19. Nineteen
Nineteen
Quinn
The morning unfolds like a dream, the kind I shouldn’t let myself have. Jasmine’s face lights up at every animal exhibit, even though she’s too young to truly understand what she’s seeing. What she does understand is that she’s with both of us, and she’s practically glowing with happiness.
So am I, if I’m honest.
Vince stays close as we walk, his hand finding the small of my back whenever we stop to look at something. Each touch sends electricity through my body, and I know he feels it, too. I catch him watching me instead of the animals more than once, his eyes hidden behind expensive aviators but his intent clear enough.
“The tigers are beautiful,” I say, trying to focus on anything but the heat of his body next to mine.
“Hmm.” His thumb traces a small circle on my back. “I prefer the view right here.”
I roll my eyes, but I can’t help smiling. “That line work on all the groupies?”
“Wouldn’t know. Haven’t used a line in months.” His voice drops lower. “Haven’t wanted to.”
Before I can process that, Jasmine squeals and points at the tiger padding past the fence. Her excitement has the other visitors smiling at her obvious delight.
“Such a beautiful family,” an elderly woman says, beaming at us. “Would you like me to take your picture?”
I start to correct her, but Vince is already handing her his phone. He pulls me closer, and suddenly, we’re posed like the family she thinks we are—Vince’s arm around my waist, me holding Jasmine, who’s still captivated by the tiger. The woman takes several shots, cooing about how photogenic we are.
“Thank you,” Vince says, retrieving his phone. His hand finds mine as we walk to the next exhibit, and I let him keep it. It feels... right. It’s as dangerous as the tigers we just saw, but right.
The morning continues like this—moments of pure joy watching Jasmine discover the animals, punctuated by these charged moments between Vince and me. When I hand him Jasmine’s bottle, our fingers brush. It’s like we’re magnetized, constantly aware of each other’s presence.
By lunchtime, Jasmine’s starting to fade. The Palm Plaza Café is busy, but Vince finds us a quiet table. He’s been surprisingly good about avoiding attention, though I’ve noticed a few double-takes from passersby.
“I’ll get our food,” he says, adjusting his sunglasses. “Okay, girls?”
My heart stutters at the casual possession in his voice. I shouldn’t let him say things like that. I shouldn’t let myself want to be one of his ‘girls.’
Jasmine falls asleep in her stroller shortly after finishing her bottle, worn out from all the excitement. Vince watches her for a long moment, something vulnerable crossing his face.
“Now that I have emergency custody,” he says quietly. “My lawyer wants to start proceedings to terminate Daisy’s rights completely.”
I reach across the table, squeezing his hand. “That’s good, right?”
“Yeah. But...” He takes off his sunglasses, and I see the worry in his eyes. “There’s so much that could go wrong. What if she shows up and fights it? What if I mess up? Being responsible for another human being—it’s frightening.”
“You’re doing great with her,” I say softly.
“Thanks.” He turns his hand over, threading our fingers together. “Quinn, about the other night—“
“You don’t have to—“
“Yes, I do.” He leans forward, intense. “I’m sorry for what I said—how it sounded. It’s just... this thing between us? It scares the hell out of me. Not because it’s casual—because it’s not. It hasn’t been casual for a long time.”
My breath catches. “Vince...”
“I know I can’t make promises right now. Not with everything unsettled with Jasmine and her mother. But I like you. Not just...” he gestures between us, “the obvious attraction. I like how you challenge me and how you see through the fame.”
“I want to see where this goes,” he continues. “If you’re willing to be patient with me while I figure out how to be a father and... whatever else I might be.”
Before I can respond, Jasmine stirs and whimpers. The moment breaks, but something has shifted between us.
We spend the afternoon at the Giraffe Outlook, where Jasmine wakes up fully to watch the feeding demonstration. She’s fascinated by the tall, majestic beasts, giggling every time a giraffe’s long tongue reaches for the offered leaves.
“We should get her something to remember them,” Vince says as we head toward the gift shop. His hand finds mine again, natural as breathing. “Since she probably won’t remember the actual day.”
We end up choosing a plush giraffe and a matching onesie, both of us grinning at how perfect they are.
“You’ll have to bring her back when she’s older,” I say as we walk toward the exit. “When she can really appreciate it.”
Vince’s hand tightens on mine. “Only if you’ll come with us?”
“Maybe.” I look up at him, feeling brave. “If you’re lucky.”
“I’m feeling very lucky today.” His response is both arrogant and tender—pure Vince Savage, the man who drives me crazy in every possible way.
Jasmine babbles from her stroller, clutching her new giraffe toy. The sun is setting, casting everything in golden light, and I let myself imagine more days like this.
The drive back is peaceful, just the soft pulse of the radio and Jasmine’s quiet breathing from the backseat. When Vince’s hand finds mine across the console, I try to ignore how natural it feels, how his thumb tracing across my knuckles sends shivers down my spine.
“We should drop Jasmine at the house,” he says quietly. “Grace is there.”
I nod, watching the city lights paint shadows across his face. The transfer is quick and quiet—Jasmine doesn’t stir as Vince carries her inside.
The drive to my apartment feels charged, but we both stay silent. This is just a nice ending to a perfect day. Nothing more.
At my door, I turn to thank him, determined to say a quick goodnight. He steps closer, and my pulse quickens.
“Quinn.” Just my name, but the way he says it makes my knees weak.
The kiss is sweet and gentle—everything a goodnight kiss should be. His hand cups my cheek, and I let myself lean into it. When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against mine, his eyes searching my face like he’s memorizing every detail.
