Page 63 of Ash and Roses

“Keep going,” I pant, only just keeping myself from writhing in search of release.

He kisses me there, but then lifts his head once more. That smirk on his face has never angered me more.

“I want to hear you, Stabby.”

“Quinn, please,” I moan, and I can’t believe he’s making me beg. As if to reward me, the sucking and flicking of his tongue returns. It’s wet and warm and wonderful, and my legs begin to tremble. “Don’t stop. Don’t—” I cry a release.

“That’s my girl,” he says. His girl? I don’t even bother to correct him. That was too good. I can be his girl for the night.

“Take off your pants,” I demand, not having nearly had my fill of him.

He’s all too happy to obey as he frees himself and then slams inside me, his hips moving with the rhythm of the music I can still faintly hear drifting from downstairs. I move to match him, and for a few blissful moments, we are the music.

I urge him over, and reading my cues perfectly, he flips us so that I’m on top—not even an ounce of hesitation to relinquish control to me. I move with him, testing and teasing until I find the right rhythm. When his breath hitches, I know I’ve found it.

I mimic his words. “I want to hear you.”

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he groans through clenched teeth. He reaches up to put his hands on my hips, and I let him because I want to feel him everywhere. They slip lower, squeezing greedily at my backside, and I never want this moment to end. I feel so full with him inside me, all traces of numb emptiness gone. It’s just him and I, and nothing else matters.

I move faster and faster until all he can do is shout my name with the force of his climax. I ride the wave with him, feeling him spill into me as I gasp for air and then collapse onto him.

He’s breathing hard, but eventually he finds the presence of mind to speak. “Sorry about your dress. I liked that one.”

“I have no regrets.”

CHAPTERTHIRTY-FOUR

ABBY

Asoft sound wakes me. I roll over to find Quinn in a deep sleep beside me, more at peace than I’ve ever seen him. Whatever happened between us last night seems to have been monumental for both of us. Seeing him like this—so at ease and untroubled—sends a flutter through my heart. It might just be the bond, but… I might actually find myself loving this man one day if I’m not careful.

I hear the sound again—a soft knock on the door—and slip out of the bed to answer it. I have to hold up what remains of my dress to cover my chest as long tendrils of loose fabric fall around me. He really did a number on this. I’d been so caught up in the moment last night that I didn’t even realize.

When I peek through the door, I find Tess holding a tray of food and a single teacup. “Good morning,” she whispers, likely assuming Quinn is still fast asleep. “I’ve brought you both some food.”

Both. So she knew I spent the night here. How loud were we last night? We weren’t exactly trying to be quiet, but if she heard us… She’s waiting for an answer, so I launch into one. “Thank you.” I reach for the tray, but the front of my dress falls. I catch it before it reveals too much, but by the purse of her lips, I know she saw it.

“The tea is for you. Drink all of it. It will keep your womb from quickening.” I’ve never needed a tea for that. In Lunae, I was so malnourished that getting pregnant was never a concern, but here I’m like an entirely different person. At least Tess was thinking, because I might have been in real trouble otherwise. She must sense my hesitation, because she adds, “Unless you want—”

I cut her off before she can finish that thought and all but rip the tray from her hands. “No! No, I’ll drink it. Thank you.”

The great thing about Tess is that she knows when not to linger. She may be the most meddlesome person I’ve ever met, but once her job is done, she makes herself scarce. When I close the door and turn back to the bed, I find Quinn sitting up watching me. “Breakfast in bed?”

I set the tray down between us before draining every last drop in my teacup. “Tess is very thoughtful.”

He laughs at the meaning behind my words. “If she knows, so does everyone. Are you okay with that?”

“It’s a bit embarrassing,” I say, biting into a piece of bread with some kind of red jam on it. I wonder if Tess purposely avoided using citrin because she knows Quinn dislikes it.

He puts a hand over his chest and feigns insult. “Your words are as sharp as ever.” His hand finds mine, and there’s something about the casual touch that has the emotions of last night flooding back to me. “Do we have a label for this?”

I don’t have an answer to that yet, so I ask a question of my own. “Where’d you get that scar?” I point to a long, faded silver line that snakes across the ribs on the right side of his body.

He glances down at it and then laughs. “Sword. Training—when I was seventeen.”

“That’s some intense training. What about this one?” I drag a finger over another scar just under his left shoulder.

“Wolf.” Whether he means it’s something he got as a wolf or was caused by a wolf, I’m not sure. I don’t bother asking, because it’s the human scars I’m interested in.

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