by Devney Perry
I leaned against the door, breathing in the night air and glancing to the stars glimmering in the inky black sky. “Remember when we used to lie in the back of my truck and count stars?”
“You’d count one, then I’d count one. I think the highest we ever got was—”
“Two hundred seventy-one.”
She laughed. “We’d get bored and start making out.”
I stepped away from the door, turning my head to the heavens so I wouldn’t stare at her lips. “One.”
She moved closer. “Two.”
“Three.” I dropped my gaze and found hers waiting.
“Four,” she whispered.
Five came when my lips brushed against hers, slow and soft at first, teasing and testing. But then her arms wound around my shoulders and all rational thought disappeared. A surge of heat washed over my body and her taste consumed my senses. I pressed into her, my cock throbbing into her hip, and held on for the ride.
God, this woman could kiss. She could drive me wild with just a lick of her tongue and her fingers in my hair.
Quinn’s Uber pulled up, breaking us apart. Quinn’s cheeks were flushed, her lips wet.
“Don’t go.” My hand clamped on hers. I sounded a lot like my eighteen-year-old self, but fuck it, this was my last chance. She was leaving tomorrow, and I wanted one more night. “Stay.”
Chapter Sixteen
Quinn
After a breathless yes and a hastened apology to my Uber driver—definitely earning myself a one-star rating—Graham carried me inside.
He swept us through the house, his lips never leaving my neck as he closed us inside his dark bedroom. His hands molded to my curves, and he laid me on his bed with an unhurried kiss that curled my toes.
“Graham.” I tugged at his shirt.
“Slow. This time”—he ran his cheek along my jaw, his beard deliciously scraping my skin—“we go slow.”
I moaned in protest, my eyelids growing heavy when his lips began a lazy descent. His rough fingers pulled at the collar of my tee, pulling it aside to reveal a sliver of flesh by my collarbone. He worshiped the spot with his tongue, his lips, nibbling and sucking until I quivered beneath him.
The blinding throb between my legs was unbearable. I snapped my eyes open and shoved Graham up, pushing and clawing at his clothes until his shirt was bunched at his ribs.
His response was to stand at the foot of the bed, wearing a smirk and all his damn clothes.
“Graham,” I warned.
He chuckled, reached behind his head and off came the shirt.
I let him strip my tee and tug at the button on my jeans. He cupped my jaw, holding it in his grip as his lips came to mine. He used the hard kiss to push me to the bed, the soft mattress enveloping me as his hard chest covered mine.
Graham arched his hips, and his arousal pressed into my wet center. “I’m going to ruin you.”
“Yes,” I hissed as he palmed my ass through my panties. Ruin me. Destroy me. Graham could do whatever he wanted with me as long as his body was touching mine.
My moans came in a steady stream as I clawed at the bare skin of his back, my nails short but enough to leave a mark. He nipped at my lower lip when they dug deep. Then he growled against my neck, and the vibration ran straight to my clit.
If he kept at it, I was going to come, just like this. Just from his kiss.
But I wanted him inside me, the two of us joined at the climax. I stretched for his jeans, sliding my hand beneath the waistband. When my fingers wrapped around his shaft, he thrust into my grip.
His eyes, those beautiful golden swirls, lifted to meet mine. “You are . . .”
I cupped his stubbled cheek with my free hand, prompting when he didn’t finish. “What?”
“Stunning. Sexy.” He turned his cheek, putting a kiss on my wrist. “Mine. For tonight, you’re mine.”
Slow became frenzied as we shed the last of our clothes and he hauled me deeper into the bed. His cock rubbed against my folds, his hips swirling as the root found my clit.
I shuddered and my legs trembled. I panted into his ear, whispering his name and begging for more. “Inside. Please.”
“Not yet.”
“Please.” I tilted my hips, searching. “I need you.”
He reached a hand for the nightstand, but I caught his forearm and shook my head.
“Are you sure?”
