Chapter 28 Quinn
Quinn
From the living room window, Quinn watches as a young Human climbs out of his car and makes trip after trip from his hatchback to the front porch, stacking boxes and bags of food in some semblance of order.
Behind him, Quinn can hear Isaac and Elias whispering that it’s just food for their pack to Connall.
Their alpha had been on edge since the trash truck had made the rounds in the cul-de-sac early that morning.
He hated that there were people beyond the thin walls of the small house, seeing them as threats to his new pack.
It was hella hot and sort of…cute. Not that Quinn will be sharing that with anyone but himself.
Without looking, Quinn can tell Elias is still locked onto their alpha’s knot, that soft, satisfied glow lingering on his sweet face.
Quinn can’t bear to look, because if he does, he might cave into his wolf.
His wolf wants to press a hard palm to that gentle curve of belly, to search for his cock beneath, to feel Elias clench around him. It wants to chase the scent of Soren’s breath, to lick Isaac’s slick from his lips and savor that bright, aching sweetness.
The urge is so strong it aches. Quinn has to pull hard on his willpower to keep his eyes averted, heart thudding, pretending he isn’t trembling with it.
After the delivery boy is done, he rings the front doorbell like he’s playing ding-dong-ditch and races to his car. Reversing in a wobbly pattern down the drive, he hits the street, accelerating away as if the hounds of hell were on his heels.
It’s a rutting alpha Were instead of a Cerberus, but Connall is probably scarier.
“Well, we won’t be seeing him again,” Kaian whispers from under Quinn’s arm.
“Kid has good instincts,” Quinn agrees, pressing a kiss to his hair.
“I’ll help you get the stuff off the porch, okay?”
Connall growls louder, and Elias squeaks as whatever movement their alpha had made pulls on the knot wedged deep in his perfect ass.
That is so not helping.
“Better not. But you can help me unload in the kitchen. Just stay where he can see you, yeah?”
Kaian frowns. “I’m not a damsel in distress, dammit,” is muttered under his breath. “I am stronger than—” he breaks off, pursing his lips.
“Good call, bébé.” They hadn’t had a minute to talk about what happened in the apartment, or that Kaian’s magic meant that he could more than hold his own.
Quinn, for one, does not want to remind the relaxed, dozing Soren about the Vincenzos when he’s snoring softly, Isaac’s little cock in his hand.
Connall tracks Quinn like a hawk through the living room and through the kitchen to the front door, and there’s a scuffle when he disappears around the corner. “Shit!” Soren murmurs, startled out of sleep anyway.
Connall appears behind him, stark naked and covered in superficial marks. His cock is standing at half-mast, glistening with Isaac’s slick.
For a heartbeat, no one moves.
“I’m not going anywhere, boss man,” Quinn says, and he cannot keep the exasperation out of his tone.
It’s been going on eight hours of a relentless rut.
It’s as if this is his presentation rut rather than a regular biannual one.
Isaac had whispered to Elias after Connall had fallen into an exhausted sleep that he thought it was because this was their first one as a pack.
This certainly aligns with Quinn’s own guess that it’s because they’re all here together for the first time.
Connall doesn’t back up—just grunts and crosses his arms, one eyebrow lifting in a clear get on with it challenge.
“Look—”
“Just get the food in here, Blaze. Jesus,” Soren grouses from the nest. A second later, he groans, and Quinn hears, “Slow down, Izzy—fuck.”
A mental image of Isaac riding Soren hard and fast has Quinn placing a steadying hand on the wall.
He’s been hard for eight hours straight.
Longer, if he counted the time in his apartment.
Or in the alley. Or in the Uber. Or in the drive over here.
Yes, he needs to fuck. No, he isn’t going to do it in front of Connall O’Daire. Quinn isn’t part of this.
He hefts a box of fruit into his arms and holds it out to their grumpy alpha, who has no choice but to take it. It brings them within arm’s length—closer to Connall than he’s allowed himself to be since they’d gone toe-to-toe in the living room yesterday.
Nostrils flaring, Connall’s eyes shift from navy blue to pitch black.
He looks like he wants to say something, but he must read something in Quinn’s set jaw and narrowed eyes, and he literally bites his tongue.
Spinning on his heel, he dumps the box before he’s back, waiting for Quinn’s next armload.
Together, he and Connall stack the boxes and cases of water in the kitchen.
“Holy shit!” Kaian is eating a handful of the biggest green grapes Quinn has ever seen. “How much did you order?”
