36. Quinn
36
QUINN
M y fingers drum against the front desk as I wait, each tap echoing my racing heartbeat. The concierge's fingers click away at her keyboard, the sound mixing with the soft jazz playing overhead.
"Miss Dupree?" She glances up, her perfectly manicured nails pausing over the keys. "Your room will be 332. Do you need assistance with your bags?"
"No, I—" My phone buzzes in my pocket. Again. Fourth time in ten minutes. I know it's them. "I've got it."
The key card slides across the polished marble counter. I grab it, along with my overnight bag, and practically sprint to the elevator.
"What kind of person considers..." I mutter to myself, stabbing the elevator button. "I mean, who actually..."
But the memory of four sets of hands, four different kisses, four unique ways they each make me feel... My cheeks flush hot enough to rival the overhead lights.
The elevator dings. Empty, thank god. I step in and lean against the wall, letting my head thump back against the mirror.
"This isn't some romance novel," I tell my reflection. "This is real life. Real consequences. Real hearts on the line."
My phone buzzes again. This time it's Beau: Please come back. We can talk about this.
Lyle: Whatever you're comfortable with. No pressure.
Jarron: Don't be such a prude, baby.
Austen: You know you want to. Let go.
"Jesus Christ." I slide down the elevator wall, not caring how undignified I look. The scary part isn't that they suggested it. The scary part is that some deep, hidden part of me wants to say yes. To all of them.
The elevator stops. Wrong floor. A couple steps in, takes one look at me sitting on the floor, and decides to wait for the next one.
"Yeah," I call after them as the doors close. "I wouldn't get in with me either. I'm clearly losing my mind."
I stumble into the hotel room, dropping my bag by the door. The silence hits me like a physical force after weeks of constant noise - Jarron's morning grumbling, Lyle's drumming on every surface, Austen's guitar strumming, Beau's deep laugh.
The bed catches me as I fall face-first into the crisp white comforter. "This is insane," I mumble into the fabric. "Completely batshit crazy."
My phone buzzes again. And again. The messages blur together as I scroll through them.
The quiet presses in. No fighting over the remote. No smell of Beau's coffee. No sound of Lyle's terrible jokes making everyone groan. No Jarron hogging the bathroom. No Austen stealing my cereal.
"Fuck." I roll onto my back, staring at the ceiling. "This could either be the best thing ever or completely destroy everything."
The tour. The band. My career. Their careers. Our friendships. All of it hanging by a thread because we couldn't keep our hands off each other.
But god, the way Beau looks at me like I'm something precious. How Lyle makes me laugh until I can't breathe. Jarron's intensity when he wants something. Austen's quiet understanding.
My fingers hover over the phone. The group chat blinks up at me, waiting. If this goes wrong, I'll be that girl. The one who broke up the band. The wannabe singer who couldn't hack it.
But if it goes right...
"Screw it." I type quickly before I can change my mind. "Room 332."
I hit send and toss the phone aside, heart pounding. After that disaster on stage tonight, this might be the end of my career anyway. Might as well go out with a bang.
Or four.
I brace my hands against the cool marble of the bathroom counter, staring at my reflection. The black lace barely covers anything, leaving little to the imagination. My hands shake as I adjust the straps.
The hotel room door clicks. Footsteps - four distinct sets.
"Quinn?" Beau's deep voice carries through the door.
"Maybe she changed her mind," Lyle says softly.
"In here," I call out, my voice surprisingly steady despite my racing heart.
"Should we—" Austen starts.
"Shut up," Jarron cuts him off.
I take one last deep breath, smooth my hair, and reach for the door handle. The bathroom light spills into the dimly lit room as I step out. Four pairs of eyes lock onto me, and the air seems to vanish from the room.
Beau's hat hits the floor with a soft thud. Lyle's mouth drops open. Austen runs his hands through his hair - that nervous tell of his. And Jarron... Jarron just smirks, but his eyes are dark with something that makes my skin tingle.
"Well," I manage, finding my voice. "You wanted to talk?"
"Talk," Austen repeats, like he's forgotten what words mean.
"That's..." Beau swallows hard. "That's not exactly what I had in mind for talking."
Lyle takes a step forward, then stops, looking to the others. "How exactly is this going to?—"
"I stopped thinking so much," I say, surprising myself with my boldness.