I nodded. “I want to feel you. Nothing else. I’m on birth control and it’s been . . . a long time.”
“Same here.”
My teeth found the lobe of his ear. “Then what are you waiting for?”
With a single thrust, he buried deep.
I cried out and his hand clamped over my mouth, both of us stilling as we listened. I’d forgotten Colin was sleeping down the hallway. When the quiet returned, we both let out the breaths we’d been holding, and the intensity peaked.
Graham’s eyes flared, sliding impossibly deeper, before he began to move in gliding, punishing strokes.
“Quinn.” My name in his voice was sweet music. “You feel so damn good.”
I hummed in agreement, relaxing into the feel of his strength above me. The stretch, the sensation of being filled by Graham, consumed me and I squeezed my eyes shut, committing every move to memory.
This was not something I wanted to forget. I’d made that mistake before.
His pace quickened, his cock hit hard and true, as my hands roamed, grabbing with desperation for more. Our kisses were wet and chaste, neither of us patient enough to let our lips lock.
I was on the edge, so close, but I fought my release.
Graham growled, his hips moving faster. “Come on, baby.”
“More. Not yet.”
He pulled free and got to his knees. My eyes flew open in time to see the world spin. He gripped me by my hips and twisted me in the bed so I was on my stomach. His large hands yanked at my thighs, pulling me to my knees.
Then he slammed home.
I cried out, and his hand clamped over my mouth once more, smothering my whimpers and moans as my back arched. His free hand ran up and down my spine, and as his fingers rounded the curve of my ass, his lips dropped to my shoulder.
The man was everywhere. There were too many touches to concentrate on just one, and the sensations overwhelmed me. My entire body shook as he rammed into me, over and over. The sound of our flesh slapping drowned out our heavy breaths.
I didn’t want it to be over yet, but fighting my orgasm was impossible. When he reached around my front and found my clit with his finger, I broke.
My chest fell forward, my cries muted by the pillow, as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over my body. Tingles rushed from my toes and fingertips to my center where I pulsed in the longest, hardest orgasm of my life.
Tears leaked from the corners of my eyes, joy seeping from my body.
“Fuck,” Graham groaned, right before he buried deep, holding me to him as he came. The heat of his release dripped down my leg as he pulled out and collapsed on the mattress, pinning me beneath him.
My vision was blurry when I dared to crack my eyelids. My heart was pounding faster than if I’d just performed for a sold-out arena. I was drenched and sated and in Graham’s arms.
I never wanted to leave.
His arms never loosened as he pulled my back to his chest. “Don’t go.”
No, not this time. “What about Colin?”
“We’ll wake up early and we’ll tell him you came over to say goodbye. We just won’t tell him when you came over.”
“Okay.” I smiled, curling into his front as he turned us on our sides.
Staying the night, sleeping in his bed, was foolish and impulsive and . . . I didn’t care. This was our last night, and when I went home tomorrow, I wanted to know I hadn’t wasted a single second of this trip.
This man had my heart. Completely. He’d had it in his hold since I was sixteen. How could I have doubted that? How could I have thought he hadn’t
believed in me?
This, his faith, was as real as anything in my life.
And now I was leaving. It was time for me to go.
I squeezed my eyes shut, staying in this moment and pushing away what was to come. The airplane and reality were for tomorrow. Tonight, I’d live in the dream.
Graham woke me up twice to make love to me.
And when morning dawned, I slipped out of his bed and out of his home, unable to say goodbye.
“Morning, Quinn.”
My cheeks flamed as I tiptoed into the kitchen. I’d hoped Mom and Dad would still be asleep at five thirty in the morning. No such luck. Mom was standing beside the coffeepot as it sputtered. “Morning, Mom.”
“Where did you sneak off to last night?” she asked, though she had to know the answer.
“Graham’s.”
“I figured.” She nodded and lifted a mug from the cupboard. “Coffee?”
“Yes, please.” I sat at the table, feeling like I was a teenager again who needed to explain her relationship in an attempt to make her mother understand. “I went over to say goodbye.”
