Chapter 32
Chapter Thirty-Two
FLORENCE
‘I’m not an invalid,’ Quinn complains the following day as Bram and I help him up the stone steps to the flat. Cam discharged him from the hospital earlier this morning, after all his obs remained stable overnight and every trace of his brain injury had resolved.
Bram eyes him with suspicion. ‘You were literally hit by a bus.’
‘And Cam says I’m fine to resume normal activities.’ Quinn rolls his eyes, but I note he waits until Bram has turned away from him before he does it. ‘And he’s an actual doctor.’
I raise my eyebrows at him. ‘I was an actual doctor, too,’ I say. ‘Once upon a time. And I’m pretty sure he said gentle activities.’
‘We can do it gently if you want,’ Quinn growls quietly, just beside my ear. One hand snags my waist, grazing the bare skin under my shirt. Tiny bolts of lightning zap through me, warmth following the initial shocks.
‘Good God, man!’ Bram spins to look at Quinn in horror. ‘At least save it until I’ve left the room.’
There’s a chuckle next to my ear. ‘Dammit, I forgot about his super hearing.’
Bram doesn’t reply, just stares back at Quinn, his lip curled slightly. ‘Pretty sure everyone in the bar could have heard that.’
Quinn ignores him. ‘When are you planning to leave?’ he asks, his trademark cheeky smile making that dimple pop in his cheek. ‘Just out of interest.’
Bram sighs so deeply I can almost feel it. ‘Thank you for being there for me in my time of need, Bram,’ he says, mimicking Quinn, his brow cut into a deep frown, and then, in his own voice, ‘Oh, you’re welcome, Quinn.’
I hear a quiet huff behind me, and when I turn to look, Quinn’s face has softened, his eyes earnest. ‘Thank you, man. You know I appreciate you.’
Bram’s face lightens in an instant. ‘Yeah, I know,’ he says, one corner of his mouth hitching into a smirk.
‘I’m just fucking with you.’ He strides off towards the bar, calling out, ‘I’ll keep the others out of here.
Enjoy your invalid sex!’ just before he closes the internal door that separates the bar from the flat.
It’s suddenly so silent that I can hear Quinn’s heart beating, the rate speeding up slightly as he spins me into his arms and presses a kiss to the side of my neck, under my earlobe. I want to memorise the sound of it, the pattern of the thumps, the way that it speeds and then slows.
‘Two days,’ he says, gathering me up in his arms. ‘How shall we spend them?’
I mean to laugh, but it’s been days since I felt his hands on my body, and so the press of his fingertips on my skin turns the sound into a rough sigh before it’s even had the chance to leave my mouth. ‘Like this,’ I whisper, as I melt into him. ‘Just like this.’
He smiles against my skin. ‘Shower first, then bed?’
I don’t answer. Not in words, anyway. Instead, I take his hand and lead him into the bathroom, setting the shower running before I turn back to look at him.
It catches me off guard, the rush of feeling that hurries up my throat and knots there, making my breath catch. I can’t say why that exact moment hits harder than most. Maybe it’s the way he’s watching me, those blue-green eyes somehow soft and fierce at the same time.
I take a moment to study them, wondering if they’ll change after he transitions.
The iris usually does, normally turning a slightly lighter shade than it was in life.
I wonder if Quinn’s will look like the sea, then, or more like the sky, whether the green will come through more, or if the blue will still dominate.
I kiss him softly above each one, my lips brushing his eyelids as they flutter closed.
Then my mouth trails to his cheekbone, flushed pink with the racing of his heart.
I wonder when I’ll see him flush for the last time, and I trail a fingertip across the pink skin and down to the hollow of his dimple, grateful that it should remain unchanged.
I keep my finger pressed to it as I kiss him, feeling the vibration of the soft groan that escapes him.
My fingers skate lower, then, following the steady thump of his pulse down the path of his carotid artery and hooking my fingers into the neckline of his T-shirt.
I think about what his skin tastes like there, the faint traces of sea salt and smoke.
I try to imagine what his blood will taste like, if it’s something that will be transcribed into my memory immediately, or if it’s a taste I’ll acquire over time.
I pull his T-shirt over his head and drag my gaze down the peaks and valleys of his torso, my fingers following the same path.
I catalogue the way my touch scatters goosebumps across his skin, how it makes his muscles flex underneath my hands.
There are rough patches on his chest, still a little sticky from the heart monitor pads, which were only pulled off him a few hours ago. I’ll soak them clean in the shower.
My hands drop to his waistband and unbutton his jeans, slipping them down his legs and off, taking his socks with them.
As I stand back up, I notice the bruising on his side.
It stretches from the bottom of his ribcage to the midpoint of his thigh, painting his skin angry shades of purple and red.
Just soft tissue damage, Cam says, which should heal with time, and according to Quinn, not even his worst ever bruise. I shudder to think.
When I look back at his face, he’s studying me with such an intense expression that something in my chest flips when our eyes meet. He steps out of his boxers wordlessly, not breaking the eye contact even for a moment.
