A/N: Hi, guys! So, if you remember the intense E! Online poll, we had to enter that CAPTCHA thingy and I kept getting 'porter' so I was like, "Huh, Quinn's gonna be a porter and Rachel's gonna be some Hollywood bitch." BAM. Here we go.

Rated M for some sexxxxxxxy times. Enjoy.

PS: Follow me on Twitter (prftlyinsanex) and harass me. Lovingly harass, of course.

EDIT: UPLOADING THIS AGAIN SINCE IT WAS DELETED. I apologize to those who had favorited this. If you don't mind taking a couple seconds to do so again and drop a review, I would be forever grateful.

Sometimes, Quinn Fabray hated her job. Sometimes, she loved it. It was a love/hate relationship, much like Ronnie and Sammi on Jersey Shore.

Not that Quinn watches that hideous excuse for a show. She would much rather watch some Buffy or perhaps Seinfeld. The good shows that have a plot that doesn't involve getting drunk and falling over.

Although, Spike has been known to do that…

Quinn watched as yet another fat lady in a fur coat holding a sorry excuse for a dog burst through the doors. She watched as Jake rushed in after her, towing a luggage cart filled to the maximum amount with Juicy Couture luggage. He breathed a sigh of relief, stopping the cart a foot away from the woman who had stomped over to the front desk. He mouthed a "good luck" before giving a two-finger saluting and scurrying off.

The blonde rolled her eyes. Reasons she hated this job: rich bitches who were so full of themselves that they stopped in front of every mirror they saw.

"Quinn!" Amber called from the front desk. Quinn took a deep breath, readying herself. "Would you please show Ms. Parkway to her room?" Amber asked, handing her a silver key with a metal plate dangling from it. The plate was tied to the key with red ribbon. The plate read 1036.

"Of course," Quinn replied politely, grabbing ahold of the luggage cart. The dog's nose twitched before it let out a high-pitched bark.

"Hush, Princess. We'll be going to our room in a second," the woman cooed, her voice taking a baby-like tone.

Quinn forced a smile on her face as she led the way to the elevators. The doorway opened almost instantaneously.

Thank God for seven elevators.

Quinn pushed the cart into the back of the elevator, hitting the button for floor ten. "Visiting Broadway?" she asked politely once the doors had closed.

The older woman turned to the younger one, peering down her nose at her. "Why, yes. Not that it is any concern to you. I'm sure you've never even been there. Someone with your income couldn't even afford to sit on the floor."

The dog yapped for a couple seconds in agreement.

Quinn bit her tongue, holding the words she wanted to scream out in her head. Yes, she had been to Broadway. Once, with her parents before they disowned her. Yes, she worked in a hotel. But it happened to be one of the most expensive hotels in a ten-mile radius of Broadway. Therefore, all of the wealthy stayed there and she received good tips on her already high income.

Why hadn't she visited Broadway again, you ask? It brought back bad memories.

She watched the dial creep higher and higher and sighed with relief with it finally hit the ten. "If you would follow me, please," she said, dragging the cart into the hall.

She followed Quinn to the right and they quickly found her room on the left side. "Enjoy your stay," Quinn smiled, taking the luggage off of the cart. It took her longer than she thought and she immediately wished she hadn't bid the woman farewell already.

"Be careful," Ms. Parkway hissed, watching as her prized suitcase was dropped to the carpeted floor with a soft thud.

"I apologize," Quinn said calmly. She finished and pushed the cart outside into the hall. Taking a deep breath, she turned back around. "If you need anything, the number for the front desk is on your menu. Breakfast begins at seven."

"I know," the woman snapped. "I've stayed here before."

"Thank you for returning then. I hope you have a pleasant stay," Quinn smiled, inching back to the door.

"Wait," Ms. Parkway muttered, digging into her purse. Quinn waited patiently. She normally did what she was told. "Here." The older woman thrust a folded bill to the younger one.

Quinn took it silently, pocketing it before thanking her. The blonde grabbed the cart and took off at once. When she was secured in the elevator and slowly making her way down to the lobby, she looked at the bill.

A twenty. She sighed, shaking her head.

Not that she was complaining, because she wasn't. She'd take anything she could get. She just expected a little more for dealing with such a bitch.

Jake pounced upon her as soon as the elevator doors opened. "Glad I warned you?"

"Extremely. It was hard to be polite to that."

