Page 52 of Seven Lost Summers (Broken Oasis #3)

“Theo wears joy like armor,” I murmur. “Every joke, every flirt, every dumbass comment that comes out of his mouth, all of it’s covering the same shit. He’s still bleeding too. I see the truth, even when he thinks I don’t.”

Quinn’s hand finds mine.

“You still seem the same Nate to me,” she says. “Although you don’t throw around those cocky pick up lines anymore.”

With one brow raised, I glance over at her.

A smirk forms on her mouth. “But I guess you don’t need to. Being a rockstar God and all. Must be nice that the name does the work for you now, huh?”

I bark out a laugh. “You think I’ve gone soft?”

“I think you’ve gone lazy,” she shoots back, eyes sparkling. “Or maybe you’ve forgotten how.”

I roll onto my side, facing her, a slow grin pulling at my mouth. “Careful, Quinn. You say something like that, you’re practically begging for it.”

She arches a brow. “Then go on. Hit me with your best. Let’s see what Rockstar Nate’s still got.”

I pause.

And fuck… my mind goes blank.

Because it’s been years since I had to pull one out. Years since I felt the urge to impress anyone. Everything’s been easy and meaningless. But this… Her… There’s weight here. History. It’s different.

My smirk falters just a touch.

She notices. “You really are out of practice.”

“Give me a sec.” I rub my jaw. “I’ve been busy headlining stadiums and avoiding emotional growth.”

“Tragic.”

“I’ve still got it,” I mutter.

She grins. “Prove it.”

I narrow my eyes, before letting them drop to her mouth, and back to her eyes again.

“You know,” I say slowly, dropping my voice. “I was gonna tell you that your smile’s always been my favorite curve on your body…”

She holds her breath.

“But then you showed up in those tights,” I continue, “and I completely lost my train of thought.”

Quinn’s laugh explodes out of her. She swats my arm, shaking her head.

“Oh my God,” she says, breathless. “That was awful.”

“That was brilliant.”

“That was desperate.”

I grin, soaking in the sound of her laugh, the way that sound loosens something in my chest.

“Maybe,” I say. “But it worked.”

“Yeah,” she murmurs. “It kinda did.”

I watch her laugh fade into something quieter. Her eyes linger on mine, and I swear the whole fucking room shifts.

Her fingers are still brushing against mine.

I tilt my head slightly, eyes locked on hers.

“So…” I say. “Does that mean I can kiss you?”

Her lips part, only a little. That spark in her eyes doesn’t waver. If anything, the fire deepens.

“When have you ever had to ask?” she whispers.

That’s all it takes.

I move before I can second-guess myself, before the weight of everything we’ve been through has a chance to sink its claws in and pull me back. My hand buries in her hair, fingers twisting through those soft strands I’ve thought about too many fucking times, and I kiss her.

The kiss isn’t gentle. No room exists for that. Our mouths crash, tongues sliding, the kind that scrapes something raw out of your chest and dares you to survive the force of it. Years of tension, years of want, years of everything we’ve never said spilling into this one brutal moment.

She groans against my mouth and the sound nearly ends me. Her hands grip my shirt, fingers fisting tight as if she’s holding on for dear life. Our bodies twist together, mouths locked, breath ragged, hands tearing at fabric and skin.

She pulls me closer, grinding up against my jeans, and I register the way her body arches, begging for more.

This isn’t slow or sweet.

This is fucking urgent.

Her top rides up as I shove my hand beneath it, palm dragging across the soft skin of her stomach, fingers searching for every place that makes her gasp. She’s burning. Her whole body hums beneath mine, wound tight, ready to snap.

Her legs wrap around my waist, hips grinding against the thick outline of my cock.

Every movement of her pussy against the rough denim is enough to make me grit my teeth.

I’ve been hard since the second I walked in and saw her on that bed in those fucking tights, legs stretched out, body soft and waiting.

The way they clung to her thighs, her ass, her cunt—fuck, she had to know what that did to me.

My cock throbs beneath the restraint of my jeans, tight and unforgiving, and when she moves again, pressing herself against the hard ridge, she lets out this soft, helpless moan that cuts through me.

That sound. That fucking sound. The noise strikes somewhere deep and primal.

It’s the kind of sound I chase. The kind I’ve dragged from other girls before but never like this. Never with her.

I slow everything down.

Grip her hips. Hold her still.

Her eyes snap open, breath catching as I stare down at her.

“Don’t move unless I tell you to,” I murmur, my voice low, steady, full of warning.

She freezes and obeys like a good fucking girl.

