29. Quinn
QUINN
T he sky is painted in soft shades of lavender and gold, the kind of morning light that whispers rather than shouts. It filters through Sterling’s curtains in a way that makes me feel like even the sun knows something special happened here last night.
Cass stretches beside me, grumbling about having to put his jeans back on, his voice rough with sleep and contentment. I watch him move, slow and reluctant, and feel the same bone-deep resistance in my own limbs.
Because I don’t want to leave either.
We didn’t have sex. We didn’t need to.
We spent the whole night curled around each other in her nest—me, Cass, and Sterling tucked between us like she was the missing piece we didn’t know we’d been waiting for.
We watched movies until the screen went dark.
Then we talked about nothing and everything.
And when sleep finally came, it did so wrapped in warm limbs and steady heartbeats.
She dozed with her head on my chest, her breath soft against my skin.
I didn’t sleep much. Too busy watching her, memorizing the way her lashes fluttered when she dreamed.
The way her body instinctively sought mine out even in sleep.
The way she sighed when I ran my hand down her back, how she’d instinctively seek out me or Cass as she slept.
And fuck me—I really liked that.
Cass finally finishes dressing, shooting me a look over his shoulder. “You good?”
I nod, but I don’t move. Not yet. My hand’s still wrapped around her hip holding her tight to my side, and I can’t seem to let go.
“Can’t believe I have to go to work instead of staying in this damn nest all day,” he mutters, running a hand through his already messy hair.
His eyes flick to Sterling, still nestled in the blankets and me, lingering on her bare shoulders.
Her scent is thick in the room, a mix of cinnamon, vanilla, and something purely, sweetly her.
I smirk, snuggle her into my chest as I watch him sulk.
“Some of us have responsibilities,” I tease.
Cass scowls. “Fuck you, Quinn.” I laugh because the bond pulses with nothing but affection.
Sterling stirs beside me, letting out a soft, sleepy sound as her lashes flutter against her cheeks. Then she shifts, sighing as she burrows deeper into my side like I’m where she belongs.
And maybe I am.
The sight of her like this—flushed and warm, still carrying our scent and the faint, unmistakable sweetness of her slick—cuts through me with something sharp and possessive.
We didn’t have sex last night.
But it didn’t mean we didn’t want to.
The restraint it took. I feel like a goddamn saint for not losing control. For letting her sleep instead of sinking into her like my body begged me to.
But this—her trusting me enough to fall asleep wrapped around me? That might mean even more.
“Shhh, you’ll wake her up,” I chastise.
Cass sighs. He doesn’t want to leave her either. He looks in love with her already, and with that thought, something warm and gooey swells in my heart. We need her.
Cass takes a long look at her, then moves in slowly—deliberate—kneeling on the edge of the bed and leaning over her.
“Sleep well, little bird,” he murmurs, brushing a rough, tender kiss over her temple.
She lets out a sleepy hum, soft and content, but doesn’t stir. Cass just shakes his head with a fond smile and heads out, the front door clicking shut behind him.
The house settles into stillness again, the kind that feels sacred. Just her soft, even breaths and the distant call of seagulls somewhere outside the window.
I stay exactly where I am, even though I really have to pee. And could kill for coffee. And the arm that rests beneath her head is asleep.
But I won’t move.
Not with her curled against me like this, warm and content.
Today’s our date. And yeah, I might be a little giddy. I want to take her with me and Blake—show her one of our favorite spots.
Okay, technically it’s Blake’s favorite. But I know the second she sees his joy, his unfiltered enthusiasm, it’s going to melt her heart. He’s got that effect on people. Especially the good ones.
It’s a little devious, I’ll admit. I want her to love us.
The thought sobers me. Because I haven’t wanted anyone around Blake since Laura. Not like this.
But with Sterling…a deep, quiet feeling settles in my chest. It feels right in a way that’s rare and solid and a little terrifying.
The sun is streaming in the windows when she finally stirs again, stretching like a cat, her limbs tangling in the soft mess of blankets, her sleepy eyes blinking up at me.
“You stayed,” she mumbles, voice still thick with sleep.
“Of course,” I say easily, shifting onto my side to face her.
She’s too damn beautiful like this—warm and soft, her scent curling through the air and making me want to roll her beneath me and keep her here forever.
Her chestnut hair, wavy from the humidity, falls over her eyes as she wakes. I remember how the heavy mass felt in my hands when she let me brush it last night.