"This is your shot to prove that this might work, or this will be a ginormous fucking disaster." I stand there with my hands out, feeling like I'm about to jump off a cliff. "So you four lead, I'll follow."
They stare at me, wide-eyed and slack-jawed. It's like I've suggested we all run naked through Times Square.
Jarron is the first to recover, of course. He always is. "Alright, then," he says, a slow grin spreading across his face. "Teams. Beau and Lyle against Austen and me. Like flag football."
I can't help but laugh. "Flag football? Really?"
"Hey," Beau says, stepping forward with that easy smile of his, "this is a first for us too, the only thing we know we all agree on is flag football."
Lyle's eyes sparkle with excitement as he moves beside Beau. "You ready for this?" he asks me, his voice low and full of promise.
I swallow hard and nod. My heart hammers in my chest as they advance on me. The room seems to shrink around us, the air thick with anticipation.
Beau reaches me first, his hands gentle yet firm as they find my waist. He pulls me close, his breath warm against my ear. "You okay?" he murmurs.
I nod again, unable to find my voice.
Lyle's hands slide down my arms, his touch sending shivers down my spine. "We'll take it slow," he says softly.
My body responds before my mind can catch up. I arch into Beau's touch as Lyle's fingers trace lazy patterns on my skin.
"We should have been fucking first," Austen calls from the other side of the room, arms crossed over his chest in mock indignation. "It was my idea."
"You know what they say," Jarron adds with a smirk. "Save the best for last."
Beau laughs, low and rumbling, as he dips his head to kiss my neck. "There won't be a last if we wear her out first," he promises them without taking his eyes off me.
Lyle's hand cups my chin, tilting my face toward him for a kiss that starts slow but quickly deepens, leaving me breathless.
Beau’s hands are warm and sure as they slide under the straps of my bra, fingers brushing against my skin, sending shivers down my spine. He peppers kisses along my chest, each touch a promise of what's to come. My breath catches as he unhooks the clasp, letting the bra fall away.
Lyle bends down, his hands gliding down my sides until they find the waistband of my panties. “Let me help you with these,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that makes my knees weak.
“Hell yeah,” Jarron drawls from across the room. “She tastes like fucking heaven.”
“Shut up, lucky asshole,” Lyle snaps back, his tone half-annoyed, half-amused.
Beau chuckles against my skin, his breath warm and teasing. “How do you want us, baby?” Lyle asks, straightening up and looking me dead in the eyes.
I blink at him, my mind racing but blank all at once. “I—uh?—”
Lyle's eyes soften with understanding. “Alright, I’ve got an idea.” He smirks. “After hearing Jarron’s rave review, I’ve got to taste you too. And while I’m at it, you can taste Beau.”
My pulse quickens as I nod slowly. The idea sends a thrill through me, both exhilarating and terrifying.
“Get on all fours on the bed,” Lyle instructs gently as he and Beau begin to get undressed.
I move to the bed on shaky legs, positioning myself as he said. The mattress dips as Beau kneels in front of me. His hand cups my cheek for a moment before he leans in for a kiss that’s both tender and demanding.
From behind me, Austen whistles low. “Damn, I like the view from back here.”
Jarron’s muttered cursing filters through the haze of sensations bombarding me. “Struggling over there?” Lyle teases him as he positions himself behind me.
Jarron bites his fist but doesn’t respond verbally; his eyes say it all though—dark with need and frustration.
Beau’s fingers thread through my hair as our kiss deepens. His taste is intoxicating, mingling with the heady rush of everything happening around us.
Lyle's hands on my hips are firm but gentle as he spreads me open for him. The first touch of his tongue sends a jolt through me, making me gasp into Beau’s mouth.
“Fuck,” Beau groans against my lips. “You’re incredible.”
Lyle’s tongue moves with practiced ease, finding every sensitive spot with precision that makes my whole body quiver.
“Goddamn,” Jarron mutters again from somewhere behind me.
Beau pulls back just enough to look into my eyes. “You ready baby?”
I nod breathlessly. “Yes.”
I take Beau in my mouth, savoring the salty taste as he hisses in pleasure. He’s so big, but I focus on taking him deeper, inch by inch, feeling him stretch my lips wide. The sound of his groans sends a thrill through me, encouraging me to keep going.