"Did you see that dog?"

"I thought it resembled a rat more than a dog."

He laughed. "Very true. At least she tipped me a fifty."

Quinn froze, turning to stare at him. "A fifty? She gave you a fifty for putting her bags on a cart and walking two feet? That's completely idiotic considering she only tipped me a twenty and bitched at me." She shook her head. "Ridiculous."

Jake grinned, flashing his white as snow teeth. "Apparently she doesn't swing your way."

She scoffed and rolled her eyes. "Thank God for that."


Later than night, Quinn unlocked the door to her apartment, fumbling for the light switch in the dark. White light came to life as she dropped her keys in the bowl on the side table. A streak of gray rushed past her feet.

"Hello to you too, Xander," she muttered.

Yes, she named her cat after a character on Buffy. What of it?

The streak of gray returned, slamming its head repeatedly into her leg, trying to find the perfect spot on her slacks that'll take care of that itch. His tail curled around her leg.

"I guess somebody finished all his food," she murmured, scooping him up and cradling him in her arms. He purred instantly. "Let's get you some good stuff," she cooed, walking into the kitchen.

His food dish was indeed empty. She placed him on the floor and grabbed a can of Fancy Feast, his favorite. He chowed down after sniffing at it.

Quinn sighed and flipped on a couple more lights. She lived in a small apartment, quiet and perfect for her. It was a one-bedroom hideaway, three blocks from the hotel. Decorated in dark blues and grays, it was comforting. Some might call it depressing; she called it home. There was a futon in her living room in case her sister ever visited.

Even though her parents disowned her, her sister didn't care that she was gay.

Splashing water on her face, Quinn quickly got ready for bed. She stared at herself in the mirror.

Was this all her life was going to consist of? Working at a hotel where she was treated as a slave? Living with just a cat for a companion? Running a hand through her chin-length hair, she turned around. Xander came running as she slid into bed, curling up between her legs.

Quinn stared at her ceiling, an idea coming to her head. Maybe Ms. Parkway was so bitter because her husband ran off with a backup dancer on Broadway. And now she was going to get revenge. That was the huge bag Quinn had dropped. It was full of torture devices. Quinn grinned to herself.

Only the mind of a writer.

The scene played out on the dark ceiling. She could only imagine Ms. Parkway stabbing an older gentleman. Over and over and over. A laugh bubbled up her chest as she chased the image away.

Only her.


"Quinn, you're early!" Amber exclaimed, looking up from the desk.

The blonde smiled, clutching the bag against her side. "I was hoping you wanted to read something."

Amber grinned. "Another story?"

Quinn grinned sheepishly. "Maybe. It's such a crack fic. And it's really short. But the idea came to me last night and I had my fun with it."

Amber stretched her hand out, eager to read it. "Gimme."

Quinn watched with butterflies in her stomach as Amber's eyes scanned the words. Soon enough, the brunette was laughing out loud.

"Oh, God," she said, clutching her stomach. "That bitch was insane. This is wonderful, though. Why are you not a New York Times Bestseller?"

The writer scoffed and rolled her eyes. "Please. Someone important would have to read my work."

Amber feigned hurt. "Are you saying I'm not important?"

Quinn came around the counter and wrapped her arms around her friend. "Of course you are. But you can't get the New York Times to get my stuff on their list."

Amber shrugged. "I would if I could."

The blonde nodded. "I know you would."

"Look, I just want to warn you about something. And since you start in," Amber looked at the time on the computer, "half an hour…"

Quinn looked at her phone. It was indeed 11:30. Night shift was always interesting. Not many people checked in so she got to hang out with Amber behind the desk. Luckily, their boss liked them so he put them on the same shifts.

"What's up?"

Amber sighed. "You were written up for being rude to Ms. Parkway."

Quinn froze. She wasn't rude. She was as polite as can be. "How was I rude?"

"Dropping her luggage, giving her attitude."

A scoff filled the space behind the counter as hands tightened. "Complete and utter bullshit."

Amber was shocked to hear Quinn curse. The younger woman hardly ever swore and when she did, it was because she was livid with rage. "Hey, that's what she claimed. Henry isn't taking her too seriously but he still had to write you up. Just don't worry about it."

Quinn shook her head. Of course she would worry about it. She had never been written up and now she had this huge mark on her because some bitch got a little too protective of a suitcase.

