Chapter 7 Quinn
SEVEN
Quinn
Invitation-Only Membership: Most traditional New Orleans krewes operate by sponsorship, requiring prospective members to be nominated and approved by existing members.
This selective structure preserves exclusivity, reinforces internal loyalty, and keeps influence concentrated within tightly controlled social circles.
My pulse hammers in my throat, in my chest, in the space between my ribs where something tight and expectant has been building since we walked into the elevator to his place.
The elevator opens directly into his space and he puts his arm on the door to stop it from closing, letting me through first.
I walk into his apartment and stop just past the threshold.
Exposed brick runs the length of one wall. Iron beams frame the ceiling. The windows stretch tall and bare, overlooking the Garden District street below.
Industrial lighting hangs low over the open kitchen. The furniture is clean, expensive, restrained. A leather couch. A low coffee table. Everything has intention without excess.
He wasn't kidding about liking old buildings.
"Your place is gorgeous."
Keller closes the door behind us. The lock turns with a soft snap. "Thanks. I love the sense of history in these repurposed buildings."
I don't need the full tour. We both know why I'm here.
He steps closer, not touching, just closing the distance. His gaze drops to my mouth, then back up. The air between us shifts from potential to inevitable.
I meet his eyes and hold them.
He moves first. One hand settles at my waist, fingers pressing through fabric. The other slides along my spine. He watches my face the entire time, waiting for confirmation.
I give it by leaning into him.
The kiss starts controlled, deliberate. His mouth is warm, skilled, patient. But the restraint cracks fast. My hands find his shoulders, his neck. I pull him closer and he responds by deepening the kiss, tongue sliding against mine.
He walks me backward until my back hits the brick wall. The rough texture scrapes through my shirt. The pressure of his body pins me in place. I feel the hard line of his cock through his pants pressing against my stomach.
Four nights ago we were doing this in a storage room. This time there's no party a floor away.
His hands move lower, gripping my hips. I arch into him and he groans against my mouth. His fingers find the hem of my shirt to tug it upward. I break the kiss long enough for him to pull it over my head. It lands somewhere behind us.
I reach for his buttons, fumbling slightly, moving too fast. But I can't get to his abs quickly enough.
He helps, shrugging out of his shirt and tossing it aside. His chest is lean, defined. I run my hands over the washboard, and my mouth waters as the muscles tense beneath my palms.
"Do you have a condom? I’ve got an IUD but want to be careful."
"I do."
He kisses me again, harder this time, then pulls back just enough to unfasten my jeans. I push his pants down, and he steps out of them. We're both breathing hard now, hands urgent, mouths finding skin.
"Hold on."
He crosses to the loft area where his bed sits beneath another tall window. He opens the drawer of the nightstand and retrieves a foil packet. When he turns back, I'm already out of my bra.
His gaze drags over me, slow and deliberate. "Fuck."
I meet him halfway. He tears the packet open with his teeth. I watch him roll the condom on, my stomach clenching with anticipation.
Then he's on me again, lifting me slightly, bracing me against the wall. I wrap my legs around his waist and feel the head of his cock press against my entrance.
The storage room part deux.
"You good?"
"Yeah. Don't stop."
He pushes inside, and I gasp. The stretch is immediate and intense. He pauses, letting me adjust, watching my face.
"Keep going."
He does. Slow at first, measured thrusts that make my breath hitch. His grip on my hips tightens as my nails dig into his shoulders.
"Harder."
His pace increases. The sound of our bodies meeting fills the quiet apartment. I moan against his neck, and he groans in response, hips snapping forward with more force.
"Fuck, Quinn."
I bite his shoulder, and he swears again, driving deeper. The angle shifts, and suddenly every thrust hits exactly where I need it. My thighs tense. Heat coils low in my belly.
"Right there, Keller. Yes. Don't stop."
He doesn't. His rhythm stays consistent, brutal, perfect. The pressure builds, tightening until I can't hold it back. My orgasm slams through me, and I cry out, body clenching around him.
He follows seconds later, burying his face against my neck as he comes.
We stay pressed together, breathing hard. My legs are still wrapped around him, his forehead resting against mine.
After a moment, he carries me to the bed and lowers us both down. He holds me as the city noise filters faintly through the windows. Our breathing slows together.
