Page 158 of Seven Lost Summers
“Fuck… Quinn…” The sound of my name leaves him in a raw groan, rough and frayed.
He stays there, for a moment not moving, buried deep, jaw locked, face caught between strain and surrender. Slowly, the tension starts to bleed out of him, and his hips begin to move again.
He fucks me through it, keeping me pinned in that haze where pleasure and oversensitivity blur, drawing it out until I’m breathless beneath him.
His forehead rests against mine, his breath hot.
He keeps the rhythm unhurried, as if wringing every last drop of pleasure from what we’ve already given each other.
Only when my nails dig into his back in a silent plea does he finally still, holding there, chest slick against mine, the weight of him pressing me into the mattress while faint twitches still run through both our bodies.
Nate fucks with a force that owns me from the first thrust. But Theo builds it. He doesn’t simply take me, he shapes every move. Each slow drive is measured to wind me tighter, to pull every nerve in my body into a sharp, aching point. And when he finally lets me fall, it isn’t an orgasm—it’s a detonation.
After a long minute, he eases out of me, both of us still trembling in the aftershocks. He ties off the condom, tosses it into the trash by the bed, then comes back immediately.
The sheet whispers over our sweat-slick skin as he pulls me into him. His heat closes around me until the world narrows into this cocoon. Only his body, his scent.
He shifts onto his side, facing me. His fingers find my face, tracing over it with a quiet certainty, the pad of his thumb brushing beneath my eye in a way that steals my breath. His hair is mussed, mouth flushed and swollen, eyes carrying a softness I’ve never seen in them before.
Theo has always been the restless one. The quick grin, the smart line, never lets anyone get too close. But here, he’s still. Quiet. Every touch from him tells me this wasn’t only sex for him. It was something he needed. Something I’m not sure he’s ever let himself have before.
This side of him is new, unsettling in its gentleness. And in this moment, it’s more intoxicating than anything that came before.
“You okay?” His voice is quiet.
I nod, still catching my breath, my lips curving without thought. “More than okay.”
A kiss lands on his collarbone.
I let the silence cradle whatever it is he is not ready to say.
His arm comes around me, pulling me close, his grip steady as though he fears I might slip through his fingers. The beat of his heart under my cheek is almost too much; it carries trust and something deeper than I can name, and it terrifies me.
The room holds its stillness, broken only by the sound of our shared breaths.
His fingers trace a slow path along my spine, every touch unhurried, almost reverent.
My eyes close, and I let the warmth of him pull me toward sleep, knowing I have never felt him this way before… and uncertain if I ever will again.
Chapter 27
Theo
Twoweeksvanishina blur of sweat, shitty coffee, and Xander riding our asses like it’s a sport he’s training for. Ace is one bad take away from going full WWE on the sound board, while Nate and I spend half our time pretending it’s all good and the other half planning each other’s funerals, anything to break the monotony.
And Quinn—she fucking fits.
One day she’s a stranger with a camera, the next she’s wedged into the middle of our chaos, like she’s always been here.
Even Xander talks to her, which is saying something, because the guy barely says a word unless there’s a riff involved. And Ace, he gets that forehead vein going, the one that screams somebody’s about to die, and she lifts her camera, snaps a shot, then tilts the screen his way. Whatever she shows him, it hits. The vein eases, his shoulders drop, and the murder drains out of his eyes.
Quinn’s got this freaky sixth sense for reading people. She knows when to push, when to back off, and exactly when to pull out the camera. I’ve caught both Ace and Xander leaning in when she tilts the screen toward them, staring at whatever shot she’s captured. Then comes that quiet, almost smug look on both of their faces, the kind that says “oh yeah, this is the dream we swore we’d bleed for.”
And Nate and me?
We’re both just stuck in her gravity, and I’m not entirely sure I want to crawl out of it.
A couple of days ago, we were at Xander’s for one of his pool barbecue things. Those were his exact words, because apparently “party” is too mainstream for him. I was halfway through a beer when I realized I had lost sight of Quinn.
