Chapter 6 #3
Avery had already changed into cotton pajama shorts and an oversized Women Who Code sweatshirt.
Lipstick gone. Hair in a messy bun. A vindictive clay mask drying on her cheeks.
They sprawled across her living room, blankets everywhere, Taylor Swift low on a Bluetooth speaker, the soft buzz of wine and sugar weaving through the air.
“I’m just saying,” Noella declared from the floor, gesturing with her spoon, “if a woman who looked like that came into my office, I would not be making rational decisions.”
“She pretended she didn’t know me,” Avery shot back from the couch, wine glass in one hand, pint of cookie dough in the other. “Like we didn’t spend the entire night defiling every surface of a very expensive hotel suite.”
“She compartmentalized,” Gabby said with a shrug, adjusting the blanket over her legs. “You’ve done the same. It’s how you survive when business gets personal.”
“Do not put me in the same category as her,” Avery grumbled into her wine glass.
Natalie, sitting cross-legged at the end of the couch, raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t you literally bend her over a velvet ottoman and make her beg?”
“I hate that you know that,” Avery muttered, dragging a pillow over her face.
“You told me,” Natalie reminded her calmly, smirking as she reached for a grape. “On a FaceTime call where you were literally spiraling.”
Gabby leaned over from her spot beside Avery and clinked her glass against hers. “It’s good for business to let her see the company up close. Even if it’s just a formality.”
“Take off your ‘COO hat’ and put on your ‘best friend hat,’ please,” Avery said, pushing the pillow aside. “Be on my side.”
Gabby sighed dramatically, drained the rest of her wine, and said flatly, “Fine. She’s hot. And she sucks.”
“Thank you,” Avery said immediately.
“But also she’s very hot,” Gabby added, lifting her glass for emphasis.
Avery groaned and buried her face back in the pillow. “Why are you all the worst?”
“Because you’re in love with a tall, cold vulture and don’t want to admit it,” Noella sing-songed from the rug.
“I am not in love with her,” Avery said, sitting up straight. “I barely know her. I just hate how good she looks in pantsuits and how she moans when I tell her to come.”
It was silent for a moment. Natalie blinked slowly, then said, “Wow. That sentence had more emotional whiplash than a telenovela.”
By eleven-thirty the wine was gone, the ice cream was soup, and everyone was gathering their things. Hugs. Promises of brunch. More than a few parting jokes about ‘Lilith—by Halo’ that earned a thrown pillow.
When the door clicked shut, quiet settled. Avery stood in the middle of her living room for a long moment, the buzz of wine fading into something restless and sharp. She wasn’t tired. She wasn’t calm. She was angry, burning, wired, and unsatisfied.
She tried to tell herself to go to bed and sleep. To let it go. To not think about Quinn’s mouth, Quinn’s voice, the way she’d looked across the table that afternoon in that navy suit like nothing could touch her. But she couldn’t.
By midnight, Avery was in her bedroom, pacing. Then sitting. Then standing again. Every logical part of her brain said don’t. Every other part of her said do it.
At 12:17, she stopped arguing with herself.
She stripped out of her sweatshirt and pulled on a short robe.
It was silky, black, something she didn’t wear to bed so much as for effect.
Underneath, black lace underwear. No bra.
Her pulse was loud in her ears as she pulled on a coat and grabbed her keys.
The city was slick and half asleep by the time Avery reached Quinn’s hotel. Rain struck the windshield of the cab, each drop catching the red of a traffic light as if the whole world were pulsing with warnings, she ignored every one of them.
Her heart hadn’t calmed once since she left her apartment.
Not during the drive, not when she paid the cab her fare, not even in the elevator ride up to the seventeenth floor.
By the time the doors slid open, she was trembling, not from fear, but from too much adrenaline, too much wanting she couldn’t name without hating herself for it.
The hallway smelled faintly of detergent and money. Soft carpet. Polished brass. Suite 1706. Her knuckles hit the door before she had time to second-guess. Then Footsteps. A pause. Then the latch clicked.
Quinn stood in the doorway barefoot, hair damp from a shower, wearing black sleep pants and a tank that clung to the lines of her shoulders. Her expression flickered from surprise to something, heavier.
“Avery.” Her voice was low and rough. “It’s after midnight.”
Avery didn’t answer. She stepped inside. The air between them changed, charged now, it felt alive. She didn’t stop until Quinn had to move back to make room. The door shut behind her.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Quinn said quietly.
“Then tell me to leave,” Avery said, voice thick.
Quinn’s throat worked, but no words came.
