AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“You can always spend your time here,” Jen says, wincing when we both turn to look at her. “Sorry, eavesdropping. Shouldn’t have done that. I’m just going to be going now.” She marches to the front door, grabbing both her coat and Vic’s arm. “Come on, Vicky, we’re going to give them some privacy.”
“What?” Vic looks shell-shocked. “You mean we did all the legwork and don’t get to see the payoff?”
“Victor Varg,” Jen put her hands on her slim hips and gives him a glare that I would hate to receive. “You walk out that front door right this instant or I will call your mother.”
“That’s not fair,” Vic says, as Quinn’s dad gets up from the couch too. Sean pecks his daughter on the cheek and claps a hand on my shoulder.
“Glad to see you two fight for what’s right in front of you.” He says and ambles to the door, “Come on Vic, let’s go get some wings and you can tell me more about the All-Stars game and help me set my fantasy roster.”
And then the door closes behind the three of them and Quinn and I are blissfully alone with only her fluffy cat and yesterday’s game on the television for company.
This is it. The moment I wanted. The one that started in The Stand arena all those weeks ago when I left my seat to get a drink and was almost flattened by Quinn on the steps. This woman has stolen every fractured piece of my shielded heart and handed it back to me whole.
“I’m sorry it took me so long to get here,” I cup her cheeks with my hands. “It took a lot of coordination to pull this off and I didn’t want to give too much away.”
Quinn laughs again, the sound sliding through me like warm chocolate.
“You weren’t kidding when you said the last few weeks were busy. I just thought you meant work-busy.”
That was only part of it. Once my mind was made up, things came together a lot faster than I ever expected they would. My apartment was the straightforward part, but work was a smooth transition, too. I donated and sold all my furniture—I won’t need it at Vic’s—and two suitcases later, my life was fully packed. Most of the time was spent waiting for the Chicago-Arctic game. Vic braved Tristan, the team’s bloodhound of a social media manager, to help pull everything together.
It hit me, while I was stuffing a handful of boxes, that it shouldn’t be this easy to up and leave my old life behind. I want more roots than I’d put down. I want those roots with Quinn. I want to be so entwined in her life that it will take an eternity to separate us, if it’s even possible.
Or maybe it’s that I pulled my head out of my ass—with my family, with Quinn—and the Universe heaved an enormous sigh of release and greased the wheels.
“I love you,” I say, and slide my fingers into the riot of her hair. It’s cool and silky smooth against my fingers, and I love how the curls wrap around my hands like they have a mind of their own. I tug her head back and her lips part as if in welcome. “It has been killing me to have to say that over the phone when I want to do it in person. I love you. I love you. I love you.”
“I love you,” Quinn says and I sip the words from her lips, drinking them down like the finest champagne. They pop and fizz in my bloodstream, making me lightheaded.
My tongue sweeps the seam of Quinn’s mouth until she opens for me and I can taste her for real. We moan together; the sound caught in our kiss. I take a step back, then back again, turning until I can drop onto the couch and bring her down on top of me, her knees parting as she straddles my lap. My free hand falls to her thigh, feeling the warm softness under my fingers. I can’t resist squeezing once before I trail my touch up the cotton of her leggings and cup the curve of her hip. I pull her closer, rocking her center against my erection as I plunder her mouth. My lungs burn, but I’m not ready to come up for air. Not yet. The world record for holding a breath is over twenty-four minutes. I can handle a little longer.
My fingertips play with the end of her jersey. “You’re wearing my jersey.” I press another kiss to the corner of her mouth, her cheek, her chin, her throat, “I want you to wear it forever.”
“This is Vic’s jersey, but I like the sentiment.” There’s a teasing lilt to her words as she looks over her shoulder like she can see the appliqued letters and numbers.
“It’s mine,” I say, dragging her focus back to me. “Vic’s number twenty-five. I was always twenty-six.”
She pulls back again, fisting the jersey as she pulls it around to get another look. She can look later. The number won’t change. It’s a twenty-six. Vic sent me no less than twelve photos to prove it.
“What? Why?” Quinn’s panting the words as her hands cup the back of my neck.
“I’m stating an intention, Quinn Cooper. Work with me here.” I bite down on the skin of her throat and she rolls her hips over mine, a strangled moan breaking free from her swollen mouth.
I tug the jersey up and Quinn helps me get it over her head, leaving her in a thin white tank top. It’s one of the ones she loves to wear, with the skinny straps that leave tiny pink lines on her skin. Her nipples pebble against the fabric and I can’t resist sliding one hand up her ribcage to cup the rounded weight of one breast in my palm.
“I’ve always found it funny that your last name means wolf, and the Arctic has a wolf for a mascot.”
“Funny?” I suck one teasing point into my mouth, working my tongue around the cotton as she clutches the back of my head.
Quinn writhes in my lap. It is its own form of exquisite torture, one I want to experience every fucking day of my life.
“Not funny,” she gasps. “Serendipitous. Lucky. Coincidental.”
I move to the other breast. I like seeing the dark tint of the fabric where my mouth has been. The tank is almost sheer under the wet, a hint of pink showing through. It’s enough to make me want to steamroll us ahead. Skip everything until we get to the part when I push inside her. To the part where we claim each other. I also want to slow down and savor this moment. Make it last for eternity.
“You don’t think it’s too fast?” Her nails scrape my scalp and I fist the cotton, almost ripping the tank from her body.
“Probably,” I say. “But I’m done with the what-ifs.”