His thumb traces my bottom lip, and I see him fighting for control. “If I kiss you again, I won’t be able to leave.” He lets out a ragged breath. “And today was supposed to be about spending time together, getting to know each other properly.”
“Properly,” I agree, even as my body screams at me to pull him closer.
He takes my hand, pressing a kiss to my palm that’s somehow more intimate than the kiss we just shared. “Goodnight, Quinn.”
With visible reluctance, he turns and starts down the steps.
I fumble with my keys, trying to ignore how cold I feel without him close, when a thunderous crash from inside my apartment shatters the quiet night. The sound echoes through the door, and before I can even process what’s happening, Vince is back up the steps in two strides, positioning himself in front of me.
“Give me your keys,” he says in a voice that’s low and tense.
My hands shake slightly as I hand them over. Vince tests the door—it’s still locked, which is both reassuring and concerning. Whatever made that sound is already in my apartment.
He unlocks the door with careful precision, easing it open just enough to peer inside. The apartment is dark except for the ambient light from the street lamps filtering through my windows. Shadows stretch across my living room floor, and for a moment, everything is absolutely still.
Another smaller clatter breaks the silence. Vince’s body tenses, but he pushes the door open wider, reaching one hand back to keep me behind him. We step into the apartment together, and I hold my breath as he feels along the wall for the light switch.
The overhead light floods the room, revealing...
Luna, my impossibly smug cat, perched on the windowsill beside my overturned metal coat rack. Various jackets and scarves are strewn across the floor, and my umbrella has rolled halfway under the couch. The crash had echoed off the walls, making it sound much worse than it was.
We both laugh with relief. “Let me get that,” I say, bending to right the fallen coat rack. My t-shirt rides up, revealing a strip of bare skin above my jeans. I hear Vince’s sharp intake of breath behind me.
When I turn around, his eyes are dark, fixed on where my shirt is still twisted up slightly on one side. The door clicks shut behind us with quiet finality, and the air in the room suddenly feels electric.
Gone is any trace of the gentleman who’d kissed me goodnight. This is pure, unleashed Vince Savage—raw sexuality personified. He stalks toward me with predatory grace.
Before I know it, he’s got me pressed up against the wall as his hand slides into my hair, gripping just tight enough to make me gasp as he tilts my head back. “Last chance to stop this,” he growls, his other hand burning through my shirt at my waist. “Because once I start, I won’t be able to—“
My answer is to arch against him, drawing a guttural sound from deep in his throat. His mouth crashes down on mine, desperate and demanding. There’s nothing gentle about this kiss—it’s all teeth and tongue and pent-up need. He presses closer, pinning me with his hips, and I whimper at the hard length of him pressed against me.
“Christ, the sounds you make,” he groans, dragging his lips down my throat. His teeth scrape my pulse point, and my knees buckle. “I’ve dreamed about this—about being inside you—“ His hand slides under my shirt, callused fingers tracing up my ribs. “Tell me you want this.”
“Please,” I manage in a whimper, pulling him urgently closer. “Vince, please…”
With devastating expertise, he has my pants and t-shirt on the floor in a matter of seconds. He doesn’t stop—doesn’t even slow down until my silk bra and matching panties lay in a crumpled heap beside us. The only thing keeping me warm is the heat of his gaze as he rakes his eyes down my nude body. I see a slight twist of his lips as he murmurs, “A true redhead,” before his lips take mine in another soul-destroying kiss.
Suddenly he lifts me, pressing me further up the hard wall, and I’m only vaguely aware of the sound of his zipper as he frees his engorged cock. Glancing down, my throat goes dry at the size of him. He’s big—very big—and a shudder courses through me as I feel his jean roughened thigh slides between my legs. His hands settle around my waist to hold me in place as he continues to slide his thigh up and down, rubbing against my already aching core. My feet aren’t touching the floor as he keeps me suspended above him.
His brilliant green eyes bore into me as he watches my reaction. As he presses up one more time and then purposely rubs against me, I shiver and have to close my eyes from his intense, hot, burning gaze.
I’m lost in a sea of sensation as he shifts, and his broad hand slides between my thighs. His knee pushing my legs wider apart.
“You’re wet for me, Red.” His voice is gruff with satisfaction as a calloused finger finds my core, and he pushes up inside. I gasp as he deliberately pushes in another digit, filling me, stretching me, scissoring his fingers in a way that leaves me craving more. He continues to work me, finger fucking me there against my apartment wall as he takes his sweet time. Slowly bringing me to the crest of satisfaction and then backing off.
When he does it deliberately a second time, my eyes fly open to find him watching me. The intensity of his green gaze challenging me. Without thinking, I react. Reaching out, I grab his dark hair and pull him towards me, close, so close that my lips touch his. I open my mouth, and my teeth find his full lower lip. Closing around it, I bite down, not hard enough to draw blood but hard enough to get his attention. I feel his smug smile in response. My hands find their way under his t-shirt to his bare back, and I dig in.
His grin turns wicked as he murmurs, “So, the kitten has claws.”
I am briefly aware of the sound of a foil packet being opened, and then he sheaths himself before his mouth is again on mine. Once he raises his head, his hands lift me higher, bringing me down until I’m impaled by his hard, long cock as it fills me completely.
The fullness of him steals my breath. He pauses, and after an intense moment, his hands around my waist lift me again. He pulls me down against him simultaneously as he surges up. It’s wild and rough, and I’ve never experienced anything so raw, sexual, and compelling—as he roughly takes me against the wall. Never stopping, never slowing until I call out his name sharply as I quake in his arms, my orgasm coming swift and hard—hard enough that I may have blacked out for just a minute.
He gives a hoarse shout as well as he thrusts into me one more time, and then he relaxes against me, spent.