27. Quinn
27
QUINN
A usten runs his hands through his shaggy hair, a familiar gesture that somehow feels different now. "You sure about this?" he asks, his voice low, almost a whisper.
"Absolutely," I say, pulling at the buttons on his flannel shirt. My fingers brush against his skin, and it's like electricity. As the fabric falls away, I take in the sight of him—toned, lean muscles that suggest he does more than just strum a guitar.
"Damn," I mutter, more to myself than to him.
He grins, that cocky yet somehow endearing smile of his. "Not bad for a sidekick, huh?"
I laugh softly, feeling my nerves settle. "Who knew there was a Greek god hiding under all that plaid?"
"Flattery will get you everywhere," he quips as he begins to undress me, his touch both gentle and urgent. When my dress slips off, pooling around my feet, he steps back for a moment, eyes roaming over me.
"You're fucking beautiful," he says simply, and there's no hint of pretense or arrogance in his tone—just pure admiration.
I feel heat rise to my cheeks. "Thank you," I manage to say, trying to keep my voice steady as I unbuckle his belt and slide his jeans down. When he's standing there in just his boxers, I can't help but marvel at what he's packing. No wonder women swoon over him.
"See something you like?" he teases, but there's a vulnerability in his eyes that makes my heart skip a beat.
"I see a lot I like," I admit.
He pulls a condom from his wallet with practiced ease and then removes his boxers. For a moment, we're just standing there, taking each other in.
"Come here," he says softly, guiding me down onto the padded floor of the sound room. The surface is surprisingly soft, almost like it was meant for this sort of thing.
As he lowers himself beside me, his lips find mine again. His kiss is hungry yet tender, and it sends shivers down my spine.
Austen puts the condom on, his eyes never leaving mine. The anticipation between us thickens the air. He positions himself, and when he enters me, I gasp. It's not just the sensation—it's the raw emotion that comes with it. I need a moment to adjust, both physically and mentally.
"Alright?" he asks, his voice a mix of concern and desire.
I nod, my breath catching. "Yeah, just...give me a second."
He waits, his forehead resting against mine, his breath warm on my lips. When I'm ready, I give him a small nod. He begins to thrust, hard and slow, each movement deliberate and powerful. It feels like he's trying to fuck away every ounce of pain and loneliness he's ever felt. And I get it—I really do.
"Austen," I breathe out between thrusts, "let go."
He looks at me, something dark and desperate in his eyes. Then he shifts, lifting my leg over his shoulder, changing the angle. His next thrust is deeper, more intense. He goes to town like a man possessed.
"Jesus," I moan, gripping the padded floor beneath me.
"God damn," he grunts in response, each word punctuated by another powerful thrust.
I can feel every inch of him inside me, filling me completely. It's overwhelming in the best possible way. The sounds of our bodies moving together fill the room—a symphony of flesh and need.
"Austen," I manage to say through ragged breaths, "this...this is..."
"Yeah," he groans, "I know baby."
His rhythm picks up pace; he's letting go now, truly letting go. Every thrust feels like a declaration—a promise that we're not alone in this moment. The pressure builds inside me, an unstoppable wave cresting higher and higher.
"Don't stop," I plead.
"Not a chance," he replies, his voice rough with emotion.
"I'm close," I pant, feeling the pressure building inside me like a volcano ready to erupt.
Austen suddenly pulls back, leaving me breathless and on the edge. "Not yet," he murmurs, his voice a mix of command and promise. "I'm not done with you."
I bite my lip, frustrated and aching for release. "You better not be," I manage to say, my voice trembling.
He grins, that infuriatingly sexy grin of his. "Hold on tight."
As he thrusts back into me, I grab onto his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. The intensity of it all makes my head spin. His rhythm is relentless, every movement precise and powerful.
"Mark me," he growls. "Scar me."
My fingers rake down his back, leaving red trails in their wake. He hisses in pleasure and leans in closer, his breath hot against my ear. "That's it, Quinn."
