Page 159 of Seven Lost Summers
I found her and Poppy tucked away on the far side of the deck, clinging to each other and laughing their asses off. This wasn’t a chuckle. This was full-on, can’t-breathe, tears-running, completely-fucking-gone laughter. Poppy hit that high-pitched snort she does, the one that sounds like a dying kettle, and it set Quinn off even harder. That, in turn, set the rest of us off, even though we had no fucking clue what was so funny.
That is the thing about Quinn.
She slides into our chaotic lives so effortlessly that one day you look around and realise she belongs here.
I’m not sure when the days started speeding up, but it’s hitting me now that time is running out. Soon the nights will be gone of her curled up on the couch with her laptop, making those soft humming noises she probably doesn’t even realize slip out when she’s editing photos. No more midnight arguments about whether pineapple belongs on pizza. No more watching her grin at Nate like he’s said the funniest shit in the world, even though we both know he hasn’t.
She is part of the rhythm here now, woven into the noise and the quiet in a way that makes it hard to picture our lives without her. And I am not ready for it to change.
The days are loud. Guitars. Drums. Xander’s voice tearing across the booth.
But the nights?
We fuck.
The two of us get lost in her.
She’s pulling Nate and me closer too, tying us together in ways I never saw coming.
Nate always goes first. To him, the whole thing is a game. He gets off on being the one to break her open. Fingers, tongue, cock. He wrecks her, and he knows exactly what he is doing. And I love watching him do it.
After he’s done, it’s my turn. My mouth on her tits while he’s buried deep inside her, her head thrown back, nails clawing for something to hold. Sometimes she’s on her knees, swallowing my cock while Nate fucks her from behind, both of us watching her fall apart. I love dragging my mouth over her nipples, sucking until she’s squirming, my fingers finding that spot between her legs where Nate’s cock splits her wide open.
Other nights, she rides us both, one after the other. Soaked. Screaming. Wild-eyed. Her nails leaving marks on our skin, as if she’s afraid letting go would mean losing this entirely.
She has changed us.
Changed everything.
Before Quinn, fucking a woman together was simple. We knew the rhythm. In. Out. Swap. Done. No eye contact. No lingering touch beyond the quick graze of a hand. We got off, pulled out, zipped up, and walked away. It was sex stripped of anything that could matter.
Now Nate’s hand finds me mid-thrust.
When she’s on her knees, my cock in her mouth, he comes up behind me, mouth hot on mine, his palms sliding over my chest before he moves around to bury himself in her from behind.
When she’s bouncing on my cock, he grips her hips and fucks her ass while his eyes stay locked on me. His mouth claims hers, shifts to mine, and returns to hers again.
Every touch drags us closer into something I don’t know how to name.
After we have Quinn flat on the bed, hair damp against her face, skin flushed, cunt still leaking both of us, I’ll be lying with Nate close beside me, sometimes with me caught between them. His fingers slide up my spine, heat blooming under every slow stroke. The sensation burns into me before his mouth follows, pressing soft kisses into my back. Afterward he shifts, moving over me to give Quinn the same.
No longer is it only about fucking her. This is about the way she’s pulled the three of us into a closed orbit where nothing exists outside this bed, this heat, this tangle of skin and breath.
That night I fucked her without Nate, something in me cracked wide open. It wasn’t the way I usually fuck. No mindless pounding until she broke apart. I took my time, watching every twist of her face when a moan slipped free. My hands covered every inch of her, committing it to memory, tracing her curves as if I could etch her into my skin. Every sound she made slammed into my chest, sinking deep like it was meant to stay.
I’ve never had that shit hit me before. Not even with Bianca. I’ll always love her—she was my first, my girl, the one who taught me to love and left me bleeding. I thought that was the end, that what we had was the peak, the only kind of love I’d ever know. But nothing compares to this. Bianca made me feel alive. Quinn makes me feel owned.
I’m certain this is love. That truth scares the fuck out of me. I haven’t let myself love another woman since Bianca. Haven’t even let the thought in. But that night with Quinn stripped me bare, and now the door won’t close on what I feel.
Nate loves her too. I see it in the way his eyes lock on her, in the clench of his jaw, in the stillness that takes over when she laughs. That sound pulls a smile out of him, cuts straight through whatever noise is in his chest. He’s every bit as fucked as I am, just as scared to let the words out. He still carries the weight of never telling Bianca he loved her before she was gone, and now he’s fighting the same war I am—wanting her, loving her, and knowing exactly how much it costs to live with love you can’t bring yourself to speak.
And tomorrow?
Quinn is leaving.
I can already feel that shift in the air.
Poppy threw a lunch today to say goodbye.