“Goddamnit, Quinn,” Beau grunts, his voice tight with need. “Your mouth is magic. It can sing and give spectacular head.”
“Let me be the judge of that,” Austen jokes from behind me, his tone light but filled with a hint of desire.
Lyle’s tongue finds a spot that makes my vision blur and I start to come, my body trembling with the intensity of it. Beau’s grip on my head tightens, guiding me up and down on his dick with a firm yet gentle pressure.
“I’m gonna go,” Beau says through gritted teeth. “Do you want me to pull out?”
I shake my head no, taking him deeper as he shudders and spills into my mouth. I swallow every drop, feeling a sense of triumph as his body quakes above me.
Jarron whistles low. “Damn, Quinn,” he says, clearly impressed. “You’ve got skills.”
Austen chuckles. “No kidding. She’s got the whole package.”
I pull back from Beau, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand as I look up at him. His eyes are dark with satisfaction and something more—something deeper that makes my heart skip a beat.
“You okay?” Lyle asks softly from behind me, his hands still caressing my hips.
“Yeah,” I breathe out, feeling a strange mix of exhaustion and exhilaration.
Beau bends down, lifting me up with ease and pressing a gentle kiss to my forehead. “You’re amazing,” he murmurs against my skin.
Austen and Jarron clear their throats, the sound breaking through the haze of post-orgasmic bliss. I lift my head from Beau's shoulder and glance at them, their eyes full of hunger.
"I'm ready for you," I say, my voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions inside me.
"Good," Jarron says, his smirk widening. He claps hands with Austen, a silent exchange passing between them as they begin to undress. My eyes follow the movement of their hands as buttons are undone and fabric falls away.
Austen settles into the chair across the room, his eyes never leaving mine. He pats his lap and beckons me over. "Come here, Quinn."
I rise on shaky legs and walk to him, the anticipation thrumming through my veins. As I straddle him, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a condom, rolling it on with practiced ease.
"Sit down on my dick," he instructs, his voice low and rough.
I lower myself onto him slowly, gasping as he fills me inch by inch. His hands grip my hips, guiding me as I begin to move. The sensation is overwhelming, a perfect mix of pleasure and pressure.
Jarron approaches us, his eyes dark with desire. He takes my hand and places it on his dick. "Stroke me, baby" he commands.
I wrap my fingers around him and start to move my hand up and down in time with my movements on Austen. Jarron's breath hitches as I increase the pace, his grip tightening on my wrist.
"Fuck, Quinn," Jarron groans, his voice strained. He cups my face with one hand and pulls me in for a kiss that’s all heat and desperation. His tongue tangles with mine as our movements sync up perfectly.
Austen's grip on my hips tightens as he thrusts up into me, matching Jarron's rhythm. The room fills with the sounds of our breathing, moans, and the wet slap of skin against skin.
Jarron breaks the kiss first, resting his forehead against mine as he pants for breath. "This feels good as fuck, but I can't wait to get back inside you again," he murmurs against my lips.
I can only nod in agreement, too overwhelmed by the sensations coursing through me to form coherent words.
I glance over at Lyle, who's leaning back in the chair, stroking himself leisurely. His eyes are fixed on me, a lazy smile playing on his lips. "Quinn, you're putting on one hell of a show," he says, his voice thick with lust and admiration.
Beau stands a few feet away, arms crossed over his broad chest, looking like a proud papa. But his eyes—those normally warm, gentle eyes—are dark with desire. "You always surprise us," he murmurs, his gaze never leaving mine.
Austen's grip tightens on my hips as he thrusts up into me again. "Such a good girl," he growls softly.
His movements become more urgent beneath me, and I can feel him getting close. His breathing turns ragged as he grips my hips tighter. "Quinn... I'm gonna..."
"He's gonna come Quinn," Jarron grits out, my hand still working his dick.
"Do it," I whisper against his lips.
With a final thrust, Austen shudders beneath me, finding his release. He collapses back against the chair, panting heavily. "Damn," he breathes out. "That was... wow."
I beckon to Jarron, my voice a soft murmur. "Can't leave you the odd man out, can I?"
He grins, that trademark smirk lighting up his face. "I'd hope not."