"Also, some big Hollywood star is coming in tonight. We need to take all the precautions. Apparently, she's seeing Rent on Broadway this weekend."

"Who is it?" Quinn asked, not really caring. That damn Ms. Parkway had gotten her all riled up.

"Rachel Berry."

"Yeah, no clue who that is."

Amber smiled and punched her shoulder lightly. "Well, maybe if you'd get that nose of yours out of the books and glue your eyes to any TV in America, you'd know."

"She's that famous?"

Amber nodded enthusiastically. "Yep. She's in American Dreams."

Quinn stared at her with a blank expression.

"It's like F.R.I.E.N.D.S, but with singing. One of the most popular shows today. You must live under a rock."

"You've seen my apartment. I don't own a TV."

The brunette shook her head. "Ridiculous."


Quinn watched as Amber's fingers danced over the keyboard, words appearing on the screen faster than she could process them. "You're amazing for doing this," she murmured.

A smile tugged at Amber's lips. "I happen to like typing and you need a professional copy. That way, when it actually becomes true, you can wave it around, screaming, "Look! I knew Ms. Parkway was a psycho before all of you!" Besides, I'm bored."

Quinn smiled back and laid her head on her friend's shoulder, watching the words dance to life.

"The berry is in the basket. I repeat, the berry is in the basket." The walkie-talkie in front of them squawked to life, making both of them jump.

Amber grabbed it quickly. "You realized you are a complete loser, right Sam?"

"You love me."

She sighed. "You know I do, babe."

"Love you, too, hun. Send Quinn out here to fetch this princess."

Quinn rolled her eyes and held Amber's finger over the button. "Do I have to?"


She sighed and turned to the girl next to her. "Wish me luck?"

"Good luck?"

"Say it like you mean it."

"Good luck!" Amber said again, enthusiasm oozing out of her words.

"Thanks," Quinn drawled, getting off her chair and preparing herself. Polite, be polite. Except if she's a Ms. Parkway all over again. Then be a bitch. A hardcore bitch who takes no shit.

She walked outside into the chilly night to see Sam dragging suitcase after suitcase out of the back of a limo. A lopsided grin reached his face when he saw her.

A man in a tuxedo rushed past her before stopping in front of the back passenger door. Ah, a driver. Quinn had such respect for them. Sitting in a cramped car with someone demanding you take them here or there. The door popped open and Quinn held her breath as she waited.

A Stiletto wrapped foot touched the ground before its twin joined it. A tanned calf emerged next, clenched as it tried to hold the weight. Soon enough, naked thighs came out followed by a lithe body. The purple dress—could it even be considered a dress? It barely covered her vagina—hugged the body, rippling over her stomach and stretching over her hips. A hand reached out, followed by a bare arm, until it clenched the door. An upper body appeared, cleavage popping out. From the round breasts, a neck rose to a pointed collarbone, defined and tan.

And then her face. Flowing, dark brown hair. Defined cheekbones, a prominent nose, and warm, dark chocolate eyes. Her lips tugged as a smile covered her face.

That was why Quinn Fabray was a lesbian.

"Ms. Berry," she finally managed to utter, her heart beating a mile a minute.

The actress looked up, curiosity in her eyes.

Quinn swallowed loudly. "My name's Quinn. If you'd follow me, we can get you checked in."

A flash bulb went off, momentarily blinding the blonde. She heard Rachel mutter something along the lines of "fucking bastards."

"Rachel! Rachel! Are the rumors of you and Finn Hudson true?" the guy yelled, snapping another dozen pictures.

"I don't know," Rachel said sarcastically. "Did you see me fucking him?"

Quinn's mouth dropped open in shock.

The photographer paused for a beat. "Are you confirming it's true?"

"I'm not sure. I don't follow. What's being confirmed?" Quinn caught the smirk on Rachel's face as she crossed her arms.

"That you and your costar, Finn Hudson, are in a relationship?"

"I don't like commitment."

"So you two are sleeping together?"

Rachel shrugged. "Sometimes."

Quinn shook her head slightly. Leaning over, she whispered in Rachel's ear. "I would suggest bidding this guy goodbye and checking in before he spins your words around too much."

Rachel's eyes flashed before she nodded. She led the way in, swaying her hips. Quinn followed, blatantly staring. Sam brought up the rear, pushing the heavy cart.