She brought me my coffee and sat across from me, not saying a word.
“I chickened out,” I blurted. “I wasn’t sure how to say goodbye, so I just . . . didn’t. I snuck out before he woke up.”
“If I know Graham, which I do, it was probably better that way,” she said. “He’s careful with who he brings into his life. And with you, well, you two were always complicated.”
Complicated. What she really meant was reckless.
I brushed it aside, ready to change topics. “Thanks for everything, Mom. I know this week has been hard, but I’m glad you called me to come home.”
“And I’m glad you did. Christmas, right?”
I nodded. “Christmas. Though I’ll probably bring Nixon along too. If that’s okay.”
“The more the merrier.” She smiled. “He’s a charmer, isn’t he?”
“You have no idea.” I giggled.
Nixon spent the day with us yesterday after church. While Walker and Brooklyn went home with their families, Nix and I took my parents to lunch at a local restaurant. We chose to sit at one of the outdoor tables shaded by a pergola overflowing with hanging flower baskets.
When the waitress brought over menus and Nixon immediately ordered a beer, I feared conversation might be awkward. But Nix had a gift for taking uncomfortable situations and making them the ones you’d remember for years.
We talked for hours. Well, Nixon talked and the rest of us had listened.
He told story after story about life with the band. About our favorite shows and life on a tour bus—the PG-rated parts. He answered Dad’s questions about our recording process and the studio in Seattle. Occasionally, Nix would glance at me to fill in the gaps.
And in a way, it was better that Nixon told them about life with the band from his perspective.
He was a neutral party and the way he described it made our lifestyle sound simple. As the wild one in our bunch, he’d ironically made it seem tame.
After lunch, we spent a couple of hours downtown, exploring and enjoying the sunshine, before my parents returned home and left Nixon and me to spend some time alone. The two of us found a bar with good popcorn and country music playing in the background. By the time Nixon was drunk—I stayed sober because I’d seen that glint in his eye, the one that said he was going to go until he passed out—it was nearly dark.
I helped him into a cab and took him to the motel, situating him in his room before leaving to go home.
Except I hadn’t gone home.
I’d gone to Graham’s.
“Can we take you to the airport?” Mom asked.
“I think Nix is coming over to pick me up. Then we’ll go.”
“Do you want some breakfast?”
“That would be great.” I’d only had the bar’s popcorn for dinner, and after a long, blissful night with Graham, I was starved. “Cereal is fine.”
“Let me spoil you on your last morning. Are huckleberry pancakes still your favorite?”
My stomach growled. “Yes.”
“Then that’s what we’ll have.”
“Are the kids coming today?” I asked as she took out ingredients from her pantry. Please, say no. I didn’t want to have to hide in my room until Graham was gone.
“No, they have Vacation Bible School this week.”
Phew. “One of my favorites.”
“They actually run it two weeks in a row now. It runs the week of the Fourth since so many daycares close and parents were having trouble finding care. Your dad already left to pop over for their six a.m. kickoff meeting. Kids start to show up at seven. The new children’s director is fantastic but she’s . . . intense.”
“At six in the morning? Sounds like it.”
“She’s taken a lot of work off your dad’s plate though. Susan’s too.”
I scrunched up my nose at her name but didn’t let Mom see.
“Do you think he’ll be back before lunch?” I asked.
“He promised he would be home by nine thirty. Ten at the latest.”
Unless Dad, like me, wanted to avoid a goodbye.
I drank more coffee as Mom whipped up our pancakes, then we ate together. As she started the dishes, I went upstairs to shower and pack my suitcase. When I hauled it downstairs, along with my backpack, I found her in the living room, reading a book.
It was ten thirty.
Dad wasn’t coming home.
Maybe it was for the best. The last thing I wanted was for us to fight before I left. Again. But the gnawing ache in my stomach wouldn’t go away.
I’d missed my chance to say goodbye to Nan and hug her one last time.