We stay tangled together, sheets half kicked off the bed. The city glow filters through the tall windows, casting a faint orange light across the exposed brick. I wonder if he keeps these tall windows open like this, and I wonder how he sleeps with so much light coming in.
My heartbeat slows. His hand rests loosely on my hip.
I should probably get dressed, but I don't move. I don't want to leave.
"You always this quiet after?"
Keller's voice breaks the silence, dry and matter-of-fact. I turn my head to find him watching me, his glasses back on, expression unreadable.
"I'm admiring your loft."
He laughs. Actually laughs, not just a smirk or a huff. The sound is unexpected, unguarded. It catches me off guard enough that I laugh, too.
"Sorry, I don't know why that was funny. I guess I'm delirious."
The tension that was strung tight between us loosens, making me laugh, too. There wasn't anything particularly funny about what I said, or anything else.
We shouldn’t be laughing, but we are, and it breaks whatever fragile thing might have made this awkward.
I shift onto my side, propping my head on one hand. I trace a line along the sheet with my finger. "I've enjoyed getting to know you tonight."
"Me, too."
"You're the first guy I've given my number to on a matchbook, by the way. That's not my normal MO."
"I wondered about that. Nice move, by the way. That was a first for me."
"It was less of a move and more utility. I didn't really want to walk up to you and start a conversation after—" I stop, not wanting to name what happened between us at the gala. "But I wanted to see you again."
"I'm glad you did."
He doesn't check his phone, or shift away, or offer to call me a ride. He just lies there, one arm behind his head, watching the ceiling fan spin slowly.
Am I staying here with him, in his bed?
The realization settles somewhere in my chest. My heart flutters slightly at the thought. I didn't plan to stay, but I guess I figured sex might be on the table. But now here, in the moment, I'm caught off guard.
Men usually don’t do this. There’s always a polite cue. A stretch toward the edge of the bed. A comment about an early morning.
I let myself relax further into the sheets. My body loosens, satisfied, content in a way I haven't felt in months. Maybe longer.
"You want water or something?"
"I'm good. Thank you, though."
He nods. His hand finds mine under the sheet, fingers lacing together without ceremony. It's casual, comfortable. Unexpected.
This is dangerous.
Not because of who he is or anything concrete. Just because it's easy. Too easy. Like I could get used to this.
I push the thought away.
The city hums faintly below. A car horn. Distant music. The rhythm of New Orleans at night bleeds into early morning.
Normally, I would never be able to fall asleep at night without a shower, especially after sex with a virtual stranger.
But tonight, I close my eyes, just for a moment.
I wake before the alarm goes off. Habit, or maybe it's the light breaking through.
The first thing I register is an unfamiliar place. Cool, early blue streams through tall windows. Then the unfamiliar ceiling with its exposed beams and industrial fixtures.
Right. Keller's place.
I turn my head. He's still asleep, one arm thrown across the pillow, glasses on the nightstand. His hair is completely wrecked. The messy intentional style from last night now just looks slept on. His jaw is relaxed. He looks younger without the sharp focus he usually carries.
I shift carefully, sitting up enough to take in the apartment in daylight. The brick wall runs unbroken to the far corner. The kitchen gleams chrome and concrete. Everything in here is clean and chosen.
This was deliberate.
Not just the apartment. Last night. Coming here. I chose this. I don't regret it.
That's unusual.
Keller shifts beside me. His eyes open, dark and still hazy with sleep. He blinks twice, focuses on me, then pushes himself up on one elbow.
"Morning, sunshine."
His voice is rough, deeper than usual. It reverberates somewhere low in my stomach.
"Morning, you."
He runs a hand through his hair, which doesn't help the situation at all. "You get some sleep?"
"I did. Your bed is really comfortable. You?"
This is the part that is normally painfully awkward. I need to make an exit and go back to my place to shower for work. But my clothes are across the room, and I'm completely naked.
"Enough."
He swings his legs out of bed and walks to the kitchen without self-consciousness or ceremony. I watch him move, his sexy lean back flexing as he steps. He's unhurried as he fills a French press with coffee grounds and turns on the gas to the kettle sitting on top.
"Coffee?"
"I should probably get going, although I might not be able to resist."
I pull the flat sheet up over me and walk over to various items of strewn clothing. I find my shirt on the floor near the brick wall and pull it on stealthily while keeping the sheet wrapped around my waist.
I watch him pull on a pair of faded sweatpants, and I think I might have drooled a little.