Chapter 80 – Quinton #2
“Too much?” I murmured against her lips.
“Not enough,” she said and pulled my shirt over my head.
I lifted her. She wrapped her legs around me, arms locking behind my neck, and I carried her down the hall toward the dining room, toward the table.
She knew where I was taking her. I felt the recognition pulse through the bond—heat and memory and want, all tangled together. I set her on the edge, and her thighs tightened around me, the heat of her pressing against me through our clothes.
I kissed her throat, her collarbone, then traced the edge of her shirt. My fingers worked the buttons one at a time while my mouth followed the skin I uncovered.
“Quin.” Her voice had gone breathless, her hips shifting against me.
“I’ve got you,” I murmured against her sternum. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Her shirt fell open. I pressed my mouth to the curve of her breast, kissed the skin there, making her shiver.
“Look at me,” I said quietly.
She did. Her blue eyes were wide and luminous, still shining with the aftermath of tears.
“You’re beautiful,” I told her, and meant it with every wrecked and mended part of me.
Something flickered across her face—disbelief, want, something fierce I didn’t have a name for yet. She pulled me down and kissed me.
We shed the rest in pieces—her trousers sliding off, my hands on every inch of skin I uncovered.
My own trousers followed, kicked away and forgotten.
I kept touching her, kept my mouth on her, because every time I pulled back, even for a second, her fingers dug into me harder. Like she was afraid I’d vanish.
I wasn’t going anywhere.
I settled between her thighs, pressed against her but not inside, and took my time. I kept my mouth at her neck while my hand slid down her stomach and between her legs, finding her wet and aching.
“So ready for me,” I murmured, as two fingers slid through her slowly. Her hips jerked, her thighs clenching around my wrist. My cock throbbed, but I held steady. “That’s it, Sweetheart. Let me feel you.”
She gasped, hips rocking into my hand, chasing more. I read her body—the way her breath hitched when I curled my fingers, the way her thighs tightened when I found the right angle, the sounds she made when I held it there.
“More,” she breathed.
“Patience.” I kissed her jaw. “I’ve waited weeks for this. I’m not rushing it.”
She let out a sound—something between a laugh and a moan—and her body softened under me; her legs widening, giving me everything.
I worked her with my fingers until she was trembling, until her nails were carving lines into my shoulders, until I could feel her teetering on the edge?—
“Not yet,” I said, and stilled my hand.
She whimpered. Actually whimpered. Her nails dug deeper. “Quin?—“
“Look at me.”
She did. Flushed, panting, and desperate.
“I need to hear you say it.”
Her eyes widened. She knew what I was asking.
“I want you,” she said, voice ragged. “I want you, Quin. Please.”
I kissed her deeply, pouring everything I’d held back for weeks into it, and pushed into her.
Slowly, inch by inch. The heat of her engulfed me, tight and slick, her body stretching to take me.
I gritted my teeth, fighting the urge to bury myself in one stroke, feeling every inch as I sank deeper until I was fully seated inside her.
We both went still. Her breath stuttered. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted, and I could feel the way she fluttered around me as her body adjusted and softened.
“Fuck,” I breathed, barely holding on. She was so tight, so warm, and I was already shaking. “You feel—Az, you feel?—“
“I know,” she whispered, eyes opening. Her hand cupped my jaw. “I know.”
I started slow. Long, deep strokes that let me feel every inch of her. I watched her face, read every hitch of her breath, every flutter of her lashes, and matched my pace to what her body told me.
“So good,” I murmured against her neck. “You’re so good, Sweetheart.”
Her fingers raked through my hair, pulling me closer. Her hips met mine, finding the pace together.
“Don’t stop talking,” she breathed.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” I kissed her jaw, her cheekbone, the corner of her mouth. “Missed this. Missed you. Every fucking day.”
Her breath hitched, and something raw flickered through her eyes—emotion she couldn’t hide, not this close.
I gripped her thigh, pulled her closer, and changed the angle. She cried out, back arching off the table, nails raking down my shoulders.
“There,” I growled, low and sure. “Right there. Give it to me.”
She was moaning now, broken, beautiful sounds that made my blood sing. I held the angle, kept the pace—steady and relentless—and poured everything I had into her.
“Come for me, Azaria.”
Her body clenched around me and through the attunement, her orgasm crashed into me like a wave, doubling my own pleasure until my vision whited out.
She gasped, shuddering, and I kissed her through it, swallowing every sound, my hands firm on her hips, my pace never faltering until she melted beneath me, boneless and trembling.
