20. Twenty
Twenty
Vince
I slip from Quinn’s bed as quietly as possible, careful not to wake her. Moonlight streams through her bedroom window, casting a silvery glow across her pale skin. Her red hair fans out across the pillow like liquid fire, and I find myself memorizing the constellations of freckles scattered across her nose and her shoulders—my mind wandering to all the places I’ve now traced them with my fingers, my lips as I discovered the line of freckles never truly stopped.
Damn. I need to leave before I wake her up again.
I nearly break my neck, tripping over Luna in the darkened hallway. The cat fixes me with a look of pure disdain as if I’m personally responsible for disturbing her midnight prowl. “Sorry, Your Majesty,” I mutter, reaching for a notepad on Quinn’s kitchen counter.
The note I leave is simple: “Had to go. Thank you for an amazing night. -V”
Amazing doesn’t begin to cover it.
My hands are steady on the steering wheel as I drive home, but inside, I’m shaken to my core. The memory of Quinn’s silky, soft skin under my hands, the way she responded to my touch, and the sounds she made are all burned into my brain. But it’s more than that. So much more.
I’ve been with plenty of women. Sex is usually good, sometimes great, and yeah, occasionally, someone comes along who really rocks my world. But this... this was different. When I took her against that wall, raw need and desperation driving me—and it was unlike anything I’d ever experienced. Later, carrying her to bed, falling asleep with her curved against me—I woke up hard and wanting her again, needing to know if it was just a fluke.
It wasn’t.
Remembering the way I woke her, pulling her under me, her eyes fluttering open as I slid into her. Her sleepy smile quickly turning to low gasps. The feel of her nails against my bare back as her passion climbed, matching mine. I remember how it felt when we both reached that pinnacle together. The way I shouted out her name with raw need. The way she held me close, tracing her fingers down my tattoos as our breathing slowed…
That second time was even more intense. Slower, deeper, but no less earth-shattering. And that terrifies me. I’ve never felt this way before, never had sex feel like more than just... sex.
With Quinn, it’s like something fundamental has shifted inside me. The question is, am I ready for what that means? Can I actually be with just one woman? The thought used to make me break out in cold sweats, but now...
Now I’m thinking maybe—it might be possible—if it’s Quinn.
I pull into my driveway, my mind still spinning. The house is quiet when I let myself in, but before heading to my room, I stop at the nursery door. The soft sound of Jasmine’s breathing immediately centers me. I stand there quietly, listening and just watching her breathe.
My precious baby girl.
As I climb into my own bed, exhaustion finally catches up with me. My last thought before sleep claims me is of Quinn’s smile and how taking her felt like I had finally found my true home.
But my feeling of peace doesn’t last. My dreams come in fragments. Disjointed images blur and shift. Quinn is in my arms, her copper hair sliding through my fingers, her warmth against my chest. The sensation feels so real. Then the dream twists, and suddenly, it’s Jasmine I’m holding, my little girl curled trustingly against me, her thumb in her mouth the way she does when she’s really tired.
A shadow moves at the edge of my vision. Before I can tighten my grip, pale hands reach out from the darkness. Blonde hair catches what little light there is as a familiar yet faceless figure tears Jasmine from my arms. I try to hold on, try to reach for her, but my arms are leaden. Quinn’s gone. Jasmine’s gone… leaving me alone. The emptiness is crushing, absolute—
I jolt awake with a gasp, my heart hammering against my ribs. For a moment, I’m disoriented, the nightmare’s grip still too strong. The sheets are twisted around my legs, and sweat makes my t-shirt cling to my chest. For a moment, I can’t shake the hollow ache of loss.
My mind whispers it’s just a dream, but even knowing it isn’t real does nothing to stop the panic that still claws at my throat.
Fuck this. I grab my phone, not caring that it’s barely dawn.
Michael, my lawyer, answers on the fourth ring. “Vince? Everything okay?”
“Just checking on the filing status.” My voice sounds rough, even to my own ears.
“The emergency custody order is solid,” he assures me, professional despite the early hour. “We’re moving forward with the permanent custody petition. The only hiccup is still locating Daisy for formal service.”
I run a hand through my damp hair. “But everything else—“
“Is proceeding exactly as it should. The courts look favorably on your situation, Vince. You’ve provided a stable home and consistent care. We’re in good shape.”
Some of the tension leaves my shoulders. “Thanks, Michael. Sorry for the crack-of-dawn call.”
“It’s what you pay me for. Try not to let this worry you.”
I end the call, but the lingering unease from the dream still coils in my gut. Logically, I know Jasmine is safe in her crib down the hall. The courts are on my side. Everything is moving in the right direction.
So why does it feel like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop?
The sun is fully up now, and my mind drifts back to Quinn. Last night changed things—hell, who am I kidding? I’ve been slowly changing since the moment she walked into my life.
I talk to Grace first, giving her the weekend off. She’s earned it, and besides, I have other plans. Then I reach for my phone again, this time to call Quinn.
She answers with a sleepy “Hello?” that goes straight to my gut.
“Hey, beautiful. Sleep well?”
“Mmm. Someone wore me out last night.” I can hear the smile in her voice. “Though I would have liked to have woken up next to him.”
“Sorry about that. Let me make it up to you. Can you spend the day with me and Jasmine? Maybe stay over tonight?”
There’s a pause, and for a moment, I wonder if I’m pushing too fast. Then she says, “I’d love to. Beach day with my favorite little person and a handsome rockstar sounds perfect.”
