34. Quinn
34
QUINN
I ’m too wound up to do anything productive—like homework or study for the NCLEX. Instead, I sit on the stairs in the entryway, my knee bouncing as I fixate on the front door. I want to be ready to attend to whatever wounds need treatment. But it feels like a lifetime of anxiety as I wait for the survivors to return.
Finally, I can hear the rumbling engine of our Escalade. It sounds in need of medical attention itself, and I race toward the door, wrenching it open because I can’t wait any longer.
I gasp at the sight of the armored SUV. Dents pockmark every inch of it—including the windshield, which looks more like crackle glass than a solid pane. Only two other cars return with ours, and my heart hammers against my ribs.
This can’t be all the survivors…Can it?
I think I’m going to be sick.
But I have to know.
Is Killian alive?
Is Lance?
I scarcely dare to breathe as the engine shuts off. I can’t tell who’s driving the car. And again, it feels like ages before two doors swing open.
I sob as Lance steps out of the driver’s seat, Killian and Natasha sliding out of the back.
“I brought one home for your medical attention,” Killian says, keeping his arm wrapped firmly around Natasha’s shoulders.
She looks as pale as a ghost, her expression somber, her eyes haunted, but I don’t see any visible wounds. That’s when Killian tips his head over his right shoulder, indicating one of the cars behind them.
Two King men help a third out of the back seat, and the man hobbles forward on one good leg. The other appears to have a bullet wedged in his thigh.
“Take him to my infirmary,” I state.
Then I fall into step with my brother, though I ache with the need to collapse gratefully into Lance’s arms. But that will have to wait until we have a moment alone.
“Is this it?” I whisper, picking up on the grim faces of the men who have come home.
“No, we had to scatter to avoid mass arrests,” Killian says.
Relief surges through my veins, followed by another icy dose of fear. And I take Natasha in with fresh eyes, then Killian, then Lance as I note a distinct absence from the people who left here this morning. “Where’s Tatiana?”
“She traded places with me so Lucian would let me go,” Natasha says, her voice hollow.
“Lucian said he would end the war and allow Tatiana to keep her territory as well. If she married him.”
Killian’s expression is near tortured, and I can only imagine how horrible he must feel over what’s happened. Now that I know the whole picture, I can see the guilt weighing down his shoulders, the sense of responsibility for how terribly things have gone wrong—even if it’s not his fault.
“Poor Tatiana,” I breathe.
And silent tears start streaming down Natasha’s cheeks.
“I’m taking Natasha to our room,” Killian says, and he pats my shoulder. “We’ll talk later.”
I nod, heart heavy as I turn toward the infirmary. And Lance follows. His steps carry him beside me, and his hand twitches, as if he wants to reach out and take mine. But he doesn’t. Instead, we walk in silence.
The men already have Christopher up on the table when I walk in, and he’s reclining back, his teeth clenched as he stares up at the ceiling.
“What happened here?” I ask, going through my usual checklist of questions, though it’s easy to ascertain the basics.
“Ricochet, I think,” he grits out.
“Let’s take a look.” Pressing the back of my hand to his forehead, I check for any preliminary signs of fever. So far, so good. I don’t think he’s even gone into shock.
I cut open the thigh of his pants, ignoring his grunt of protest as I peel the fabric back.
“Good news. It’s right in the meat of your muscle,” I state, sticking to layman’s terms. “And it didn’t go deep.”
I scrub my hands clean before snapping on a pair of latex gloves. Then I bring a tray of surgical tools closer and fill a syringe with some local anesthetic. It takes all of twenty minutes to extract the bullet and five stitches later, he’s as good as new—well, almost.
“Thanks, Doc,” Christopher says as he hobbles toward the door.
And though I won’t be a doctor even after I graduate, I let the nickname slide. It doesn’t matter how many times I tell Killian’s men, they keep calling me Doc. “You’re welcome,” I say, my lips twitching into a smile.
“See you in the morning, Lance,” he adds.
Lance gives a jerk of his chin in acknowledgment. Christopher and his companions are out the door, leaving us mercifully alone.
I turn to Lance, releasing my first breath of relief as I inspect him more closely. Blessedly, he looks perfectly fine—aside from the stitches he already sustained from protecting me in the parking garage.
“Are you alright?” I ask, crossing the room quickly to throw my arms around him.
And it feels so incredibly good to feel how warm and strong and alive he is as he wraps me in his big, muscular arms.
“I’m fine,” he promises, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.
He smells strongly of gunpowder and smoke along with the coppery hint of sweat—the intensely masculine scent I always associate with him. And I breathe him in, my heart pounding hard and steady as I listen to the healthy rhythm of his.
“Thank you for keeping your promise,” I murmur, tipping my chin up to meet his eyes.
“I’ll never break a promise to you if I can help it,” he assures me, combing a stray lock behind my ear.
Then he leans in to claim my lips, his mouth softly covering mine in a passionate kiss.