His hand slides between us, fingers finding my clit with expert precision. He starts to play with it, circling and pressing in ways that drive me wild. The combination of his thrusts and the attention to my clit sends me spiraling toward the edge again.
"Oh God," I gasp, every muscle in my body tensing. "Austen..."
"Come for me," he demands, his voice low and urgent.
I can't hold back any longer. The wave crashes over me, pulling me under as I scream his name. My body convulses around him, pleasure detonating through every nerve ending.
Austen follows right behind me, his movements becoming erratic as he reaches his own climax. He lets out a guttural moan, hips jerking as he spills into the condom.
For a moment, we just lie there together, panting and trying to catch our breath. His weight is comforting against me, grounding me after the intensity of what just happened.
"Well," he says finally, lifting himself slightly to look at me with those piercing blue eyes. "That was... something."
I laugh softly, still coming down from the high. "Yeah. Definitely something."
He brushes a strand of hair from my face and kisses me gently on the lips. It's a sweet contrast to the raw passion we just shared.
I lie there in the dimly lit sound room, my heart still pounding from what just happened. Austen's breath is warm against my neck, and his arm drapes lazily over my waist. It's comfortable, almost too comfortable.
"We should probably head back," I whisper, half hoping he won't agree.
He groans, his hand tracing idle patterns on my skin. "Do we have to? I mean, the world outside this room is full of critics and deadlines."
"True," I say, chuckling softly. "But it's also full of nosy bandmates who might decide to get inspired and barge in here."
Austen sighs, rolling onto his back. "Fine, but only because I don't want to explain to Jarron why we're naked in the sound room."
"Or worse," I add with a smirk, "he'd want a detailed play-by-play."
He laughs, the sound vibrating through the room. "Yeah, that's definitely not happening." He gets up and starts gathering his clothes, throwing my dress over with a practiced flick of his wrist.
I slip it back on, feeling a little awkward but also exhilarated. "So," I say as I zip up the back of my dress, "what's our cover story?"
Austen looks at me, one eyebrow raised. "Cover story? We're adults. We don't need a cover story."
"Yeah," I say with mock seriousness, "adults who sneak around like teenagers trying not to get caught."
He grins and pulls me into a quick kiss. "Alright then. We were...uh...discussing creative differences?"
"Over candlelight and moonlit serenades?" I tease.
"Exactly," he says, winking at me as he buttons up his flannel shirt.
We make our way out of the sound room and down the hallway, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. The dim lights cast long shadows on the walls, making it feel like we're part of some covert operation.
As we reach the door leading back to the main part of the bus area, Austen stops and turns to me. "You know," he says softly, "we don't have to keep this a secret forever."
"I know," I reply, squeezing his hand. "But for now, let's just keep it between us."
"Agreed," he says with a smile that makes my heart flutter all over again.
We step outside into the chilly night air, and I shiver slightly. Austen immediately wraps an arm around me, pulling me close as we walk back toward the bus.
"Thanks for tonight," I say quietly.
"Anytime," he replies. "And I mean that."
As we approach the bus, we can see faint light seeping through the curtains of one of the windows. Someone's awake.
"Great," I mutter under my breath.
Austen squeezes my shoulder reassuringly. "Relax. Just act natural."
We step inside the bus to find Lyle sprawled out on one of the couches with an acoustic guitar in hand, strumming softly. He looks up at us and smirks.
"Well, well," Lyle drawls, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Look who's back from their 'creative differences' discussion."
"Hey Lyle," Austen says smoothly. "Couldn't sleep?"
"Nah," Lyle replies nonchalantly as he continues strumming. "Had a melody stuck in my head." He glances at me with a knowing look but doesn't push further.
I offer him a small smile and head towards my bunk. As I settle in under the covers, feeling both exposed and exhilarated by our secret moment together, Austen catches my eye one last time before heading to his own bunk.
Lyle's guitar strumming fades into background noise as sleep starts to claim me. Despite everything—the stress of touring, dealing with Jarron and Austen's antics—I can't help but feel like things are finally falling into place.
For now at least.
But I'll take it one note at a time.