Quinn

I groan in pleasure as I sink into my new mattress and wrap the soft comforter around me. It feels like one of those beds at a fancy hotel, the kind that mold to your body. I can’t imagine how much it cost.

Or why he bought it for me.

Why Zee St. James does anything.

Despite all his hard edges he was always the first to give anyone the shirt off his back, never expecting anything in return. But it’s the one thing he refuses to give, that I want the most. His heart.

Shifting off the bed, I go through the drawers of my new dresser, my heart speeding up as I realize he had to have put all my stuff away, including my bras and panties. My cheeks flush when I see my vibrator tucked in beside them.

My closet was the one thing he didn’t touch. Boxes of shoes and purses, the ones I don’t want to part with, are stacked on top of each other. The others, the ones Zee put in storage, are part of my purge efforts. I’d planned on taking them to a donation drop off on one of my days off.

But there’s one box that I’ve never been able to get rid of. One I haven’t opened in years. Standing on tiptoes, I reach for the square boot box on the top shelf, then place it on my bed. A small red heart, drawn in permanent marker on the lid, is the only indication of what’s inside.

I chew on my bottom lip as I open it.

My fingers trail over the worn-out cotton sweatshirt folded on top.

Most girls go through an awkward stage between twelve and thirteen. They’re not really kids anymore, but they’re not women either, despite how much they want to be. My awkward stage lasted a little longer. At fourteen, I still didn’t have breasts, and my braces were still a bane in my existence.

Invited to a pool party, I’d stood in front of the mirror for hours worrying over my hair, doing my makeup just right...and stuffing my bikini top with Kleenex.

I groan at the memory. I’d done a good job. Turning my natural A-cups into fairly decent Bs. They’d gotten some attention. Until Felicia Thomas pushed me into the pool, and my impressive Bs turned into a mushy mess.

Humiliated, I hadn’t even gathered my clothes, just wrapped a towel around me and left the party, tears blurring my vision as I’d started the twenty-minute walk down the old dirt road. It was dark, and with no lights and the moon hidden by clouds, I’d realized I’d made another stupid, rash decision.

When a motorcycle slowed down behind me, I’d panicked. Blinded by the headlight, I couldn’t see the rider, but I knew his voice, when he said roughly, “Jesus, Quinn. What are you doing out here alone?”

Zee had turned off the ignition and gotten off his bike.

“I’m...going...” Each word had come out in a sob, making my embarrassment complete. “Home.”

In the darkness, I couldn’t see his expression as he approached, but I heard the fear in his voice, “Did someone hurt you?”

I shivered and pulled the towel tighter around me. “N-n-no.”

“Where are your clothes?” He’d pulled his hoodie off, then placed it over my head.

I shoved my arms through the sleeves, his scent and warmth wrapping around me.

Sniffling, I’d wiped at my eyes, knowing I looked as terrible as I felt. “I left them at the party.”

He hadn’t touched me, he never touched me.

“Need me to kick someone’s ass for you?”

I knew he was only half joking.

“No.” A small smile tugged at my lips despite how rotten I felt.

“You sure?”

“I just wish I was older.” I’d said, not sure why I admitted it out loud. I knew everyone in school, including Abbott would know about my mortification by tomorrow. I’d probably be known as Kleenex girl until I graduated.

Zee grunted. “Being an adult doesn’t make life any easier.”

“But having boobs does,” I’d muttered, then clamped my mouth shut, my face burning once again. Apparently, I was born without a filter.

Zee had chuckled. “Give it a couple years, Q, and the boys will be lining up to date you.”

“I doubt it.”

“Trust me.” He’d taken my chin between his thumb and index finger. “You’re going to be a knockout one day. Just don’t grow up too quickly.”

I’d fallen a little more in love with him right then.

“Come on,” he’d said. “I’ll take you home.”

He’d given me his helmet and I’d gotten on the back of his bike, wrapping my arms around his waist. I’d never been that close to him, and my fourteen-year-old body had awakened to his, vibrating with the revving of the engine.

He’d never asked for his sweatshirt back, so I’d kept it. Slept in it for a week afterwards. When Kade had seen me in it, and frowned, asking if it was Zee’s, I’d lied, then hid it in the box with the other Zee-related items I’d collected over the years.

The front door slams, jarring me out of my memories, and I hear Zee’s muttered curses and hard footsteps before another door slams shut. Then I hear a loud crash, like something breaking through drywall.

Jumping off my bed, I open my door. “Zee?”

Silence.

His bedroom door is shut, but I can hear his steps on the other side, like he’s pacing.

