worriedly, evidently recognizing the nauseous look on her daughter's face.
"It's lovely, Mom," Quinn lied unhappily, swallowing heavily before forcing herself to take a delicate bite from her steak. "Don't mind me, I just had a really big lunch at school,"
"If you say so," Judy retorted suspiciously, though the way she regarded her daughter warily, told Quinn that she wasn't entirely satisfied with her answer.
Faking an overly bright smile for the benefit of her mother, Quinn cut into the steak again, her stomach churning as the oily juices of the meat flowed liberally onto her plate, staining her mashed potato a hideous red.
Unable to maintain the charade any longer, Quinn pushed her chair back hurriedly and rushed away from the table, her hand clamped securely over her mouth.
Ten minutes later and Quinn lay hunched miserably over the toilet, the contents of her stomach sprayed liberally across the lawn outside.
Her mother had knocked on the door twice, wondering if she was okay and twice Quinn had weakly proclaimed that she was fine, terrified her mother would drag her down to Dr. Harmon's office for a quick check-up.
Reaching for her bag, Quinn wearily rummaged through the untidy jumble of hair brushes and loose coins and swallowed nervously, when her hand brushed against the smooth, rectangular box. She couldn't fool herself any longer that her period was three weeks late due to a stressful chem test or that she had thrown up for the tenth morning in a row because of a bad breakfast burrito.
It was time.
Meticulously following the directions printed on the folded insert, Quinn placed the plastic stick carefully on the sink and clenching her eyes shut, waited nervously for the result.