Page 13

Quinn

The day started off warm. A little too warm. Not in the way the sunlight poured through the curtains or the way the sheets clung to my skin, but in the way North's arm draped over me, heavy and secure like he belonged there. Like I belonged there, in his bed.

For a moment, I let myself pretend it was okay. That what we had—what we’d been doing for the past week since he took my virginity—wasn’t wrong. But reality had a way of interrupting, and that morning it started when his phone rang.

The sharp buzz broke the illusion, and I froze as he stirred beside me, groaning in irritation. His arm slipped away, and the warmth I’d allowed myself to feel was replaced by a cold emptiness.

Warning bells blared in my head.

“It’s Dad,” he muttered, sitting up and running a hand over his mouth. His voice was laced with annoyance as he answered. “Yeah?”

I should’ve known it wouldn’t have lasted. But I stayed quiet, my pulse quickening as I strained to hear the faint voice on the other end of the line. Mark’s tone was calm, casual—too casual, or maybe that was just the guilt I felt after everything.

“How are things going? Need anything? Everything alright with Quinn?”

North’s jaw tightened, his free hand wiping his mouth again. I couldn’t help but wonder if that was his tell. “We’re fine. No, we don’t need anything. Yeah, she’s fine.” The words were clipped, each one colder than the last.

I felt a wave of anxiety crash over me. If he knew… if anyone knew… My stomach twisted painfully at the thought. They’d call me a slut, and that probably wouldn’t even be the worst of what people would come up with when they found out.

I was sleeping with my step-brother.

The weight of what North and I had done the night before—the nights before—settled heavily on my chest. It was so easy to forget when it was just us.

North ended the call with a curt, “Bye,” tossing the phone onto the nightstand with more force than necessary. His shoulders were tense, his expression dark as he glared at the floor.

“He’s always got to stick his nose in,” he muttered, his voice low and bitter.

I hesitated, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. “Maybe he just cares. Some people would kill to have that.” My words were soft, a part of my heart in pain as I remembered Dad.

Even when he was alive, he was normally too drunk to give a shit about phoning me to make sure I was okay. As much as I complained about Mark, he was a better father than mine on any day.

North’s head snapped toward me, his eyes narrowing. “You don’t know him like I do. He doesn’t care; he wants control.”

I straightened, my own anger bubbling to the surface after hearing his tone. “Because he gives a damn about what happens to you. Do you know what it’s like to have no one? My dad is dead, and my mom barely notices if I’m gone. But you—” I gestured at him, my voice rising. “You push away the one person who actually tries to help you.”

His eyes darkened, his posture stiffening as he stood. “You think I don’t know what it’s like to lose something?” His voice was low, trembling with restrained anger. “Don’t you dare act like you’re the only one with shitty parents, Quinn!”

I didn’t back down, even as my chest tightened with a mix of anger and grief. “At least you have someone trying! You have no idea what it’s like to be completely alone.”

His jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “Everything isn’t black and white, Quinn,” he said finally, his voice quieter but trembling with intensity. “You’ve seen Mark a few times, and he’s done whatever he could to make you feel welcome. Wait a few months and see how he acts when you’re not the perfect stepdaughter.”

The words felt like a punch to my stomach.

I guess I should’ve expected it, we’d been dancing around that this whole time, but it didn’t change a damn thing, now did it?

I was never going to be a good stepdaughter, and after this, perfect was out of the question entirely.

I bit the inside of my cheek, the shame twisting deep in my gut.

“What, like now?” I asked, my voice soft and brittle. I backed away, needing space. “You know what? I think we should stop this before it goes any further, North. This is definitely going to get us into trouble. Maybe we should end things as they are before we both get hurt.”

I turned toward the door, my heart twisting with every step. But before I could take another, his hand shot out, grabbing my wrist and yanking me back toward him.

“You don’t get to walk away from me,” he growled, his voice trembling with a mix of anger and desperation.

We were close now, too close.

His breath brushed against my cheek, his grip unyielding as he held me in place. The tension between us snapped, and before I could think, his lips crashed against mine. The kiss was demanding, most of his kisses were. Like he could force me to do what he wanted the same way he forced his silky tongue against mine, stealing my breath.

I hated him for making me feel like this. Hated myself for giving in. But I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want to stop. My hands tangled in his curls, pulling him closer as he pressed me against the wall. His body was hard and unyielding, his touch possessive as his hands roamed over me, claiming every inch.

“You drive me fucking insane, rabbit,” he muttered against my lips, his voice rough and raw as he searched my eyes, his thumb caressing my cheek. “And as much as you’re right about this ending up with one, or both of us hurting… You’re wrong to think I’ll let you end it now.”

The words sent a shiver down my spine, my body responding to him in ways I couldn’t control. His hands gripped my hips, lifting me effortlessly as he carried me to the bed. I didn’t protest, didn’t hesitate as he laid me down, his body covering mine.

The world outside faded away, and all I could hear was the ragged rhythm of our breaths and the quiet creak of the mattress beneath us. His touch was rough, almost punishing, and yet it sent waves of pleasure coursing through me.

“You hate me,” he whispered, his lips trailing down my neck. “But you can’t stay away. Can you?”

I wanted to deny it, to push him away and tell him he was wrong. But I couldn’t stop myself from arching into his touch, my fingers digging into his shoulders as he shoved a thigh between my legs to spread me wide.

His cock speared through me, and after all the times we’d been together, it still felt as intense as the first time. It still ached a little every time he pushed so deep.

North fucked me raw and left me trembling, my thoughts a chaotic mess as he came with a grunt. Cum splashed the inside of my pussy, dripping down my thighs. Always so selfish, but then he bent to lick it up, swirling his tongue over my clit and down to my entrance, leaving me screaming, and I realized he was a hell of a lot more than that.

I hated him.

I hated that he made me feel like this. His lips found mine again, his hands gripping me like I was the only thing grounding him.

And even though it was wrong, I didn’t want to stop.

When it was over, we lay tangled together, the silence heavy with unspoken words. His hand brushed absently against my face, tucking a curl behind my ear, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. My chest ached with the weight of everything we’d done, the tangled mess we’d made of our lives.

“You think Mark’s some saint?” North said finally, his voice low and laced with bitterness. “He isn’t. But if it makes you feel better to think he cares, go ahead. Just don’t ruin this thing between us over some misguided hope you’ll fit into my father’s perfect family image.”

His words cut deeper than I wanted to admit. I rolled onto my side, my back to him, as I tried to process the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside me.

“That’s easy for you to say,” I murmured, my voice barely audible.

He didn’t respond, and the silence stretched between us, heavy and suffocating. I stared into the dark, my thoughts conflicted, torn between anger and the flicker of hope I’d felt in his vulnerability.

I hated him. I wanted him. And I had no idea what to do about it.