Page 76

She sits beside me on the couch, closer than necessary. “Play me something?”
I strum softly, letting the music fill the silence between us. Justine watches my fingers, her head tilted slightly.
“New song?” she asks.
“Maybe. Still figuring it out.”
She hums along, finding the melody with ease. It’s one of the things I admire most about her—the way music flows through her so naturally, as if she’s connected to some frequency the rest of us can only glimpse.
I set the guitar aside. “I’ve been thinking about something Keane said.”
“Oh, and what was that?”
“He told me to be careful. About my feelings for you. Specifically, about me falling for you.”
Her breath catches. “Oh.”
“He’s not wrong.”
Justine shifts to face me fully. “Quinn . . .”
“I know it’s complicated,” I continue. “I know the timing is all wrong, and we work together, and there are a million reasons to keep this casual. But I’m not good at casual, Justine. Not with you.”
She reaches up, her fingers tracing the line of my jaw. “I’m not good at casual either,” she admits. “Not with you.”
The simple honesty of her words breaks something open inside me. I lean in, capturing her lips with mine. This kiss isdifferent from our others—deeper, more certain. Her hands slide into my hair as she moves closer, eliminating what little space remains between us.
“Quinn,” she whispers against my mouth, and my name has never sounded so right.
I pull her onto my lap, her legs straddling mine as the kiss intensifies. Her skin is warm beneath my palms as my hands slip under her tank top, exploring the gentle curve of her spine. She arches into my touch, a soft sound escaping her throat.
“God, I want you,” I murmur against her neck, trailing kisses down to her collarbone.
“You have me,” she breathes, rolling her hips against mine.
The friction sends electricity down my spine. My hands grip her waist, guiding her movements as her fingers work at the buttons of my shirt. When she finally pushes it off my shoulders, her hands explore the bare skin with reverence.
“You’re so beautiful,” she whispers, trailing her fingers over my chest and down my stomach, making my muscles tense with anticipation.
I capture her mouth again, swallowing her gasp as my hands move higher under her tank top, cupping her breasts. Through the thin fabric of her bra, I can feel her nipples harden at my touch.
“Is this okay?” I ask, needing to hear her say it.
“More than okay,” she assures me, then pulls her tank top over her head, revealing a simple black bra that contrasts beautifully with her pale skin.
I take in the sight of her, illuminated by the dim lights of the lounge. “You are absolutely perfect,” I tell her, meaning every word.
Her smile is shy but eager as she guides my hands back to her body. I unclasp her bra with practiced ease, letting it fall away.The first touch of my hands on her bare breasts draws a sigh from both of us.
“Quinn,” she moans as my thumbs brush over her nipples.
I lean in, replacing my fingers with my mouth, and her back arches as she clutches at my shoulders. My name becomes a chant on her lips as I worship every inch of newly exposed skin.
Her hands fumble with the button of my jeans, her intent clear. As much as I want this—want her—I catch her wrists gently.
“Not here,” I say, my voice rough with desire. “Not like this. Not our first time.”
She nods, understanding in her eyes despite the frustration evident in her flushed cheeks. “You’re right. But God, Quinn, you’re making it hard to be patient.”