Even though we’ve barely touched, it feels like foreplay, particularly when I go to unbutton my sundress and his eyes track every move; his pupils dilating, breaths speeding slightly.
By the time it hits the floor, I can feel his desire for me in the heavy pulse between my legs, layers of delicious anticipation building upon each other until it’s almost too much to bear.
I do away with my underwear and then I lead him into the shower.
I’m careful with him at first, trailing soapy hands over his body, scrubbing gently at the adhesive residue on his skin. I massage shampoo into his scalp and help him rinse it out. I treat him like he’s a creature of wonder – like something precious and breakable – because to me, he is.
It’s him who changes the tone.
It’s his hand that grasps my face and pulls me in for a deep kiss, his chest that pushes against mine, backing me up against the tiled wall of the shower. It’s his thigh that slips between my legs, urging them open.
He hisses in pain once, as his hip bumps mine, and I’m ready to slow things down and give him space when he clearly decides it’s worth it and pushes up against me again, harder this time.
And the groan that rumbles out of him as his slick skin slides against mine is something else entirely.
It’s part vulnerable, part primal, a shot arrow that lands somewhere very deep in my chest.
It’s only when his breathing becomes unsteady and I sense the slightest of tremors in his legs that I pull back and put some space between us. His darkened eyes search mine desperately, not quite able to verbalise his confusion.
‘That wasn’t a no,’ I say, stroking a finger along his jaw. ‘It was a not here.’
‘Ohthankgod,’ rushes out of him like it’s a single word. ‘But I definitely want to revisit this. When I’m…’ He pauses.
Better. Stronger.
Immortal.
‘Yeah,’ I say, and I grab two towels and guide him out of the shower.
He breathes an audible sigh of relief as he climbs into his bed, and another when I join him, careful not to put pressure on his bruised hip despite the enthusiasm with which he tries to haul me against him.
‘Careful,’ I say with a laugh as he tries to hide his wince, and he groans again.
‘Can’t help it.’ He pulls me in for a kiss, deep and hungry. ‘I want you so badly, but’—he rocks his hips hard against me again, like he’s momentarily forgotten, before flinching away—‘ah God, that hurts.’
He sounds so defeated that it makes my chest hurt, but I’ve been on this earth long enough to know that there are always options.
‘Lie on your good side,’ I say, helping him to turn all the way, and then I lie in front of him, shuffling until my back is against his front, a wall of heat surrounding me.
Ok,’ he says, lightly grazing his teeth over my bare shoulder. ‘I can work with this. God, I never imagined I’d spend my last mortal days having sad, cautious, lying-on-your-side sex like that old couple in Titanic.’
A surprised laugh barks out of me. ‘What?’
‘You know,’ he mumbles, biting my shoulder gently. ‘When the ship’s going down and there’s that shot of them in bed.’
My laugh that time is sharper, incredulous. ‘Quinn, they were absolutely not having sex.’
I hear him huff a defensive breath behind me. ‘Er, I saw that film three times and yes, they were.’
He’s ridiculous.
‘When we’re done,’ I murmur, rocking back against him, ‘I’ll prove it to you.’
He exhales sharply, his arms tightening around me as he begins to move too. ‘I suppose you were there, were you? God, you probably were.’
I throw a glare back over my shoulder and stop still.
‘Fuck, I’m sorry,’ he murmurs, his voice like gravel. ‘Don’t stop.’
It’s not so much that I take pity on him, more that I’m teetering on a cliff edge myself, in absolutely no fit state to torture him.
Instead, I reach down and guide him into me, smiling at the growl that vibrates against my back as my eyes flutter closed.
I think I could live a thousand years and never get bored of that sound.
Hopefully I’ll get the chance to test my theory.
‘God, you feel amazing,’ he mutters, rocking into me in long languid strokes, his heart beating a riot against the skin of my back.
I try to remember all of it, the thumping of his pulse and the gravel in his voice and that glorious scent that’s so specifically him.
I’m not sure I’ll get my fill in two days.
I’m not sure I’d get my fill in two lifetimes.
His arms tighten around me, one hand slipping between my legs and working a kind of magic I’m not convinced is fully human. And then I shatter into a shuddering release with his mouth on my shoulder and his name on my lips. And, with only two words of warning, he follows me down.
It’s minutes before I can even open my eyes. Minutes of collapsing back against the heat of his body, of feeling his heart pound through his chest and his warm breath tickling the skin at the back of my neck.
I feel like I’m floating, so blissed out – so at peace – that it makes me jump when I hear the rumble of his voice behind me.
‘Well,’ he says, still a little unsteady. ‘I hope you don’t go off me when we’re having boring vampire sex.’
A laugh rushes out of me. ‘I don’t think I said boring, did I? Sometimes it was quite good.’
‘Quite good,’ he deadpans, propping his chin on my shoulder. ‘What any man dreams of hearing.’
‘You never know,’ I say, as I bite back my smile and turn so that I’m facing him. ‘Maybe you’ll be the one who changes everything.’
What I don’t say is that he already is.