Avery’s robe was still belted, the silk damp against her skin from the rain. She reached up, untied the knot, and let it slide down her arms until it pooled soundlessly at her feet. Black lace caught the light.
Quinn’s gaze dropped, then snapped back up to her face, jaw tightening. “Avery.”
“You want to walk into my office looking like that,” Avery said, voice steady, low, dangerous.
Quinn blinked. “Like what?”
Avery stepped closer until there was barely a breath between them. “So fucking sexy,” she said. “Talking like that. It’s infuriating. It’s hot as hell. And I’m here to do something about it.”
Her pulse was pounding in her throat. The words came out like a dare.
For a moment, Quinn didn’t move. Something in her eyes wavered, the cool composure she wore slipped for just a second. Then, quietly, she said, “You don’t mean that.”
“Try me,” Avery whispered.
The space between them disappeared. Her hand brushed Quinn’s collarbone, intentional and steady. “Take your clothes off.”
Quinn’s breath hitched, barely audible. She stood perfectly still for one suspended heartbeat, then obeyed. First, the tank. Then, the sleep pants. The sound of fabric sliding over skin was the only thing between them.
When she looked up again, her expression had changed control stripped away, replaced with something raw, wanting, looking like she’d decided not to fight it.
Avery stepped closer, her fingertips tracing the edge of Quinn’s jaw. “That’s better,” she said softly.
Quinn caught her wrist, not to stop her, but to steady herself. “You came here to win an argument?”
“I came here,” Avery murmured, “because I can’t stop thinking about you.”
Silence. Heavy. Breathless. Then Quinn’s voice, lower still. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet, you’re still standing here,” Avery said, lips curving.
That broke whatever restraint was left.
Quinn’s hand slid to the back of Avery’s neck, pulling her in.
The kiss crashed between them, clumsy with everything they hadn’t said in conference rooms and phone calls, anger, attraction, surrender.
Avery met it with equal force, her hands flattening against Quinn’s chest, feeling the heartbeat that betrayed her calm.
When they pulled apart, both were breathing hard, foreheads nearly touching.
“This doesn’t fix anything,” Quinn said.
“I don’t want to fix it,” Avery replied. “I just want you.”
“I just want you.” Quinn said, quiet and wrecked.
Before Quinn could answer, Avery kissed her with intention, full of everything she’d been holding back since that conference room. Quinn made a low sound, half-surprised, half-hungry, and Avery swallowed it with another kiss.
Her hands roamed possessive in the way they traced the line of Quinn’s shoulders, her ribs, the back of her neck. She pulled her closer until the air between them was nothing but shared breath.
Quinn tried to speak, but Avery caught her lip between her teeth, tugging just enough to make her gasp. “Don’t talk,” Avery murmured against her mouth. “Just listen.”
Quinn’s head tipped back, eyes fluttering. Avery’s mouth found the curve of her throat, kissing her there, letting the warmth of her breath linger.
“You don’t get to walk into my life like that,” Avery said softly, her voice low and dangerous, “and then act like it didn’t happen.”
Quinn’s breath hitched. “Avery—”
“Say it,” Avery cut her off, hands sliding up to frame her jaw. “Say you’re mine tonight.”
Quinn hesitated, her control flickering in her eyes. “You don’t own me.”
Avery’s smile was wicked. “Didn’t ask if I owned you. I said tonight.”
Quinn’s heartbeat was visible at her throat. “Yours,” she breathed finally, the word trembling out of her.
Avery kissed her again, deeper this time, rewarding the surrender with heat that left Quinn unsteady.
“That’s better,” Avery whispered. Her fingers tangled in Quinn’s hair, guiding her closer, every kiss more, until Quinn’s composure shattered in her hands.
Quinn’s hands found Avery’s waist, gripping but not leading, letting Avery set the pace. Avery kissed her again, then pressed her forehead to hers. “You feel that?” she whispered. “That’s mine.”
Quinn’s eyes opened, dark and glassy. “You’re impossible.”
Avery’s smile curved, all challenge and need. “Then stop trying to resist.”
Another kiss that left them both shaking by the time they broke apart. Quinn’s breath came fast; Avery’s hands stayed firm on her hips, grounding her.
“For tonight,” Avery murmured, voice rough, “you’re mine.”
And Quinn whispered, voice shaking just slightly, “Then take what’s already yours.”
The room went silent again except for the sound of them breathing each other in, both knowing exactly where the night was heading, and neither pretending they wanted it to stop.
Avery didn’t give Quinn time to think.