Page 60 of Quinlan

Not yet.

I’ll have to settle for coming.

“Fuck.” When I’m there, when I shoot my orgasm onto her. I mark her unclaimed tit. My seed coats her swollen breast. Her peaked nipple.

Yes. That’s it.

I’m spent. Spent, and still deviant as fuck.

She hasn’t come yet.

I arrange myself, ready to join my friends. As if we’ve been doing this for years, Liam and Rome have their hands all over her.

Liam rests his open palm over one of her breasts, brushing it in circular motions. Her moans are low and hot in the small room that smells of sex. Of us.

Rome cradles one of her cheeks. Shoves his thumb between her parted lips.

Only when I’m sure neither of the two have disrupted Quinlan’s sleep do I go for it. I suck on my fingers, wetting them. Quinlan’s pussy lips are swollen. Her clit hardens beneath my fingers.

Her thighs clench and I fucking love it. She’s mine. Of course I’d know how to touch her. How to rub her. How to bring her to an orgasm.

She finishes in a matter of seconds. Her body spasms, eyes pinching. I’m not sure where I want to look, and so do Liam and Rome. Our gazes rake over every inch of Quinlan. We keep pleasuring her until the last of her shivers dies out.

Calm and sated. That’s what she is. Sleeping better, thanks to us.

I trail my fingers on the inside of her thighs, sucking on them. Liam and Rome do the same, their eyes closing with how fucking good she tastes.

Without a word, Rome rights Quinlan’s top on her body. I tuck her in.

Nothing to do about the panties.

Can’t say I’m sorry about that. About leaving her naked from the waist down.

Walking away, though. That hurts like a mother. A self-inflicted punishment I plan on rectifying this week and every day after this one.

We’re coming for her.

She won’t know what hit her, our future captive.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Quinlan

My phone rings earlyin the morning before my alarm.

It’s really early then.

Early means bad news.

My eyes fly open, and I scramble for the bedside table.

A morning from two years ago is a horrible, vivid memory. One year into my move here.

Dad calling me, saying Mom’s sleeping. That she doesn’t respond to him.I don’t know what to do, he’d mumbled.

Rex wouldn’t answer—he mutes his phone when he sleeps. I had to go there by myself, calling 911 on the Uber drive over. I cried and begged the driver to go faster, and she did her best.

By the time I made it, the paramedics were walking out the door. Nothing happened to Mom. She woke up by herself, yawning and telling them how tired she’s been lately. There wasn’t alcohol on her breath, and I counted her pills. Nothing out of order.

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