I should know better than to bother him when he’s in one of his moods, but I knock anyway. “Everything okay?”

Curses answer me on the other side.

When I open the door, a knot forms in my throat at the broken man sitting on the edge of the bed, cradling his bloody hand, and the fist shaped hole in the wall beside him.

“Can’t...” It’s the only thing he says. His eyes are pinched shut and his features are drawn tight in pain. I wonder if he’s been drinking.

His breathing is rapid, and sweat beads on his brows, and I notice the slight tremble in his hands.

I move towards him, keeping my hands at my side, remembering the last time I’d tried to touch him when he’d been like this. “Zee?”

He looks at me then, green eyes haunted, full of guilt and self-loathing, but sober.

Agonizing secrets flash in those eyes. And I know whatever he’s hiding is destroying him from the inside.

“You’re hurt,” I crouch in front of him, taking his hand, and examining the bloody knuckles.

“I’m fine,” he says through gritted teeth.

“I’ll get a washcloth.” I start to stand, but he grabs my arm, stopping me.

“I’m sorry. I’ll have the wall fixed—”

“I don’t care about the damn wall.” I stand between his thighs and place my palms on his cheeks. “I just want to help you.”

He chuckles darkly. “You can’t help me, Quinn. No one can.”

“You’re wrong.”

His forehead rests against my stomach and his arms wrap around my waist, and I feel a shiver race through his entire body. “You don’t even know what I’ve done.”

“Then tell me.” I run my fingers through his hair, my heart breaking for him. “You walk around like you’re carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. Let me take some of your burden.”

He laughs, and the sound is hard and cold. When he looks up at me, I can see his walls going back up. “You think you could handle my guilt?”

“I can handle whatever you give me.”

His hands are rough when they wrap around my waist, pulling me down so that I’m straddling his waist. “God, Quinn. I wish you were right.”

My chest squeezes, wishing I could take away the pain I hear in his words — heal his broken soul.

“Let me try.” I rest my forehead against his and run my hands down his back, finding the edge of his t-shirt, then snaking my fingers underneath, and rolling it up.

He lifts his arms and allows me to take it off.

Our breaths are both harsh, ragged, emotions swirling like visible energy between us. I run my hands over his bare chest, over the scars and tattoos that mark him.

“You don’t know what you’re asking.” His voice is barely restrained.

“I’m asking for you.” I kiss him lightly. “Whatever you’re willing to give me.”

His fingers tangle in my hair then, drawing my head to his, and his lips crash against mine, hungry and demanding and without restraint. He flips me on the bed, so that my back is against the mattress and his hard body is pressed between my thighs.

“This is all I can give, Quinn,” he growls against my mouth, hand dragging down my body, fingers digging into my hips.

“It’s enough,” I say breathlessly, even though I know I’ll never have enough of this man.

A low growl vibrates from his throat, and he lets go of the restraint that’s holding him back. Fabric tears as our hands move frantically to undress each other. I fumble with his belt, and he rolls my jeans over my hips. My shirt is tossed aside, along with my bra and panties. There’s nothing tender in the way he touches me. Only lust and need and something primal.

I swallow hard when he shimmies out of his jeans, kneeling above me naked, his cock, long and thick, straining towards me.

His gaze holds mine, and I see a moment of hesitation there. When he says my name, it’s a warning. “Quinn.”

There’s no way I’m letting him pull away now. I’ve waited my whole damn life for this moment. Every fantasy I’ve ever had begins right here.

“I want this.” I wrap my legs around his thighs and pull him towards me.

His cock nudges at my entrance, and I’m already slick for him.

“I don’t have anything,” he says, back teeth clenched, holding his body rigid above me.

“I’m on the pill.” I’ve never been with anyone bare before, but with him I don’t want anything between us.

There’s a flicker of something in his eyes, then his mouth is on mine again, and his kiss is primal as he sinks inside of me.

I gasp against his mouth, my body stretching as I accept his full length.

“Shit, Quinn.” He stills above me, his cock buried so deep I can feel him pressed against the back of my womb.

Emotions gather in my throat, and I want to hold him there, never let him go, to burn this moment into my mind forever.

I’m terrified to breathe. Afraid of breaking the moment.

Then he starts moving and I lose all sense of myself.

There’s only us.

His kiss is just as frenzied as his movements. His tongue strokes against mine, and his fingers grip my hips, digging into my flesh, and I can feel his own torment as his thrusts are faster, deeper, his voice tortured when he rasps out my name, “Quinn.”

He takes me hard, each thrust like a mark on my soul, and I know if it didn’t belong to him before, it does now. He may not be mine, but I would always be his.