Chapter 23
23
A rms wrap around me from behind, followed by a spicy citrus scent—Quinn. I was worried they’d treat me differently after I told them about my life in the Covenant. They haven’t. If anything, over the past couple of weeks, we’ve grown closer, falling into an easy intimacy. The more we learn about each other, the tighter-knit we become.
“Want to get out of here and go for a ride?” Quinn asks. “Maybe in more ways than one?” He laughs when I swat at him.
“Where are we going?”
He smirks and tosses me over his shoulder with far too much ease. “You’ll just have to wait and see,” he says, punctuating it with a sharp slap to my ass. I yelp, but the sound only makes him laugh harder.
It’s like they can’t help themselves. I’ve lost count of how many times one of them has tossed me around like this—flipped, manhandled, dominated. And nearly every time, a spank follows, like instinct. Like they can’t resist reminding me where I belong—and who I belong to.
Men.
He sets me down and hands me a helmet before grabbing one for himself. Choosing a sleek black and green bike, he swings a leg over to straddle it. I adjust the helmet, and he checks to make sure it’s secure before I climb on behind him. I’ve never ridden one of these before, but I swallow my anxiety and grip tight, determined not to show it.
The rumble of the motorcycle echoes through the garage, vibrating through me as Quinn revs the engine. He glances over his shoulder, and I imagine his grin is as wide as ever.
“Ready for some fresh air, sweetheart?” His voice crackles through the speaker system in our helmets.
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” I respond, trying to muster as much confidence as I can.
“Hold on tight,” he says, his voice dripping with mischief.
I wrap my arms around his waist as he kicks the bike into gear. The moment we leave the tunnel, the rush of wind hits me—cool and sharp against my skin. The bike roars down the winding road, the trees blurring into a swirl of reds and oranges on either side. My heart races, not with fear as I expected, but with exhilaration. It’s freeing, and I wonder if this is what a bird feels like when it’s flying.
After what feels like no time at all, Quinn slows the bike, veering onto a narrow dirt path that cuts through the autumn-hued woods. He parks in a small clearing surrounded by towering trees. Scattered around us are targets—some made of straw, others simple painted wood—their surfaces scarred by regular use
“I come here when I need to clear my head,” Quinn says, cutting the engine and swinging off the bike. He holds out a hand to help me dismount. “And, you know, to throw sharp objects at things.”
I laugh, shaking my head as I take his hand. “Of course it is.”
With our helmets off—he has to help me with mine, and yes, it’s embarrassing—he pulls a set of throwing knives from a leather pouch strapped to the bike. Twirling one between his fingers with practiced ease, he asks, “You ever thrown a knife before?”
“Not unless you count butter knives, and even then, it was more of a drop than a throw,” I admit, my cheeks heating.
I’d been young—maybe ten or eleven—and had somehow managed to fumble the knife while slicing a tab of butter from the dish. Father punished me for my clumsiness, reminding me what a disappointment I was.
He chuckles, handing me one of the blades. “Well, you’re in luck. I’m an excellent teacher. Plus, there are perks for good students,” he says, winking.
“Oh, I know all about your perks,” I reply sarcastically.
“That’s what you think.” He wiggles his brows suggestively, making me laugh.
Quinn walks me through the basics—grip, stance, and the proper way to release the knife. I mimic his movements, the weight of the blade unfamiliar in my hand. My first throw doesn’t even reach the target.
“Try again, and put some of that rage simmering underneath all that sweetness into it.”
I do, and the knife strikes the target with a thud, the handle hitting first. The third throw finally hits and sticks, wobbling awkwardly before falling to the ground.
“I did it!” I yell, throwing my hands up in celebration before clapping with excitement. All I had to do was imagine the target was Josiah’s face.
Imagine that.
“Not bad for a beginner,” Quinn says, his grin easy. “Try again.”
I do, making a few adjustments to my grip and stance like he suggested. The knife lands with a solid thunk, just outside the painted circle, but it doesn’t fall. A rush of pride warms my chest.
“There you go!” Quinn picks me up and spins me around, sounding just as excited as I am, sending me into a fit of giggles. “See? You’ve got it.”
I keep practicing, throw after throw, while Quinn leans against a nearby tree, watching me with a thoughtful expression. “Sometimes it feels like it wasn’t that long ago I was learning all of this, excited for our first mission. But other times, it feels like it’s been a lifetime,” he says suddenly, his tone light but tinged with nostalgia.
I glance over at him, curious. “What was your first one like?”
“Horrible,” he says, laughing.
“How so?”
“We almost blew it,” he admits, his signature smirk on full display. “We were so cocky—thought we were invincible. It was supposed to be simple: infiltrate, take out the target, get out. But we underestimated how many guards there’d be.”
“What went wrong?” I ask, stepping aside as he picks up a knife to demonstrate a throw.
“Everything,” he says, the knife striking dead center with a satisfying thunk. “Beck got clipped by a stray bullet, Whit got grazed, and I dislocated my shoulder trying to climb a fence I had no business climbing—not to mention all the knife wounds we took.” He pulls up his shirt and points to a rough scar on his abdomen. “This one wound up being a real pain.”
I wince. “That sounds… awful.”
“Oh, it was,” he says, his grin widening. “We managed to complete the mission, but by the time we got out, we were a mess. That’s when we learned how to do more than basic first aid. Whit had to pop my shoulder back into place, and we spent the next day stitching each other up.”
“By each other, you mean stitching you up?” I ask, grinning.
“Listen to that cheek!” he cries, miming being stabbed in the heart.