Graham and I’d had our own kind of farewell. Mom would be here when Nix arrived.
But Dad . . . he wasn’t going to get out of this. My stubborn streak flared. “I’m going to go to the church and say goodbye to Dad.”
She frowned at the clock. “I’m sorry. You know how it goes. Sometimes he gets caught up.”
“Yeah, I know. Be back in a few.”
I hurried outside and to the church, my irritation growing with each step. The shouts and laughter of children greeted me before the building came into view, and I took a calming breath.
We didn’t need to fight. I was only going to say goodbye.
I approached the church and spotted a large VBS banner above the main door. Stations of games dotted the green grass of the front lawn. When I pushed through the side door, I expected to be assaulted by noise, but the kids must have all been outside or on an adventure because it was nearly silent.
A laugh caught my ear and I headed down the hallway toward the offices.
Susan was at her desk, laughing with the woman sitting across from her, and her smile disappeared when she spotted me. “Oh. Hello.”
I didn’t bother with a greeting. “Is my dad here?”
“He’s in his office.”
I strode past her without another glance and found Dad behind his desk, his nose in a book. I knocked on his open door. “Hi, Dad.”
“Quinn.” His gaze snapped to me as he stood, then to the clock. “Shoot, it’s after ten. I lost track of time.”
“It’s fine. I just wanted to come say goodbye.”
“Do you have a minute to sit?” He gestured to the chair across from his desk.
The room was the same as I remembered, though I fit in the chair better than I had as a child balancing a coloring book on my knees. Shelves hugged the walls, each teaming with books and trinkets he’d collected over the years or received as gifts. The scent of sandalwood and citrus air freshener made me feel like a girl again.
“What are you reading?” I asked.
“I learn something every time I read this.” He lifted the book, flashing me the cover. Dante’s Inferno. “So you’re getting ready to leave?”
“Soon.”
“It was good to have you home, staying in your
room. Even under the circumstances.”
“I miss her already.”
“Me too.” He sighed. “Me too. The truth is, I started reading this because it’s always been an escape. My Mondays will never be the same without Nan.”
“Same here—wait. Your Mondays?”
“Oh, I, uh . . .” He placed a bookmark in his book and closed it. “I used to talk to her every Monday.”
“So did I. She called me every Monday without fail.”
“I know.” He gave me a sad smile. “Because I asked her to. She’d call you. Then she’d call me.”
My jaw dropped. “You?”
“Don’t get me wrong. She called because she wanted to talk to you too. But early on, after you left, I wasn’t sure what to say. After the fight, I just . . . I didn’t want to make it worse. You two always had a special bond, and I thought if she kept tabs on you, she could relay information. Then a year went by. Two. She liked talking to you and I didn’t know, still don’t know how to make things right.”
Wow. This was . . . wow.
My mind raced as I thought over every call and the questions Nan would ask. One of her regular questions was if I’d met anyone. If I was drinking enough water. And if I was taking time to read.
Those last two questions, they’d been Dad’s.
And I’d been blind not to see it until now.
“It’s Monday.”
He nodded. “It is.”
“Maybe today we can start again. And next week, you can call me.”
“I’d like that. Quite a lot.”
“Okay.” I stood from the chair and walked to the door.
“Quinn?”
I turned. “Yeah?”
“The song you played on Saturday was lovely. I’ve never been prouder.”
Tears flooded my eyes and I blinked them away. “Thanks, Dad.”
“What I said to you during the fight, I regret it. I want you to know I’m so very sorry. I’m about nine years late in saying that, but I . . . I’m very proud to be your dad. You have accomplished more than I would have dreamed.”
Shit, he was going to make me cry. “Thank you. And I’m sorry too.”
“No. Don’t.” He stood from his chair and crossed the room. “Please, don’t apologize. The fault is mine. I’m ashamed of what I said and how long it’s taken me to admit I was wrong. I shouldn’t have forced my beliefs on you.”