Page 121 of Good Graces

I push her shirt higher, fingers dragging across her stomach, and she exhales shakily, her head tipping back against the wall. She’s letting me take whatever I need—her warmth, her steadiness—and God, do I need it.

Her hand slides down my arm, fingers curling into my wrist. Then she drags my hand to her thigh, nails digging faintly into my skin, guiding me exactly where she wants me.

When I finally slip my hand beneath the hem of her shorts, she makes this soft, breathless sound that goes straight to my head. And I kiss her again, rougher this time.

Her fingers hook into my waistband, knuckles pressing hard against my stomach. We’re moving without thinking now—shirts tugged up, skin pressed together, each touch a little harder, a little more desperate.

I push her shorts down her thighs, fingers curling around her bare hip.

Her breath hitches, and her hand catches the back of my neck, dragging my mouth back to hers.

“Quinn.”

“I know,” she whispers. “I know.”

I press into her, hips rocking slow and steady, and her whole body melts against mine. She clings to me like I’m something safe, like I’m something worth holding onto. I want to be that for her.

I let myself drown in her. The warmth of her skin, the sound of her breath, the faint hum of the pool filters humming in the background. Everything else—my dad, the way my chest still feels too tight, the sharp edge of tonight’s panic—all of it blurs and quiets until there’s only her.

Only us.

She arches beneath me, and when I sink into her, I swear I feel her everywhere. She’s under my skin, wrapped around my ribs, filling every breath. Her body fits mine like it was made for this, made for me. Every thrust leaves her gasping, fingers clutching, hips rising to meet mine.

“God,” she breathes, voice ragged.

“I’ve got you,” I rasp.

I catch her jaw, kiss her hard and deep, swallowing the sounds she makes. She digs her fingers into my back like she’s afraid I’ll disappear. I move faster, harder, chasing the sharp edge that’s been scraping at my ribs all night.

I bury myself in her, lost in the way she tightens around me, in the pressure and heat and the way she pulls me in like she can’t get enough.

When I come, it hits me like a wave. A sudden and overwhelming release, pulling me under until I’m weightless. She follows a second later, her body tightening, her breath shattering in my ear.

We collapse, clinging together and slick with sweat, skin pressed to skin. Her thigh is draped over mine, my hand still wrapped around her hip like I can’t quite let go. Her hair sticks to my neck. My heartbeat thuds against her chest.

“You okay?” she murmurs.

I swallow hard. “Yeah. I am now.”

There’s a pause, just the soft echo of water lapping against the pool’s edge, her breath still a little uneven against my chest.

Then she shifts slightly. “We didn’t use anything.”

I blink at the ceiling. “Yeah. I know.”

“You always make sure.”

“I usually do,” I say quietly. “I wasn’t thinking.”

She lifts her head a little, searching my face. “Are you freaking out?”

“Not freaking out,” I tell her. “Just ... registering it. We’ll be more careful next time.”

We stay like that for a while, entangled, until the tile beneath us starts to cool. Once the adrenaline fades and the warmth begins to slip from our skin, Quinn sits up slowly, brushing her hair back from her face.

“Come on,” she says. “Let’s go in.”

I glance toward the pool. The water is lit by the soft overhead glow, shades of blue and silver and deep green. The surface shimmers like fractured glass.

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