Only then did I let go. I buried myself deep and came apart inside her, groaning against her mouth, her aftershocks still rippling through me, pulling me under.
She was quiet beneath me. Quiet in that way that only came after something cataclysmic. My chest pressed against hers. My lips rested against her cheekbone. Her arms were loose around my back. I was still inside her, softening but not gone.
I could feel the slow pulse of her body still holding me, like she wasn’t ready to let go either.
Neither was I.
I shifted enough to look at her and brushed the sweat-damp hair from her face. She was glowing. I kissed her again, gently, letting the quiet gratitude in me speak through the touch. I eased out of her carefully. She winced slightly, and I caught her hip, steadying her.
“Stay,” I murmured.
She let out a lazy exhale and lifted her leg slightly. She knew. I looked down where we’d been joined. Our release had already started to slip from her, glistening against her inner thighs.
My breath caught. Mine. Hers. Us.
I dropped between her thighs. I leaned in and kissed her, slow and gentle.
I used my lips more than my tongue. I wasn’t trying to make her come again, not yet.
I was tasting her, tasting us, adoring her.
Her hand fell into my hair with the softest encouragement.
I pulled her leg over my shoulder and sank deeper, nuzzling into the curve of her hip. She shivered.
“You’re still inside me,” she murmured, voice hushed and full of awe.
I smiled against her skin. “I know.”
I flattened my tongue and dragged it upward with slow pressure, then swirled over her clit before starting again. Her legs shifted wider. Her hips tilted, offering more. Her breath deepened.
I kept my pace lazy and worshipful. Matched the rhythm of her body, the way her hips rocked, the way her fingers tightened and loosened in my hair.
Her body began to tremble, not with anything wild or frantic, but with surrender. And when it came—when her thighs twitched, her breath caught, and her whole body stilled for a heartbeat before it broke—it was silent. Her hand in my hair tightened. Her whole body arched. And she melted softly.
“Quin...”
I stayed with her through it, lips soft against hers, not rushing. She exhaled like she hadn’t breathed for hours.
I kissed my way up—her knee, her hip, her stomach, her sternum. I didn’t wipe my mouth. Didn’t care. Because I wanted her to taste it.
She watched me climb over her, eyes glassy, body limp. I hovered above her and dipped low to kiss her. Our mouths met, and the moment her tongue flicked out—the moment she tasted herself on me—something shifted in her. There was a dark, satisfied heat in her eyes.
She broke the kiss, then her hand came up, fingers brushing my jaw.
This time she leaned in not to kiss, but to lick.
Her tongue dragged slowly across my lower lip, caught the wetness there, then lower to my chin.
She licked it from my skin like it belonged to her, slow and deliberate, then let out a soft hum.
Fuck.
“Still sweet,” she whispered, voice smoky-soft. And she kissed me again, deeper now, tasting everything: herself, me, us.
Before I could move, her fingers pressed lightly to my shoulder and pushed.
I obeyed, rolling onto my back with her still tangled against me.
Somewhere in the heat of it, we’d ended up on the floor instead of the table, but neither of us cared.
She shifted, threw one leg over my hips, and settled over me, straddling me fully.
Her sex was slick and hot against me. And the look in her eyes?—
Calm. Feral. Focused. She wasn’t asking.
My hands settled on her thighs. She leaned down, palms braced on my chest, eyes locked on mine.
“Never lie to me again,” she whispered.
My heart stuttered, but I didn’t look away. I wrapped my arms around her waist, kissed the edge of her jaw, and whispered right back:
“Never shut me out again.”
She kissed me once more—a slow, open-mouthed kiss that sealed our words. When she took me inside her again, there was nothing tentative about either of us.
Azaria settled on my chest, her breath evening out, her fingers drawing slow, lazy circles against my ribs.
No more rage.
No more noise.
Us.
For a long time, neither of us spoke. We just breathed and existed in the same space without walls between us. Then her voice, soft against my chest: “What happens now?”
I brushed my fingers through her hair. “Now? We figure it out. Together.”
“Together,” she echoed, like she was testing the word.
“No more running. No more hiding.” I tilted her chin up and made her look at me. “We fight for this. Every day if we have to.”
Her eyes shone. “Every day.”
I kissed her forehead and pulled her closer.
“Every day, Sweetheart.”
She curled into me, her body warm and solid against mine, and for the first time in weeks?—
I could breathe.