We stay like that for a long moment, wrapped in each other’s arms. And I feel bad for feeling so happy right now, in the midst of all this turmoil. But I’ve never been more grateful for the blessings in my life. And Lance is by far one of the best.
“I smell like battle,” he murmurs, wrinkling his nose.
“Is that what you call it?” I tease, lightly running my nose along his. “I don’t mind it so much. But I’d be more than happy to help clean you up.”
His groan of desire releases a smoldering heat in my belly, and suddenly, I can’t wait to take a shower.
“Come on,” I breathe, stepping back and taking his hand to guide him toward my room.
Once we’re safely behind closed doors, I help Lance strip his layers of clothes one by one. And while I’d like to savor just how beautiful he is, I also take the time to give him a thorough once-over. I know he said he was alright, but after everything that’s happened, I need to take the extra measure to put my mind at ease.
Finally satisfied that Lance is, in fact, all in one piece, I release him from my care as a nurse. And as he leans into the shower to turn the water on, I quickly strip my clothes to join him. I let him stand beneath the warmth taking a loofah and soap so I can help him scrub the day’s grime from his body.
And as I massage the suds over his rippling muscles, I take the time to enjoy every inch of him. Lance’s fingers pause in his hair, the shampoo running down his temples as his eyes sink closed. And I’d like to think he’s enjoying the attention as much as I enjoy giving it.
When he’s thoroughly scrubbed and rinsed, Lance pulls me into his arms, ushering me beneath the warm water. And as it sprays softly down on us, he leans down to kiss me tenderly. Today, there’s no rough desperation in his kiss. It’s all tender passion. And I wonder if that’s because he’s as grateful to have me safe in his arms as I am his.
Our tongues tangle in a slow, sensual dance, our breaths mingling as I slowly run my hands over his broad chest and muscular shoulders. His calloused fingers brush down my spine, raising tingling goose bumps despite the warmth of the water.
And the heat that blossomed for him in my infirmary comes swelling back to life in full force.
“Make love to me,” I murmur, my stomach quivering with the intimacy of those words.
“Always,” he rumbles, his hands sliding down my curves to grasp my thighs.
And he hoists me effortlessly up around his hips as he steps toward the shower wall.
The cool tile against my bare skin makes me gasp, and my nipples harden from the immediate chill. Then Lance’s chest is pressing against mine, his steady warmth seeping into my skin and chasing away the cold.
“I don’t have a condom,” he rasps.
“I don’t care.” I want him inside me so desperately, we can think about protection later. It’s worth the risk. Because life’s too short to pass up moments like this.
With an agonized groan, Lance concedes, guiding his swollen tip to my entrance.
I can feel how wet and ready I am for him already. And as he eases one silken inch inside of me, I nearly come undone with the sinful pleasure of having no barrier between us.
“Oh my God,” I moan, quivering with the need for him to fill me.
And as he presses into my aching core, it feels like I’ve died and gone to heaven.
“You feel so. Damn. Good,” he groans against my lips, and he kisses me with renewed zeal, his tongue stroking deep between my lips.
I whimper, clinging to him as I enjoy the ride. His thick length slides slowly in and out of me, taking his time so I can enjoy every glorious inch. And somehow, this feels even more erotic than when he’s pounding inside of me, possessing my body with his masculine strength.
This is so sweet and emotional, it’s sensual beyond reason. And it sets my skin on fire. The soft droplets of water that drum down on us feel like gentle rain. And I imagine this is what it feels like to be in one of those romantic movies—where the hero and heroine reunite after years apart, only to get caught up in a storm.
Pleasure zings like crackling electricity up and down my spine. And every time Lance presses deep inside me, my hips find the shower wall with a dull thump. The sound of it is intensely erotic. And my pussy throbs, tightening around him as I climb rapidly toward my release.
All the while, the tingling bliss of feeling him raw inside me builds my anticipation. And a deep, instinctual thrill makes my stomach quiver. I can tell he feels the same as his muscles bunch and jump beneath my palms, straining to maintain control of himself when he could so easily come inside me.
And the desire to beg him to is almost irresistible.
I want to feel his hot cum filling me up.
I want to know what it feels like to have him possess me in every way imaginable.
I want to take all of him inside of me and carry his seed.
“Damn it, Quinn, you can’t talk like that,” he groans, shuddering against me as his hips jerk forward, his cock burying inside me to the hilt.
Belatedly, I realize I must have been saying my thoughts out loud, and I gasp. I must be near delirious I’m so sleep-deprived. And I bite my lip as I realize Lance is clinging on to the shreds of his self-restraint.
“Sorry,” I whisper against his neck. But I’m not entirely. Because I want him to know just how badly I need him, just how deeply I crave all he has to give.
“Don’t be sorry,” he murmurs, curling his fingers into the hair at my nape and tipping my head to meet his eyes. “I just don’t want you to say something you’ll regret after the heat of the moment.”
“I won’t regret it,” I promise. “I want all of you, Lance. Forever. If you want me.”