Page 57 of Four More The Merrier

"I shouldn't have-" she starts.

"Quinn-"

She's already standing, grabbing her jacket.

"Please don't go." My voice comes out raw, barely above a whisper. I catch her wrist as she turns to leave, my thumb brushing over her pulse point. "Quinn."

She freezes but doesn't turn around. "This is a mistake."

"Maybe." I stand slowly, giving her space to pull away if she wants to. She doesn't. "But I'm tired of pretending I don't feel this."

"Feel what?" Her voice cracks. "You barely tolerated me a week ago."

"That's not true." I step closer, close enough to catch the faint vanilla scent of her shampoo. "I was an ass because it was easier than admitting how much you got under my skin."

This time when I kiss her, it's deliberate. No hesitation, no surprise. Just the soft press of my lips against hers, tasting the coffee she must have had earlier. She makes a small sound in the back of her throat, her hands fisting in my shirt.

I deepen the kiss, backing her against the sound board. Buttons click and slide under her weight, but neither of us care.Her fingers thread through my hair as I trail kisses down her neck.

"We shouldn't," she breathes, even as she pulls me closer.

"Tell me to stop." I rest my forehead against hers, both of us breathing hard. "Tell me you don't want this."

Instead of answering, she kisses me again, and I'm lost.

27

QUINN

Austen runs his hands through his shaggy hair, a familiar gesture that somehow feels different now. "You sure about this?" he asks, his voice low, almost a whisper.

"Absolutely," I say, pulling at the buttons on his flannel shirt. My fingers brush against his skin, and it's like electricity. As the fabric falls away, I take in the sight of him—toned, lean muscles that suggest he does more than just strum a guitar.

"Damn," I mutter, more to myself than to him.

He grins, that cocky yet somehow endearing smile of his. "Not bad for a sidekick, huh?"

I laugh softly, feeling my nerves settle. "Who knew there was a Greek god hiding under all that plaid?"

"Flattery will get you everywhere," he quips as he begins to undress me, his touch both gentle and urgent. When my dress slips off, pooling around my feet, he steps back for a moment, eyes roaming over me.

"You're fucking beautiful," he says simply, and there's no hint of pretense or arrogance in his tone—just pure admiration.

I feel heat rise to my cheeks. "Thank you," I manage to say, trying to keep my voice steady as I unbuckle his belt and slide hisjeans down. When he's standing there in just his boxers, I can't help but marvel at what he's packing. No wonder women swoon over him.

"See something you like?" he teases, but there's a vulnerability in his eyes that makes my heart skip a beat.

"I see a lot I like," I admit.

He pulls a condom from his wallet with practiced ease and then removes his boxers. For a moment, we're just standing there, taking each other in.

"Come here," he says softly, guiding me down onto the padded floor of the sound room. The surface is surprisingly soft, almost like it was meant for this sort of thing.

As he lowers himself beside me, his lips find mine again. His kiss is hungry yet tender, and it sends shivers down my spine.

Austen puts the condom on, his eyes never leaving mine. The anticipation between us thickens the air. He positions himself, and when he enters me, I gasp. It's not just the sensation—it's the raw emotion that comes with it. I need a moment to adjust, both physically and mentally.

"Alright?" he asks, his voice a mix of concern and desire.

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