As soon as Quinn stepped in the door, Rachel stopped and turned on her. "How much do I owe you?"

"Excuse me?" Confusion formed over Quinn's face.

"Well, apparently, you're my manager now and I pay him quite a bit so I'm assuming you have a roundabout figure in your head."

"I don't—"

"You told me how to handle the paparazzi like my manager would. Which is funny, considering I've been in show business for years while you work… here." Disgust filled her voice.

Quinn's hands formed into fists. "I apologize," she said through gritted teeth. "I was only looking out for your well-being."

"My well-being doesn't have to be looked out for by some… porter," the actress scoffed.

Quinn chose to ignore that. She didn't need to be written up again. Instead, she walked to the front desk, shaking her head slightly at Amber. Amber's brow wrinkled in confusion before Rachel stormed up.

"I'd like to speak to a manager."

"I'm sorry, but they went home earlier," Amber politely said. "I can take a note and call them as soon as I can. What is this concerning?"

Rachel gestured to Quinn. "This incompetent—"

"Excuse me?" Quinn was shocked that the words even came out of her mouth. She was never this forward. She usually allowed people to say whatever they wanted about her.

"Quinn," Amber muttered, panic filling her eyes.

"You heard me," Rachel hissed. "You are incompetent, rude, a horrendous worker."

"I'm sorry that you're some egocentric actress who only cares for herself. Clearly, you don't realize the problems with you running your mouth. Not only are you hurting yourself, but you're also hurting Finn Hudson in the process. And if that isn't the most selfish thing I've ever heard, I don't know what is." Quinn's hands were shaking by this point. She turned to Amber. "I'm going on break."

Amber could only stare in wonder at this new Quinn. Quinn never stood up for herself. Especially not to a Hollywood A-lister.

Once in the break room, Quinn calmed down. She grabbed a bottle of water and took some sips. Soon enough, her hands stopped trembling.

"You okay?"

She looked up to see Sam poking his head through the door. She smiled slightly. "Yeah, I'll be okay. I'm going to get fired but…"

"It was a great way to go out," Sam grinned.

"I'll be famous. First person to insult Rachel Berry to her face." A grin filled Quinn's face.

Sam laughed, waving her over to him. "C'mon. Amber wants you back up front."

Quinn prayed the actress was in her room and followed him.

"Jesus Christ, Quinn. What the hell was that?" Amber demanded, storming over to them.

The blonde looked down at her feet, avoiding her friend's eyes. "She was being insulting."

"And you know what? She's allowed to insult us if she's paying $1,300 a night." Amber sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "I understand you're upset but just ignore the insults."

Quinn nodded and touched Amber's arm. "I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it. I talked her out of the anger." A button beeped on her computer as a message came up. "Room 1204 needs more towels. Will you, Quinn?"

Quinn was about to argue that that was what maids were for, but after her anger management issues earlier, she only nodded.

The elevator ride was impossibly long. Her thoughts drifted to her sister, to Rachel, to Sam and Amber's perfect relationship, to her lonely life.

Was she ever going to find someone? And wasn't that the reason she moved out to New York, anyway? The chances of meeting some fantastic woman out here was far better than the chances in little, old Lima, Ohio.

But so far, no luck

The ding made her jump. She quickly found 1204 and knocked on the door. "I have the towels you asked for," she explained.

The door swung open and Quinn groaned. Rachel narrowed her eyes. "You."

"Yep. Here you go." Quinn tried to shove the towels into Rachel's hands but the brunette just stared at them.

"Why'd they send you?"

"Amber hates me. Or God. Probably both."

Rachel laughed. "Clearly. You can set the towels in the bathroom."

Quinn rolled her eyes. Of course the spoiled actress couldn't carry her own towels. That's just ridiculous to even think she could. Luckily, she knew the rooms so well, she could get out of there in seconds.

The door shut behind her. She deposited the towels and half-ran back into the sitting area. "Have a good—"

"You don't know who I am, do you?" the brunette asked, a smile tugging at her face.

Quinn paused. "To be honest, no."

"You've never seen American Dreams?"

"I don't own a TV," Quinn admitted.

"Excuse me?" Rachel's face morphed into complete and utter shock.

The blonde sighed. "I'm a writer. I don't own a TV so I don't copy other ideas. I've watched plenty of TV before I moved out here. Which is why I own the Buffy complete DVD box-set."