She was nervous and awkward about it, and the sad realization that our girl isn’t used to being touched like that left me furious at everyone who came before us.
I made a vow then and there: I’ll worship her until she learns to expect the contact—until it no longer makes her flinch but makes her feel safe.
I feel her fingers first—soft, warm, tracing lazy circles over my chest where her palm rests. It’s innocent, absentminded, but something about it makes my chest tighten.
“You’re awfully quiet,” I whisper, shifting slightly so I’m a little closer to her.
I’m not gonna lie—I want to feel all of her curves on me. Pressed against me.
We’re so close now that if she moved even a little closer, my morning hard-on would be pressed right up against her. Prodding her at her thighs.
Sterling hums, her nails dragging lightly over my skin. “Just enjoying…this,” she says shyly.
I bring my hand up, gently brushing the strands of hair from her face, then let my hand trail down her shoulder to her rib cage—so close to her breasts.
She shivers, her breath catching, coming just a little faster.
I chuckle, my chest swelling with male pride, and keep running my hand up and down the curve of her waist, letting my thumb brush against the underside of her breast.
“You mean enjoying me?”
She scoffs, rolling her eyes. Laughing, she says, “Wow, Quinn. That ego of yours really knows no bounds.”
I chuckle, tightening my grip on her just enough to make her squirm. “Oh, little Omega, I think you like my ego just fine.”
She huffs a laugh but doesn’t deny it. Instead, she does something sneaky—she brings her wandering fingers to my ribs and tickles me quickly with a mischievous glint in her eyes, before scooting back just out of reach.
I narrow my eyes. “Oh, you did not just do that.”
Her grin is pure trouble. “What? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
I move fast, pouncing on her and rolling her onto her back, pinning her beneath me as I grip her wrists above her head and hover—just close enough for her to feel the heat of my breath.
In this position, her breasts press up against her shirt, her perfect little nipples hard and practically begging to be sucked.
I groan at the sight, the want hitting me hard, but instead I murmur, “You really think you should start a fight you can’t win?”
Her laughter is breathless, but her eyes shine up at me. “You wouldn’t.”
“Oh, but I would.”
I release one of her wrists quickly, wrapping them both in one hand, and drag my other hand to the sensitive spot right at her hip and tickle the hell out of her.
She screeches, her body squirming beneath me, gasping between bouts of laughter as she tries—and fails—to fight me off.
“Quinn—stop! Oh my God—stop!” She laughs breathlessly. “I give…I give up.”
I grin down at her, thoroughly enjoying the way she writhes beneath me, the way her laughter spills into the air, bright and free.
When I finally stop, giving her a moment to catch her breath, she glares up at me, breathless, cheeks flushed, lips pink and parted. Her hands are still pinned above her in one of mine.
“You are so getting payback,” she warns, still giggling. “That’s two I owe you now.”
I smirk, leaning in closer, brushing my nose against hers. “I’d love to see you try, cheeky girl.”
Her breath hitches, the mood shifting—playful to something warmer, heavier, like the teasing has only ignited something deeper.
And when I slide the fingers of my other hand up the smooth, silky skin of her side, my palm gliding under her shirt in a slow, reverent caress—she doesn’t laugh.
She just shivers.
I bend my head to take her mouth in a kiss, one that only makes my cock throb harder. I can feel her heat through my boxers and her thin shorts, my length now nestled snug between her thighs. The friction is maddening.
“Quinn…” she breathes between kisses, her voice quieter now, breathless, trembling.
I start kissing a slow path down her throat, across her collarbone, drinking in every inch of her like I’ll never get enough.
“Mmhmm?” I hum against her skin.
Unable to resist, I drag my cheek along hers again—scent-marking her with a slow, possessive glide, addicted to the silky feel of her skin and the way she reacts to it.
The sound she makes in response—a needy, broken groan—has precum leaking from the tip of my cock.
And fuck, I could die like this.
“Talk to me, sweetheart.” I brush my palm against her pebbled nipples, coaxing.
She swallows, fighting a groan. “I…uh…I want to stop taking my suppressants.”
I go still. Every part of me stills.
Slowly, deliberately, I lift my head, my eyes locking onto hers, searching.
When she stops taking them, her heat could come anytime. And it won’t be like anything she’s ever experienced. Her first heat. We’ll need to be ready—physically, emotionally—to make it perfect for her. To make sure she’s safe. Worshipped. Loved.
“When?” I ask, voice low, steady.