I press my forehead to hers, breath ghosting over her lips, not giving her another kiss yet. Only holding her in place. Letting the tension stretch, coil, burn.

“You still sure?”

She nods fast, eyes wild.

“Words,” I growl, tightening my hold on her waist.

“Yes.” It’s barely a whisper. “Fucking hell, yes.”

I smirk. That mouth—so quick, so fucking sharp—and now she can’t even form a sentence.

“Then you do exactly what I say.” I drop my head to her neck, lips brushing her skin, letting her feel the heat of my breath as I speak. “You’ve heard the shit they say, haven’t you?” My voice is all gravel now. “Those rumors back in the day.”

She tenses, ever so slightly, but doesn’t answer.

“The ones about how I fuck. How I don’t rush. How I don’t stop until the girl comes completely undone.”

“You’re such a cocky bastard,” she mutters, trying to cover the way her thighs squeeze around me.

I grin against her throat, teeth scraping over her pulse.

“No,” I breathe. “I’m a patient bastard. And you’re about to learn the fucking difference.”

I drag my mouth up the column of her throat, tongue tracing the heat of her skin.

When I reach the spot right beneath her jaw, I suck hard, letting my teeth scrape over that delicate flesh until the full-body shiver rolls through her.

Her nails bite through the cotton of my shirt as she arches, desperate for more contact.

Her hips twitch beneath me, trying to grind against the thick, hard press of my cock still trapped in my jeans.

“Did I say you could move?” My voice scrapes low in my throat, filled with warning.

She freezes. Every muscle goes tight beneath me. Her breath catches, chest lifting fast. Her heart pounds beneath me. The rhythm is wild and frantic. She doesn’t speak, doesn’t move again.

That’s better.

I sit back on my heels, still between her thighs, eyes dragging over her body.

Her tits heave beneath the thin fabric of her top, nipples hard and straining. Her thighs are clenched tight, trying to chase friction, but I don’t let her have it.

She watches me as I reach for the hem of her top, and pull it up over her head, tossing it to the floor without a word. Her bra comes next. Black lace. Thin straps. Useless fabric that’s in the fucking way. I unclasp the clip at the front, pulling it away to reveal the soft swell of her tits.

“Hands above your head,” I command her. “Palms flat against the headboard.”

She moves instantly, obeying without a word. Her arms rise, trembling as she stretches them above her head. Nails scrape across the wood as she settles into place, fingers splayed wide, body taut with anticipation. She’s wide open. Exposed. Exactly the way I want her.

“Good girl.”

I lower my head, tongue flicking over one nipple before I take it into my mouth. I suck hard, lips dragging, teeth teasing the sensitive peak until her whole body jolts.

A sharp gasp escapes her, her back arching. Her hands remain against the headboard but everything else is screaming for more.

I shift to the other breast, let my teeth catch the tip before biting down hard enough to make her flinch. Another broken moan slips free from her mouth. She writhes beneath me, trying to grind up against my chest, desperate for friction.

I flatten my palm against her stomach, pinning her hips to the mattress.

“You move one more time and I’ll stop.”

She freezes, breath caught between a moan and a plea. Her thighs press together. She’s losing control already and I’ve barely touched her.

I trail kisses down her stomach, my wet mouth dragging heat over every inch of exposed skin. Her body quivers with each pass, soft whimpers slipping out with every exhale.

Her tights cling to her hips, stretched tight over her cunt. They are already soaked through, the outline of her pussy clear beneath the thin fabric. It’s fucking perfect. Swollen. Desperate. Ready.

I kiss the top of her thigh before pressing my mouth right over the spot I know she’s aching for. The fabric’s damp against my lips, and her body jerks beneath me.

“Fuck,” I growl, dragging my mouth across the heat of her, tongue working over the wet patch. “You’re dripping.”

A helpless whimper spills from her lips as she tries to lift her hips into my mouth, chasing more.

“Did I say you could move?”

She sighs again, a breathless sound of frustration and want. Her fingers curl against the headboard. But she goes still.

Right where I want her. Ready to be undone. One filthy inch at a time.

I hook my fingers into the waistband of her tights and drag them down her legs, letting the fabric catch on her skin enough to make her squirm. Every inch I reveal makes me harder. Her panties are completely soaked, clinging to her cunt, a dark patch of arousal spreading between her legs.

Fuck. I tear them without care, the ruined lace snapping in my grip before I toss them over my shoulder like they were never worth a second thought. She’s laid out in front of me, flushed and glistening, her pussy wet and swollen, dripping for my mouth.