Chapter 26
twenty-six
DECLAN
“Hey!” Quinn opens the door, springing forward to give me a peck on the lips before immediately turning back around and heading to her room. “Sorry, Max distracted me. I’m almost done getting ready.”
Not surprisingly, Quinn and I weren’t able to find time for the two of us the weekend after Thanksgiving. Her dad needed help decorating the house for Christmas, something he always does the Friday after Thanksgiving. And my sister decided I didn’t have enough Christmas decorations to put around my house, so she demanded we go shopping and decorate immediately.
But I refuse to go through another weekend without going on an actual date with Quinn.
“It’s fine. We’re not on a tight schedule.” I step into the cottage and close the door behind me. The laptop on her island counter catching my eye.
A photo of Max and me standing in line for the Ferris wheel at the Fall Harvest Festival is on the screen. She’s framed the shot in such a way it looks like Max and I are perfectly centered with the Ferris wheel behind us. You can see Emily and Caleb standing to the side, but it’s clear they’re not the main focus. While they aren’t facing the camera the same way Max and I are, you can still see the smile on their faces.
Max is in front of me, my arms over his shoulders, hands clasped in front of his chest. Max grips my forearms and looks up at me with the biggest, proudest smile, and I’m looking down at him, laughing.
I remember he had just told a joke he heard at school, and while it was the cheesiest joke, it had all of us laughing hard.
Looking at this now, I realize that while I’ve seen Quinn with a camera in her hand, I haven’t seen the end result for any of her recent photos.
Like she did with me, I researched her work shortly after meeting her. She is an amazingly talented photographer with a wide range of subjects, but something about this photo grabs me in a way her other work hasn’t. Not since that first photograph I ever saw of hers, long before I knew she took it. That photograph I fought to have included in that display case.
Mrs. Cushner felt it was too dark to include. She wanted that display to showcase eye-catching work—work that would incite happiness. She thought putting Quinn’s photo would bring the mood down, making people turn away from it. While I thought it was important to demonstrate you can still make something beautiful out of sadness and anger. No matter what anyone says about that photo of Quinn standing in an empty room, it’s eye-catching.
Maybe it’s the emotional connection I have to this moment at the festival, with these people I can’t imagine going through life without, but I can feel the love radiating out of all of us from this photo. I can hear that laugh in my mind, feel the crisp fall air, and smell those classic fall harvest scents. In the same way I can feel Quinn's desperation and sadness in that photograph in the school.
Both photos truly brought everything to life.
“You like it?” I find Quinn standing behind me, pulling a beanie onto her head. She’s in hiking boots, black leggings, and a flannel shirt. Dressed exactly as I asked her—comfy, but warm—and so incredibly captivating. I don’t know how I got so lucky to call her mine, but I won’t question it. She’s here, with me, and I will do whatever I can to keep it that way for as long as possible.
“Sorry?” I ask, so distracted by her I forget the question.
“The picture.” She gestures to the laptop screen. “Do you like it?”
I turn back to her computer. “It’s amazing, Quinn. I don’t remember you taking it.”
“The benefits of being a gifted photographer.” She winks. “I can move around without being seen.” She comes up behind me, wrapping her arms around my waist, putting her front to my back, and looking over my shoulder at the screen. “I didn’t have to do much to it. Just brightened the colors a little and raised the exposure a bit.” She squeezes me. “My subjects took care of the rest.” I feel her lips at the back of my neck before she steps away.
I turn to watch her walk over to the coat closet near the front door, where she pulls out a jacket and puts it on. “You bringing your camera with us today?” I ask her.
“I don’t know. You won’t tell me what we’re doing.”
I wrap her in my arms, pulling her close when she walks back over to me. “I thought we could go on a hike. I know you told me one of the things you missed most when you were in New York was being out in nature.”
“That would be perfect.” She smiles, tilting her head slightly to kiss my lips properly.
Her hold on me tightens, her tongue flicking out to trail the seam of my lips. “If you keep doing that, we won’t be leaving,” I say against her lips.
“I’m okay with that.”
I laugh, press one more kiss to her lips, and then pull out of her hold. “No, we are going on this hike. I want to see you in action. So, bring your camera.”
“Fine. But only if you let me see you in action with a paintbrush one day.”
“Maybe one day.” I reach for her hand, pulling her toward the door. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
“When was the last time you painted anything? For yourself, I mean, not as part of teaching your students a technique,” she asks once we’re in the truck and on our way to a local trailhead.
“Before I moved here.”
“Dec—”
“It’s okay, Quinn.”
“No, it’s not. I hate you no longer find joy in making art.” I’m quiet, thinking about how I want to respond. I’m quiet longer than I thought because Quinn is the one who speaks next. “I’m sorry if I upset you.”
“No.” I reach over the center console and place my hand on her thigh. “You didn’t upset me. I was thinking about what I wanted to say. I’ve been thinking about picking up a paintbrush. I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately.”
“Yeah?” I can hear the excitement in her voice.
“Yeah.” I squeeze her thigh and glance at her quickly before turning back to the road. “Someone reignited that fire inside me.”
“I understand that feeling.” She picks up my hand and squeezes it before turning to look out her window.
Whispering Pines Trail isn’t long—a little over two miles—but with Quinn bringing her camera, what I anticipated would take us about forty-five minutes ends up taking two hours.
I’m not complaining. I love seeing Quinn come alive behind the lens of her camera. It did mean the nice dinner I planned to make her couldn’t happen tonight.
Honestly, it turned out to be a good thing because now we’re sitting on the living room floor of her cottage, a box of pizza between us, talking about anything and everything that comes to mind.
She throws the crust of her last slice of pizza into the box. “I had fun today. Thanks for planning it.”