I throw another knife, and it lands closer to the center this time—like an inch closer, but whatever. Quinn nods approvingly.
“As bad as it was, that mission taught us a lot,” he says. “Like not letting overconfidence cloud our judgment.”
“And maybe plan a little better?” I tease, making us both smile.
He’s quiet for a moment and then says, “Mostly, it taught us that we could rely on each other, no matter how bad things got.”
“You’ve been through a lot together,” I say softly. “It’s made you into a family.”
“Yeah,” he agrees, his grin softening as he wraps his arms around me from behind. “And now we’ve got you, too. You’re part of this family, Celest. We might’ve had to literally drag you into it kicking and screaming—I also believe there was something about vampires as well—but we’re not us without you.”
“Hey!” I cry spinning in his arms—they’ll never let me live that down. Quinn finally made me watch Twilight so that I could understand his “skin of a killer” reference. The whole watching-her-while-she-slept thing was creepy, but then again, my guys hunted me in a terrifying game of hide-and-seek.
I probably shouldn’t be one to judge.
“There’s no getting away from us now. We’ll just drag you right back. I think Beck might’ve gotten off on the whole ‘kicking and screaming’ thing.”
“Do you promise?” I ask, smiling up at him.
He grabs me gently by the chin and holds me in place. “You’re ours, Celest, and we take very good care of what belongs to us.” His mouth crashes into mine. His kiss is frenzied, much like the man himself, and I let myself get lost in his lips. One hand grips my hair while the other finds its way under my shirt, working its way up my back to pull me flush against him.
With a growl, he slides both hands down my body, grabs the hem of my shirt, and yanks it off. My jeans and underwear follow, joining the shirt in a pile on the ground in record time. In just a few minutes, he has me completely naked while he’s still fully dressed. Before I can say anything, he lifts me, carrying me to the bike and placing me on the seat.
He takes a step back and looks at me. “Fuck, sweetheart, lean back and spread your legs a little for me.” I feel heat in my cheeks as I do what he asks, bracing one hand behind me. “Just as I thought, already dripping. Touch yourself. I want to watch you make yourself come.”
It’s still something I haven’t explored that often—then again, when you belong to three men, you’re never left wanting.
Tentatively, I drop my hand to my center, finding my clit. I force myself to think, getting more comfortable with my new vocabulary every day. I apply pressure, circling it slowly, and gasp at the sharp jolt of pleasure.
“Slide a finger in,” he commands, squatting until he’s eye level with my center—or… well, whatever I’m supposed to call it. He groans as he watches my finger glide in and out. “Add another one, and tell me how it feels.”
“It feels,” I start as I add the second finger. “Tight. It feels tight and wet… and…” a moan rips out of me, stealing my thoughts for a moment. “Good, God, it feels so good.”
“Are you going to make yourself come for me?” I nod, alternating between circling my clit and sliding my fingers in and out as the tension builds inside me. “That’s it, sweetheart, show me how fuckin sexy you are when you come. God, I can’t wait to bury my cock in that sopping wet pussy.” His words send me over the edge, and I feel myself clamp down around my fingers.
Quinn stands in front of me, belt already undone. He quickly unbuttons his pants and then grabs my hand, still coated in the evidence of my pleasure, and sucks my fingers into his mouth. He slowly pulls them out with a pop, grinning wildly at me.
“You taste too good to let it go to waste,” he says as he grabs me and yanks me forward. His grip on my hips and my forearms on the seat are the only things keeping me from falling as he drives into me, thrusting hard and fast.
“You feel so fucking good. Do you hear how wet you are for me?” he asks as the sound of our bodies collide together in a wet slap, sounding even louder in the middle of this quiet forest.
“Y-yes. Oh, god. Please—” I fly even higher, edging closer to another decadent plunge.
“Fuck, Celest,” he groans. “I feel your cunt fluttering around me. Let me have it, sweetheart. Come for me.”
A few more thrusts and I shatter, crying out his name. He follows not long after, and I feel the warmth of his release inside me. Bringing his forehead against mine, neither one of us moves while we catch our breaths.
“I fucking love that, the entire drive back, I’ll be leaking out of you while you’re pressed up against me.” He flashes one of those wicked grins as he puts himself away and grabs my clothes. I reach for them, but he pulls them just out of reach.
“Quinn!”
“It’s my night to have you in my bed. I just want to let you know I plan on filling you with my come multiple times tonight.” He gives me my clothes and then leans in so that his mouth is next to my ear, his voice low when he says, “And the last time I do, I’m going to fall asleep while still inside you and stay there the rest of the night. Then, when morning comes, I can wake up fucking you.”
His words leave me speechless with anticipation. I stand there, holding my clothes, still naked, my jaw practically on the floor. He kisses my cheek, then walks around me, whistling like he didn’t just say the filthiest thing. He picks up the helmets that had fallen to the ground, puts his on, and once I’m dressed, helps me into mine. Then he waits for me to climb on behind him before starting the engine.
I hold on tight, and without another word, he takes off down the path, getting us back onto the main road. Just like he said, I feel him leaking out of me the whole way back, and I can’t wait for him to keep his promise tonight. My core clenches at the thought. He must have some idea of what I’m thinking, because he reaches back with one hand and squeezes my thigh, his laugh filtering through the speakers.
His laugh makes everything feel a little lighter—even if it sounds a bit feral at times. I’m not sure what this feeling is that’s growing between all of us, but I have a pretty good idea. Every day, I fall harder for them—harder than I thought possible.
Maybe I’ve already fallen.