Chapter 25
TWENTY-FIVE
Keller
The drive back to Quinn's place takes us less than ten minutes. She kicks off her sandals the moment we step inside, leaving them by the door. I follow her lead, toeing off my boots and setting them beside hers.
We are creating a routine before my eyes.
The lamp in the corner casts warm shadows across the walls.
"Lincoln Lawyer, right? Ready for some more handsomeness, cockiness, and competence?" She grabs the remote and queues it up.
"You're really committing to this."
"I never do anything half-ass." She glances at me, something flickering in her expression. I can't help but smile.
"Do you mind if I jump in the shower first? Quick rinse. I didn't have a chance to shower after my run."
"Not at all. Go ahead."
She disappears down the hall. The bathroom door clicks shut, and the water starts running a moment later.
I settle onto the couch and pull out my phone. Three texts from West about Tuesday's lineup. One from Marcus confirming the flight logs have been archived. Nothing urgent.
I set the phone down on the cushion beside me and stretch. I haven't stopped to catch my breath since I snuck out of here this morning before dawn. I close my eyes and rest my head on the back of the sofa.
The water runs behind the wall. I imagine the steam curling against the glass and Quinn standing beneath the spray, hair slicked back, water sliding down her shoulders.
Heat coils low in my gut. I shift on the couch, adjust my posture, and force my attention to anything else.
Control.
I breathe in deeply, letting the tension settle into something manageable.
The water shuts off after a few minutes pass and the bathroom door opens. I hear her moving down the hall before she appears in the doorway. Her wet hair is loose around her shoulders, darkening the collar of an oversized gray t-shirt. Baggy sweatpants hang low on her hips.
Christ.
She looks better than any woman in a designer gown. The casual intimacy of it hits me somewhere deep.
"Ready?" She settles onto the couch beside me, pulling her legs up and tucking them beneath her.
I lift the throw blanket and drape it across both of us. "Ready."
She presses play. The show picks up where we left off. Mickey Haller navigates another impossible case through legal maneuvering and morally gray zones. My kind of way to fix things.
Quinn watches intently for a few minutes, her shoulder warm against mine beneath the blanket. I try to follow the plot and the dialogue. But I'm a hundred percent distracted by the beautiful, intense woman sitting beside me.
Fifteen minutes in, I've absorbed nothing.
I clock the curve of her neck, the way she smells, like soap, the soft rhythm of her breathing, and I'm about to jump out of my skin.
I turn toward her.
She feels the movement and looks up. Her eyes find mine in the dim light.
I don't rush, leaning in slowly and brushing my lips against her shoulder, testing the waters, my need for her touch palpable.
Quinn leans down slightly, and I rise to meet her mouth. I taste the faint salt from dinner, the sweetness underneath. My hand finds her jaw, thumb tracing the line of her cheekbone.
We stay there for a long moment. Just breathing, feeling, and absorbing each other.
When I pull back, her eyes are half-closed. Her lips slightly parted.
"I want to taste you." My voice comes out low and rough. "All of you."
Quinn's breath catches. I watch uncertainty flicker across her face. Her body tenses slightly beneath my palm.
"Keller, that's not normally my thing. I—"
"Trust me." I hold her gaze, letting her see everything. "Tonight is about you. Just let me take care of you."
She searches my face for a long moment. Whatever she finds there seems to settle something inside her.
"Okay."
The word lands softly in the space between us.
I ease her back against the couch cushions, moving slow enough that she can stop me at any point. My hands find the waistband of her sweatpants, and I pause, looking up.
She nods ever so slightly. I can tell she's nervous, so I take my time, earning her trust.
I slide the fabric down her hips, over her thighs, past her ankles. Drop them to the floor beside the couch. Her t-shirt rides up, exposing the soft curve of her stomach.
I press my mouth to her hip bone. Her skin jumps beneath my lips. I trace a path inward, tasting clean skin and warmth.
Quinn's fingers find my hair, and they rest there, not pushing or holding. So I keep going.
I part her thighs and settle between them. Take a moment to look at her. The neat strip of dark hair. The glistening pink folds are already swelling under my attention.
"Beautiful." I breathe the word against her inner thigh.