"I love Buffy."

Quinn blinked. "You do?"

"Don't look so shocked. I wish that another feministic show would come around. Buffy is the all-American girl who is so strong and such a great leader. We need another icon like that for this generation. We grew up on Buffy. What are they going to grow up on?"

"Clearly, you. I heard your show is the most popular program on TV."

Rachel blanched. "I don't want them to grow up on me. My character isn't that great."

Quinn shrugged. "I wouldn't know. I—"

"… don't own a TV, you told me."

Rachel's smile made Quinn smile. Maybe she wasn't such a bitch after all. "It's not my fault I don't want to turn into a mindless zombie."

"That's like saying you don't like apple pie and baseball. Watching television is an American pastime."

Quinn stayed quiet, shifting her eyes to the wall.

"Oh, my God! You don't like apple pie?" Rachel exclaimed, clutching her chest.

Quinn shook her head furiously. "I don't. The consistency is absurd and the crust is normally way too dry. And considering they always put too much cinnamon, the texture is usually extremely grainy and I just so happen to dislike eating sand."

Rachel stared at Quinn, her eyes bugging out.

"What?" Quinn blushed.

"You just analyzed pie." Rachel grabbed the blonde's wrist and pulled her to the couch, pushing her down and crashing beside her. Quinn watched as the dress hiked up more, showing a large amount of thigh. "Shush," Rachel murmured when Quinn tried to protest. "You are the most interesting person I have met in twelve hours so you are going to keep talking."

"I'm on the clock," Quinn muttered.

"I messaged Amber when you put the towels away. I told her you'd be awhile."

Well, this news was interesting news to Quinn. "Why would I be awhile?"

"I told her I wanted to apologize to you. Which I do, in which case, I'm sorry for lashing out at you. You were just doing your job."

Quinn sighed and shrugged. "No, I overstepped my boundaries. I shouldn't have said anything."

A silence fell over them. Rachel stood up. "Well, that was sentimental. Is it alright if I change?"

Quinn stood up, too. "I can leave if—"

"No. Sit." Quinn sat. "Good, bellhop." Quinn caught the smirk on Rachel's face and grinned.

So, this woman wasn't all that bad. The saying 'you can't judge a book by its cover' really did hold true. Although, Quinn judged her to be an extremely beautiful woman and confirmed she was indeed a lesbian, so the judging was partially accurate.

Rachel came back in, tugging a t-shirt over her head. Quinn got a glimpse of toned abs before the white fabric covered them.

"Can I leave yet?" she asked. This girl was going to be a hazard to her health. Those legs still uncovered, just a set of short gym shorts coming not even halfway down her thighs. A white cotton shirt hugged her body, a black sports bra vaguely coming through.

"No," the actress smirked.

Quinn sighed. "I don't understand why you're keeping me here."

"I like you," Rachel shrugged. "And I get bored easily."

"So, I'm your circus monkey?"

Rachel smirked and stood over her, unbuttoning the top two buttons of her shirt. "I was hoping for a stripper."

Quinn's eyes widened. "I'm sorry… what?"

"Too much? I'll strip for you."

Quinn slapped the fingers away from her shirt. "Are you being serious right now?" This couldn't be happening.

Rachel rolled her eyes. "Yes."

"I'm not g—"

"Yes, you are. You were drooling when I stepped out of the car and you looked like you were going to combust when I walked in here." Quinn blushed as the brunette sat on the table across from her, their knees bumping. "I'll tell you a secret. I totally go gay for attractive women like you. I'm only here for three days so let's have some fun."

Quinn thought. Her lips pursed. Was this really such a good idea? "So, I'm your sex slave?"

"No, of course not!" Rachel exclaimed, resting her hand on Quinn's thigh. "More like… stranger with benefits."

The blonde grinned and held out a hand. "Hi, I'm Quinn Fabray. I'm a struggling writer who works at a hotel. I enjoy watching Buffy with a plate of mac and cheese. My cat, Xander, enjoys watching it with Fancy Feast."

Rachel grinned in understanding. "Xander?"

"Don't judge me."

The shorter woman held up her hands. "I'm not. I'm not." She grabbed the other girl's hand firmly. "Hi, I'm Rachel Berry. Actress in Hollywood and harasser of paparazzi. I enjoy watching Buffy with salad and my fish, Dory, likes watching it with fish food."