Earlier, Quinn made instant rice and some frozen vegetables to quiet Elias’s growling stomach. The sound had set Connall off so badly that he’d flung the phone at the beta while he fucked him from behind. Quinn had to take over when Elias’s eyes rolled back as he came.
Good thing, too. There were seventy-seven boxes of pasta on the list, and the pantry shelf already held eight.
In the end, Elias managed to squeak the rest of it out from the end of Connall’s knot—before he’d taken a mouthful of Soren’s cock.
“Don’t look at me,” Quinn says. “Hot chef gets what hot chef wants.”
Isaac appears behind him, sliding slim arms around his middle, the soft skin of his arms a tease under the edge of a borrowed t-shirt.
He’d slipped it on about two hours in, as his bare chest seemed to agitate Connall into a growling frenzy every time Quinn came into range.
Now he’s the only one in clothes in the whole place.
He empties a box filled with four kinds of pickles onto the counter. Bread and Butter. Garlic Dill. Bright pink beets.
“Are those pickled corn?” Isaac asks. “They’re my fav. Gimme.” In no time, he’s got the jar open and the weird little cob crunching between his teeth.
“I am officially grossed out,” Kaian mutters as Isaac grins and waddles away.
Isaac hadn’t complained, but he’s got to be sore. He’s taken Soren and Connall more times than Quinn could count. He could use a hot bath. Elias, too.
Ugh.
It’s not up to Quinn to take care of them. It’s not. Even though his wolf is so put out, Quinn hasn’t heard anything from him in over an hour. Just a rock-hard dick, an ache in his belly, and one in his chest. That last one, he’s ignoring for all he’s worth.
“Right?” he finally agrees that the miniature corn is weird.
Quinn looks up to see Connall feeding the weird food to Soren and Elias, both their faces contorted in identical looks of distaste.
“Looks like we’re not alone.” Kaian chuffs under his breath. “I’ll wash these up instead.”
After he runs the grapes under the tap, he takes them to Connall, who feeds one to Kaian with a sweet smile. It shouldn’t be possible for him to look that cute feeding his mates.
It’s the opposite of what Quinn has always thought about Connall O’Daire: tough guy, criminal mastermind, and the power-hungry asshole who broke Soren’s teenage heart and consigned him to a life of Rejected Bond Syndrome.
Which is no small thing by anyone’s measure, no matter that Soren seems to have survived it as a functioning person.
Quinn turns away from his mates. He doesn’t need to see Connall feeding them one by one, waiting for each swallow before the next bite.
Instead, he focuses on putting the groceries away the best he can.
It’s easy, given the shelves are labeled and not exactly full, but there are still things that don’t fit.
Like paté, and the rest of the pickles. The fridge is next, overflowing with fresh vegetables and fruit in every color of the rainbow.
Besides the bananas—which belong on the counter—he’s not sure what should go in there, so he stuffs it all in anyway, figuring Elias will surface at some point and fix it to his liking.
He’s half inside the open fridge, finishing with the cold meats and cheeses, when he backs up into a broad, naked chest. Connall is burning hot, the smooth skin at Quinn’s back, heating him through the thin t-shirt.
He’s surprised the big alpha isn’t steaming.
Quinn’s eyes slam shut, and he can detect lemon-lime, sweet tea, flowers, and coconut, too. It’s the scent of contented mates.
A fat green grape appears in front of his nose. “Eat,” Connall grunts.
Ruts are a bitch. Even usually well-spoken alphas go caveman once they’re deep.
Quinn is torn. He wants to take the food just to earn that rare, crooked smile aimed at him, but taking it would feel like taking Connall, and he won’t let the older man mistake this for surrender.
Not when Connall’s nostrils are flared, mouth parted, dragging in great gulps of Quinn’s aroused cherry smoke scent like he can’t help himself.
The grape presses to Quinn’s lips. He doesn’t remember deciding—only the soft give of skin as his teeth break it, sweetness flooding his mouth. Connall’s gaze snaps to his mouth, then up to his eyes, and back again.
Quinn licks the juice from his lips. Heat thumps hard against the back of his arm as Connall’s cock kicks, and the thought lands heavy and dangerous—Jesus. That would fill him to overflowing.
He’d seen how blissed out Elias was, and how Isaac shivered and shattered through multiple orgasms. They are a mated pair with regular sex and intimacy, not like Soren’s rejected bond desperation. But they’re still desperate. Hooked on Connall’s brand of dominant sexuality.
No, he shouldn’t be reacting like he hadn’t already come twice with Soren yesterday and again in the kitchen. He definitely shouldn’t be obsessed with the thought of Connall’s cock filling him up. That wet smear of precome between his cheeks instead of on his arm.