She shivers.
My tongue finds her center. One slow stroke from bottom to top. Her hips buck off the cushion.
"Dear god."
I press my palm flat against her stomach, holding her still. Then I focus.
Her clit pulses beneath my tongue. I circle it slowly, learning the pressure she responds to. Light flicks make her gasp. Firmer strokes pull a moan from deep in her chest.
I slide one finger inside her. Tight heat grips me instantly. I curl upward, searching, and find the spot that makes her thighs clamp around my ears.
"Oh, Keller." Her voice breaks on the words. "I've never—"
"Shhh," I whisper against her delicate folds. I add a second finger, working them in a steady rhythm while my mouth stays locked on her clit. I suck gently, flicking with the tip of my tongue.
Quinn's breathing turns ragged. Her fingers twist in my hair. Her hips start moving against my face, chasing the sensation. She's no longer inhibited, no longer letting her fear hold her back.
"Keller." My name sounds wrecked coming from her lips. "I'm going to—"
I don't ease up, doubling down instead. Faster with my fingers. Harder with my mouth.
She shatters.
Her back arches off the couch as her pussy clenches around my fingers in rhythmic pulses. A sound tears from her throat, raw and uncontrolled. I work her through it, gentling my pace as the waves crest and slowly subside.
When her body finally goes limp, I press one last kiss to her inner thigh and crawl up beside her.
Quinn's eyes are closed. Her chest rises and falls rapidly. A flush spreads from her cheeks down to her collarbone.
I pull the throw blanket over both of us and gather her against my chest.
"That was..." She trails off, shaking her head against my shoulder.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
Her hand finds mine beneath the blanket. Our fingers lace together.
The television still plays, forgotten. Mickey Haller argues something important to an empty room.
Quinn's breathing slows. Evens out. Within minutes, her body goes heavy against mine. The tension drains from her muscles. I close my eyes and let the release and the safety sweep me away with her.
The weight of her body seeps into my bones as the rhythm of her heartbeat pulses against my ribs.
I jolt awake to darkness, not realizing I'd fallen asleep. The TV is black, the room totally dark.
Quinn shifts against me, her breath warm on my neck.
"Hey." Quinn's voice comes out thick with sleep. "What time is it?"
I fumble for my phone. The screen burns my eyes. 1:47 AM.
"Late."
She stretches against me, her body warm and loose beneath the blanket. Her hair tickles my chin.
"Bed." She pushes herself up on one elbow. "Real bed. This couch is killing my back."
I follow her down the dark hallway, guided by her hand in mine. The house settles around us, all creaking floorboards and distant hum of the refrigerator.
Quinn disappears into the bathroom. I hear water running, the soft sounds of her getting ready. I strip off my pants and shirt, leaving them folded on the chair in the corner. My boxers stay on.
When she emerges, she's changed into sleep shorts and a thin camisole. The fabric clings to her curves in the dim light from the window.
"Left side or right?"
"Right."
She slides beneath the covers and holds them open for me. I settle beside her, and her body finds mine immediately. Her leg hooks over my thigh. Her palm rests flat against my chest.
"Today was good." Her words drift up through the darkness. "I got to wake up to your note this morning, and I get to go to bed with you holding me."
"Yeah," I respond, not sure what else to say. I don't know what this is between us, but something about her, about us, quiets something that hasn’t been quiet since I was eleven.
Her breathing slows and then deepens. Within minutes, her body goes slack against mine.
I stay awake, unable to fall back asleep. My mind races.
The ceiling above me holds no answers. Shadows shift as a car passes outside, headlights sweeping briefly across the wall.
Savannah is a world away, not the shadow that consumed me only hours ago. The linen tablecloth, the wedding ring, the eighteen-year-old son who existed as an infant when Grant was with my mother.
I shoved it all into a box somewhere between the airfield and this bed.
But now, in the dark of night, it demands my attention. I needed to see him, to watch his face and hear his voice and measure the man against seventeen years of questions.
But tonight I choose her.
Quinn shifts in her sleep, burrowing closer. Her fingers curl against my chest.
I match my breathing to hers and let the rhythm pull me toward something like peace, even knowing morning will not be this quiet.