Two hours later, Quinn pulls into my driveway. When she steps out of her car wearing a white cover-up that’s just sheer enough to hint at the black bikini underneath, I nearly forget to breathe. Last night’s memories flood back—how that smooth skin felt under my hands, the way she arched against me...
“Hey,” she says softly, a knowing glint in her eyes as I help her with her overnight bag. When I pull her close for a kiss, she melts against me in a way that makes me seriously reconsider our beach plans.
“Careful,” I murmur against her lips. “Or we won’t make it past the front door.”
Her laugh is breathy. “Where’s our girl?”
Our girl. Christ.
In the nursery, Jasmine is already dressed in the tiniest pink ruffled swimsuit, complete with a matching sun hat. Quinn scoops her up, cooing over how adorable she looks.
The three of us make our way down to the private stretch of beach behind my house. Quinn has Jasmine propped on her hip, pointing out seagulls while I juggle the beach umbrella, blanket, and what feels like half the contents of Jasmine’s nursery.
“Here?” Quinn asks, finding a spot close enough to the house that we can easily head back when Jasmine needs a break.
“Perfect spot,” I agree and set up the umbrella while Quinn settles on the blanket with Jasmine, helping her little hands pat at the sand. The sight of them together does something to my chest—makes it tight and full at the same time.
“Look who’s getting sandy!” Quinn coos as Jasmine discovers the texture between her fingers. My daughter’s delighted giggle mingles with Quinn’s laughter, the sound carrying on the salt breeze.
After a few minutes of play, Quinn stands and slips off her cover-up, and I nearly drop the cooler on my foot. Her black bikini leaves little to the imagination. But I already know exactly what she looks like underneath, how responsive she is to my touch...
Quinn catches me staring and turns to go up on her tiptoes to give me a kiss, “You okay there rockstar?”
“Just thinking about tonight,” I admit, voice rough. Her cheeks flush pink, but her eyes darken with promise.
Jasmine’s happy squeal breaks the moment as she chooses that moment to fling a handful of sand our way.
“Someone wants some attention,” Quinn laughs, turning back to sit beside Jasmine and tickle her belly, making her giggle.
I drop down behind Quinn, pulling her back against my chest—maybe not the wisest move, given how little she’s wearing, but I can’t help myself.
“You’re making it very hard to be good,” I whisper in her ear, feeling her shiver despite the warm sun.
“I’m learning that good can be overrated,” she whispers back, then laughs and pulls away to help Jasmine with her sand exploration.
Watching them together, I realize I’m captivated by the idea of more moments like these.
After Jasmine’s nap, Quinn explores my embarrassingly bare pantry with a raised eyebrow. “How does a grown man survive with just protein bars and baby food?”
“Take-out exists for a reason,” I defend, watching her hunt through my cabinets. The simple domesticity of her moving around my kitchen does dangerous things to my heart. She’s still in that damned bikini, though she’s pulled on a pair of short cotton shorts that somehow make things worse.
“Aha!” She emerges triumphant with a few canned goods and a box of pasta I didn’t even know I had. “At least you have the basics.”
I lean against the counter, admiring the view as she stretches to reach for some spices. “I usually have Grace handle the shopping.”
“Well, tonight, you’re getting a home-cooked meal.” She bumps me with her hip as she passes. “Make yourself useful and boil some water.”
Twenty minutes later, the kitchen smells amazing. Quinn has managed to create a simple marinara sauce from the few canned tomatoes and herbs she found lurking in my cabinets.
I glance over at Jasmine sitting in her high chair. She seems fascinated by Quinn’s graceful movements in the kitchen as she effortlessly whips together dinner.
“This is actually really good,” I admit, twirling pasta around my fork as we eat around the dining room table. The sun is setting, painting the sky outside the windows in shades of orange and pink.
We take turns feeding Jasmine bits of mashed banana between our own bites of dinner. As we finish our meal, I have to look away from Quinn before I’m tempted to lean over and kiss the wine right off her lips.
“I’ll give Jasmine her bath,” Quinn offers once we’ve cleaned up dinner, stacking dishes in the dishwasher like we’ve done it a hundred times before.
Bath time is next, and the domesticity of it all—Quinn knowing where the baby shampoo is and how warm Jasmine likes her bath water—hits me hard.
I lean against the bathroom doorframe, unable to take my eyes off them. Quinn’s still in those tiny shorts, her bikini top now covered by one of my t-shirts she borrowed. It’s too big on her, sliding off one shoulder, and somehow, that’s even sexier than the swimsuit. Her hair is pulled up in a messy bun, exposing the curve of her neck where I left a mark last night.
“Keep looking at me like that,” she murmurs, gently shampooing Jasmine’s dark curls, “and we’ll never get her to bed on time.”
“Just appreciating the view.” My voice comes out rougher than intended.
Jasmine splashes happily, soaking Quinn’s borrowed shirt. The wet fabric clings to her skin, and I grip the doorframe harder. God, it’s been the sweetest torture watching her all day—the way she moves, her gentle way with Jasmine, that smile she gets when she catches me staring.
Once Jasmine is clean, dry, and settled in her crib for the night, Quinn turns to me, her hazel eyes dark with promise. “I think it’s my turn to get cleaned up. All this sand...”
My hands find her waist, pulling her close. “Want company?”
She slides her fingers under the hem of my shirt, nails grazing my abs. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
“Been waiting all day to get you alone,” I murmur against her neck, already backing her toward the master bathroom. Her laugh turns into a soft moan as I pin her against the door. “The things you make me think about...”
“Less thinking,” she breathes, pulling me down for a kiss. “More showing.”
That’s all the invitation I need.