Page 71 of Four More The Merrier

“Fuck, Quinn,” I groan out as I feel her walls clenching around me. “You feel so damn good.”

“Don’t stop,” she pleads, her nails digging into my back. “Please… don’t stop.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” I promise, driving into her harder. Every thrust sends shockwaves through my body and judging by her cries and moans, she’s feeling it too.

Her legs wrap around my waist tighter and she arches up to meet me halfway. “Jarron… oh God… right there…” Her voice is breathless and urgent.

I adjust my angle slightly, hitting that perfect spot inside her over and over again. Her moans turn into screams of pleasure and I know she’s close.

I feel Quinn tighten around me, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She’s so close, and it drives me wild. I pick up the pace, my hips slamming into hers with renewed intensity. “All I know is they better bring their A-game,” I growl, leaning down to whisper in her ear, “because now that I’ve had a taste of this sweet pussy, the boys don’t stand a chance.”

Quinn’s response is a high-pitched moan that sends shivers down my spine. Her body convulses around me as she reaches her climax, and the sight and feel of her coming undone pushes me over the edge. I follow her, groaning as I spill into the condom.

For a moment, we just lay there, breathing heavily and trying to catch our breath. But then Quinn’s eyes widen in realization. “Shit! The guys will be back any second.”

“Damn it,” I mutter, pulling out of her and tossing the used condom into the trash. We scramble to get our clothes back on, hands fumbling with buttons and zippers in our haste.

Quinn manages to pull on her jeans and shirt just as we hear footsteps and banter outside the bus. She shoots me a panicked look before darting to her bunk, diving in and grabbing her phone to pretend she’s been texting the whole time.

I’m still fastening my belt when the door swings open and Beau walks in, followed closely by Austen and Lyle.

“Hey, what’s up?” Beau asks, raising an eyebrow at my disheveled appearance.

“Nothing much,” I reply, trying to sound casual as I finish buckling my belt. “Just… chilling.”

Austen glances over at Quinn’s bunk and smirks. “I see your little pow-wow was a success. Just how did you get through to him Quinny?”

Quinn looks up from her phone with an innocent expression that almost fools me. “Sometimes you just need someone to spell it out that you're being ridiculous, didn't take much.” she says sweetly.

Lyle chuckles and shakes his head. “I see.”

I feel a flush creep up my neck but try to play it cool. “Where did you guys go?”

Beau looks between us suspiciously but doesn’t press further. Instead, he plops down on the couch with a sigh. “To fetch your tampons that Quinn suggested. They're in the bag on the table.”

Quinn relaxes slightly but keeps her focus on her phone. She’s good at this—pretending like nothing happened while every nerve in my body still buzzes from what we just did.

Austen flops down next to Beau, eyeing me with curiosity. “So what’s next on the agenda? More practice?”

“Nah,” Lyle chimes in from across the room. “We’ve got a few hours before we need to be anywhere.”

“Great,” Austen says with a grin. “Time for some R&R.”

As they settle into their own conversations, I glance over at Quinn one last time. She catches my eye and gives me a small smile that makes my heart skip a beat.

“Yeah,” I say under my breath, more to myself than anyone else. “R&R sounds good.”

34

QUINN

The tension the next morning in the rehearsal space is so thick I could cut it with a knife. Jarron keeps missing his cues, Austen's harmony is flat, and Beau's bass line sounds like he's playing a completely different song. Lyle just sits with his sticks up in the air waiting to hear something familiar.

My stomach churns as the notes clash around me. I grip my acoustic guitar tighter, trying to find my place in this musical mess. Jarron's voice cracks on the high note - again - and Austen winces, missing his harmony entrance entirely.

The door slams open and Monica, our tour manager, storms in. Her heels click against the hardwood floor as she approaches, clipboard clutched to her chest. "What the hell is going on in here? You sound like a high school garage band."

"Technical difficulties," Lyle says, running his hands over his head.

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