“Of course. I had a nice dinner planned, but someone took a lot of pictures on our hike.” I smirk at her so she knows I’m not serious.
“Sorry, not sorry. You told me to bring my camera with us. So it’s your fault.”
“I know. I love watching you with your camera.” I toss my napkin into the now-empty box between us. “I’ve seen you happy over the last couple of months, but you with a camera in your hand is a different kind of happy.” I shrug. “I like collecting your different happies.”
“Different happies?” She laughs softly. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard that before.”
“Yeah, it’s like your different smiles, but it’s how you show your emotions with your entire body.” I sit up straighter. “Like when you’re with one of your brothers, there’s this almost childlike quality where your whole body becomes more animated. Or when you’re with Emily, it’s like you’ve found your best friend. Everything becomes more exaggerated and you talk with your hands more. And with your dad, it’s like all your worries fall away. Your entire body relaxes like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders.” I shrug. “I don’t know if any of that makes sense. I’m an artist, not a writer.”
“No.” She closes the box between us, moving a little closer to me. “I get what you mean, and you’re right. It’s different this time—being home.” She reaches for my hand and begins tracing the lines on my palm. “Maybe it’s because I never allowed myself to stay longer than a few days.” She lifts her shoulders in a small shrug, still studying her path on my palm. “I am happier, though.”
“Good,” I say softly.
“You’re a big part of that, you know?” She lifts her head, moving closer to me and placing my hand on her hip.
“Yeah?” I ask as she climbs into my lap, straddling me.
“Definitely.” She smirks at me, her hands moving to the buttons on my shirt.
“What are you doing?”
“Showing you how happy you make me.” She pushes my shirt open when she gets to the last button. “Look at you.” Her eyes and hands trail over my chest.
I know I’m not bad-looking, but I like junk food and sweets. It’s not that I don’t take care of myself—I do. I run and play soccer regularly, but I’m not serious about it. So, seeing the way Quinn is looking at me right now? It’s making it difficult to let her continue her exploration without touching her in return. Knowing she likes what she sees makes me feel invincible.
“Quinn.” The grip I have on her hips tightens.
“Yes?”
“I’m about two seconds away from jumping you if you don’t move on from my chest.”
She smirks at me as she continues tracing invisible patterns.
I surge forward, moving her to her back. Holding my weight on one elbow, I follow her example and slowly unbutton her shirt, pushing it open. My fingers ghost over her stomach, and I savor the feeling of her soft skin on my hands.
I lean down, bringing my lips to her ear and whisper, “I warned you,” before nipping her earlobe and continuing a path down her neck to her chest.
“You did,” she gasps as my lips find her pebbled nipple through the cotton of her bra, biting gently before continuing down her stomach.
“I really wanted to do this in a bed the first time. But this will have to do,” I say as I pull her leggings down. “You’re soaked,” I groan at the sight of the dark spot on her gray panties.
“Declan, please,” she moans.
I sit up, pulling her leggings off and spreading her thighs, giving me better access to her center. “God, look at you,” I repeat her words back to her before bending to suck her clit through the cotton of her panties, moaning at the taste of her.
“Declan,” she whines. “Take them off.” She reaches for her panties, trying to remove them herself.
I gently slap her hands away. “I’ll take them off when I’m ready,” I tell her.
I slowly move up her body, removing the open flannel shirt she still has on. As she arches her back, I reach behind her to unclasp her bra, removing it as well. I lean back and take a moment to look at her, sprawled out below me in nothing but her soaked panties.
“God, you’re beautiful.” I don’t think I’ve ever seen Quinn and not thought she was beautiful, but right now, like this, completely open to me, trusting me in her most vulnerable state, she’s never looked more beautiful.
My hands travel up the outside of her thighs to the top of her panties. “I think I’ll take these off now.” I slowly pull them down her legs and toss them out of the way.
“Please. I’m begging you. I need you to touch me.”
“Do you trust me?” I ask, starting at her ankle and slowly trailing kisses up the inside of her leg.
“Yes.” She doesn’t hesitate, and the joy that courses through me is something I know I’ve never experienced before. This woman, who has every reason not to trust people, has put her trust in me. I never want to take that for granted.
I swallow, trying to gather myself before responding. “Then trust I will give you exactly what you need,” I say, finally bringing my mouth to her center and gently flicking my tongue across her exposed clit.
I don’t know for sure, but I think both of us moan. All I can focus on now is the taste of her, earthy and sweet, like a crisp fall morning, my new favorite.
I slide two fingers into her and groan at how tight and wet she is. The thought of sliding my aching cock inside of her right now has me almost coming in my pants. I grind my hips against the rug below me to get just a little relief as I slowly slide my fingers in and out of her wet heat and suck her clit into my mouth.
“Declan. I can’t, I need you inside me.” Her hand falls to my hair, pulling.
“You can.” I continue moving my fingers in and out, curling them to hit just the right spot on every thrust in. “Come for me like this, and then you can have my cock.” I blow lightly at her clit, her thighs tremble, and her walls around my fingers clench. “That’s right. Let it happen, gorgeous.”
Her fingers tighten in my hair. Her back arches, and she screams as her orgasm overtakes her.
I continue to slowly thrust my fingers in and out of her until her walls release me and her body relaxes. I slowly kiss my way up her body, settling my hips between her legs, and press a kiss to her lips, letting her taste herself on my tongue.
“Why are you still wearing so many clothes?” she asks, clumsily pushing my open shirt off my shoulders.
“I was focusing on you,” I whisper against her cheek, grinding my hard jean-covered cock against her sensitive core.
She moans. “You need to lose the clothes.”