Before I can react, he scoops me up effortlessly and tosses me onto the bed. The mattress dips under our combined weight as he leans over me, his breath hot against my ear.
"I'm gonna take it nice and slow," he whispers, his voice a low rumble. "Let you catch your breath, show you I can be the roses and chocolates kind of man too."
I shiver at his words, anticipation coursing through me. He positions himself between my legs, entering me with a languid ease that makes my toes curl. Our movements are slow, rhythmic, a perfect dance of give and take.
"Fuck," Lyle mutters from the side of the room. "That's hot, like some romantic shit."
His words are barely a blip on my radar as Jarron's eyes lock onto mine. There's something different in his gaze—a vulnerability I hadn't seen before. It's like he's letting me peek behind the curtain of his bravado, showing me the lost side of him that's looking for somewhere to call home.
For a moment, it's just him and me. The world fades away as we move together, our bodies perfectly in sync. The rhythm is hypnotic, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through me.
"Jarron," I breathe out, my hands gripping his shoulders for support.
He leans down, capturing my lips in a kiss that's both tender and possessive. His tongue dances with mine, deepening the connection between us.
The bed creaks under our movements, but it feels like we're floating on air. Jarron's hands are everywhere—caressing my sides, tangling in my hair, tracing patterns on my skin that leave me breathless.
Our eyes never break contact, the intensity between us growing with each passing second. It's like he's searching for something in my gaze, something that will ground him in this moment.
"You're incredible," he murmurs against my lips.
I don't respond with words; instead, I arch into him, letting my body speak for me. The pleasure builds slowly but surely, every touch and kiss adding to the fire between us.
Lyle's groan from the side signals his release. "Damn," he mutters again. "Can't believe I'm seeing this."
But those words barely register as Jarron thrusts into me one last time, sending us both over the edge. His eyes remain locked on mine as we come together, our breaths mingling in the aftermath.
For a second longer, it's just us—no bandmates watching from the sidelines, no drama or complications—just two people finding solace in each other.
Jarron collapses beside me on the bed, pulling me close with a satisfied sigh. "Told you I'd show you another side," he says softly.
I smile against his chest, feeling more connected to him than ever before. Maybe this crazy arrangement can work after all.
The room falls into a gentle silence as we all catch our breath. My body feels like jelly, every muscle pleasantly exhausted. Jarron rolls off the bed and stretches, his movements languid and unhurried. He pulls on a pair of boxers and tosses similar garments to the other guys.
"You okay, Quinn?" Beau asks, concern etched in his eyes as he sits up, slipping into his boxers with ease.
"Yeah," I breathe out, managing a weak smile. "Just... really tired."
"Understandable," Lyle says with a grin as he pulls on his boxers. "You were amazing."
Austen chuckles, running a hand through his shaggy hair. "More than amazing."
I watch them move around the room, feeling an unexpected warmth bloom in my chest. These men—who I'd thought were only about bravado and rockstar antics—showed me another side tonight. And now, they’re slipping into bed like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
"Wait," I say, sitting up and pulling the sheet around me for modesty. "You’re all sleeping with me?"
Austen grins, his blue eyes twinkling mischievously. "Honey, we played in shitty bars and stayed in shittier hotel rooms before we had a tour bus. We’re used to sleeping in close quarters."
Jarron nods, sliding under the covers next to me. "Yeah, it's no big deal."
Beau climbs in on my other side, wrapping an arm around my waist protectively. "And besides," he says softly, "we want to make sure you're okay."
Lyle settles at the foot of the bed, stretching out with a contented sigh. "It's like one big sleepover," he jokes.
I laugh despite my exhaustion, the sound lightening the atmosphere even more. "Alright," I say, lying back down and nestling into the pillows. "But if any of you snore..."
"We'll deny it vehemently," Austen finishes for me with a smirk.
Jarron chuckles as he reaches over to switch off the bedside lamp. The room plunges into darkness, save for the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the curtains.
As I drift off to sleep surrounded by these men who’ve become so much more than bandmates or casual lovers, I feel a sense of peace settle over me—a feeling that maybe this unconventional arrangement might just work out after all.
And then there's silence—the kind that's comfortable and familiar. The kind that speaks of shared experiences and newfound bonds.
I close my eyes and let myself be carried away by it all, feeling safe for perhaps the first time since I left home.