Page 150 of Seven Lost Summers
“You want pizza?” I ask, my voice rough, catching in my throat before I can smooth it out.
Her lips curl with that dangerous little smirk as she steps closer. She slips down between us on the couch. Her thigh presses into mine.
And fuck, she smells so good. The same scent that’s been clinging to the air since Nate walked out of that bedroom.
The rush sinks into my blood, curling through my chest until my ribs ache with the weight of it. Some part of me wants to push her away, because I can’t let myself endure something this sharp again, while the rest wants to drag her closer and never let her go.
She leans forward, brushing against my arm as she reaches for a slice of pizza from the box on the table.
Her bare shoulder grazes mine, and even that tiny touch carries weight. My nerves short out under the contact. My body forgets every rule I’ve made about keeping her at a distance.
She takes a bite.
And then fucking moans.
The sound is soft, breathy, but it tears through me. Her head tips back, lashes fluttering, and I swear to God, she makes that piece of cold pizza sound better than anything I’ve ever done to a woman in bed. My dick twitches to attention before I can even curse the reaction. No loyalty. No shame.
She chews slow, as though she’s savoring every bite, as if this is some kind of religious experience. And maybe that’s true. Because watching her sit beside me, damp hair falling around her face, flushed, soft and glowing from whatever the fuck Nate did to her, the sight tears something loose in me.
She leans back, chewing like she hasn’t shattered my entire nervous system. She tilts her head until her temple rests against my shoulder.
Just Quinn.
Curled into my side, her head resting against my shoulder like she’s always belonged there.
Her fingers lift the crust to her lips again, teeth tugging gently, lazy from whatever bliss still lingers in her bloodstream. She makes a quiet little sound, nothing more than a hum of contentment, but it wraps around my chest and squeezes. That sound is peace. And I didn’t even realize how much I missed hearing it in her.
Her head shifts slightly, cheek brushing my arm. Her breath is steady. Soft.
And she looks up at me.
That sleepy, gentle smile still tugs at the corners of her mouth, as if she hasn’t fully come back to earth yet. A strand of damp hair slips loose, brushing her cheek, catching in her lashes.
My hand moves before I can stop it, fingers brushing the strand away from her face, my knuckles linger longer than they should.
She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t pull away. She holds my gaze.
Her eyes are unguarded, the kind that pull truth out of you without asking for it. And fuck me, the impact hits hard.
Dead center. Deep in my chest.
That ache.
The one I buried so far down I stopped believing it could surface again. The one I wrapped in barbed wire and concrete and left to rot beneath all the noise and grief. I’ve kept people out for so fucking long, the moment doesn’t even feel real—watching her melt into me as if I’m safe.
I can’t breathe right.
Because there it is.
That thing I’ve been running from.
The weight presses against my ribs. The sharpness slides beneath my skin with the way her steady energy is filling cracks I swore I’d sealed shut.
Something is shifting.
Something that hits a hell of a lot like falling.
And fuck I didn’t see none of that coming.