A grin fell on Quinn's face. "Nice to meet you."

"Likewise. So now we're friends with benefits?"


Rachel smirked. "Well, in that case…" She leaned over Quinn, capturing the blonde's lips in hers. Her hands walked on either side of Quinn's thighs until she was hovering over her.

The blonde buried her hand in the brown hair. God, this woman was good. She tasted amazing. Like caramel candy drops.

Rachel opened her mouth, allowing Quinn to slip her tongue inside. An overwhelming flavor of caramel hit her. She confirmed it; that was all the actress ate. No wonder she was so skinny.

The brunette climbed onto Quinn's lap, grinding down on her. A moan escaped her mouth and Rachel took the opportunity to plunge her tongue inside her mouth.

Peppermint. A huge wave of mint rushed over her, swarming her senses. It filled her nose, her taste buds. It cooled her skin.

World War III began as their tongues fought for dominance. Caramel vs. mint battle royaled it out, a fight to the death match ensuing. Their owners cheered them on, moans echoing around the room.

Rachel slipped Quinn's shirt off her shoulders, sitting up a little to pull her slacks off. The blonde kicked them off, thanking God that she shaved last night.

The actress moaned as her thighs came in contact with the porter's. She broke their lip contact, ripping Quinn 'sundershirt over her head. Quinn quickly attacked the tanned neck, sucking and biting the warm skin.

"I swear… to God… if you leave a mark…" Rachel uttered between moans.

Quinn smirked and ran her tongue the length of Rachel's neck. "You can just say it was Finn."

"God, no," the actress moaned as the blonde dragged her nails down toned abs. Red lines rose in their wake.

Quinn pulled back and slipped Rachel's shirt over her head. "What? Don't like him?"

"I like you. God, you're going to turn me fully lesbian." Quinn laughed as Rachel pulled back, her eyes black with lust. "Bedroom, now."

Quinn nodded, wrapping her arms around Rachel's back. The brunette wrapped her legs around the taller girl's waist. They stuttered and moaned as they felt the wetness between them.

As they quickly made their way to the bed, Quinn dropped Rachel on to the mattress and gripped the front of the girl's shorts. "You know," she murmured, ripping the article of clothing down those long legs. "It's pretty bad if you're soaked through your shorts."

Rachel pulled Quinn up her body by her neck. "Think of it as a compliment," she muttered, crashing their lips together.

World War IV began. Rachel's tongue slid over Quinn's, curling around it, caressing it. Nimble fingers unhooked the blonde's bar, slipping it off her shoulders before the fingers danced over the sensitive skin, brushing her nipples. A guttural moan escaped Quinn's mouth as her forehead hit Rachel's shoulder.

Rachel's bra was torn over her head and soon enough, underwear was discarded. Quinn pulled Rachel into her lap, the brunette's legs draped over her thighs. She looked up to see deep, brown orbs staring down at her.

"Don't make me wait any longer," the actress begged.

And with that, Quinn plunged two fingers into Rachel. She sucked in a breath as she felt tight walls and slick liquid coat her.

"Fuck," Rachel muttered, resting her forehead against Quinn's. Her fingers dug into the sweaty mess of hair at the nape of the blonde's neck.

Quinn pumped her fingers, slowly at first but gaining a quick rhythm. Rachel's moans chorused with the erratic breathing of Quinn.

The brunette trailed a finger down the blonde's body, starting at her chest, down between the valley of her breasts, circled her belly button before another finger joined the first and she slid them into Quinn's folds. An animalistic noise ripped out of Quinn's throat.

The room filled with panting and breathy moans, with the occasional deep, body-shuddering moan when one of them hit that perfect spot. Rachel came first, biting down on Quinn's shoulder hard enough to draw blood. The realization that she had just fucked a vampire made Quinn come hard seconds later.

She didn't have to go all Buffy on this vampire, did she?

They collapsed back on the bed, tangled up in each other's skin. Rachel ran her finger over the apparent bite marks, wiping a thin line of blood along the pale shoulder. She sighed. "I'm really sorry."

Quinn shook her head. "Don't be. It made me come the hardest I ever have."

The brunette rolled her eyes. "Well, if you put it that way…"

Quinn grinned and kissed the girl beside her, slower than before. They continued the lazy kiss, Quinn wrapping an arm around Rachel's tiny waist.

This was definitely a reason to love her job.