26. Chapter 26

I'm never drinking again.

Ha. I feel like I've told myself this before.

My head feels like Phil Collins is playing that legendary drum solo from "In the Air Tonight."

Stretching, my arm finds the cold spot next to me. And that's when I realize I'm in a giant bed, alone. Quinton and I came upstairs after my epic fall and spent the night getting more accustomed to each other. Sex still hasn't happened, but let's just say our hands are starting to know every inch of each other's bodies.

Bringing the covers up to rest under my chin, I bury myself in his spot. His pillow smells like him. And I can't help myself from inhaling his scent. A wide smile stretches across my face of its own accord.

Is this what it's like to be happy? Not the false happiness where you put a fake smile on your face while on the inside, your mind is at war with your inner demons. But true happiness where the sky is bluer, the sun shines brighter, and your body feels lighter. Because if this is what true happiness feels like, then I can get used to this feeling.

The past couple of weeks have been hard. But exploring this attraction to Quinton has helped ease the pain.

It feels like healing.

It feels like moving forward.

With one last stretch in the king-size bed, I slip out of the sheets that I could so easily spend the day under and make my way to the en suite bathroom. Inside, I find the small bag of spare personal items that I keep under the sink. Hunger pains are ripping through my stomach, and all my mind can focus on is the need for breakfast.

Glancing around the room, my eyes find a long-sleeve, button-up that's hanging on the closet door. Deciding it's a better option than going downstairs in last night's bra and panties, or even last night's outfit, I pull the icy-blue dress shirt from the hangers and slip it over my naked body, opting to go without anything underneath. It's too early for anyone else to be up. Fluffing my hair up, I take one last peek in the mirror before heading downstairs.

At the bottom of the steps, my body halts.

Oh my gosh.

The pulse through my body stutters, landing in my lower stomach like a lead ball. Squeezing my legs together, I don't take my eyes off the man in the kitchen.

Standing over the stove, with his back to me, is Quinton. He's dressed in a pair of gray joggers that hug the muscled globes of his ass. His shirt is missing, and all of his black tattoos are on full display. Every ridge of muscles is exposed, and all I can think about is running my tongue over each one, familiarizing myself with his body. I think I might die if he turns around, because gray sweatpants are a gift to all women, and I know what he's hiding under his pants.

"I can feel you staring at me." Quinton doesn't turn around to acknowledge my presence. He just stands there while my libido has been fully flipped on.

Clearing my throat, I snap my gaze away from him as my legs carry me over to the island he's standing in front of.

Placing my palms on the marble surface, I sink into a chair, watching as his muscles stretch and flex as he flips pancakes. "Did you make us pancakes?"

Finally, he looks over his shoulder and gives me a smirk that would melt the panties right off me—if only I was wearing some. Just as quick as that smirk appeared, it melts off his face, eyes darkening as he rakes over my appearance in his dress shirt, buttons not fully closed, hair wild from fooling around all night, and lips still swollen from our kissing.

"Shit," he whispers under his breath, turning around and pulling off the cooked pancakes.

Flipping off the stove, he turns toward me, eyes skimming my body again. My mouth goes even drier as I finally get a frontal view of Quinton.

To whomever created gray sweatpants, we love you. Signed, every girl in the world.

Tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth, my eyes drag over his crafted body. His light-brown skin shows every hard-earned defined muscle—hours in the weight room are certainly paying off. Scanning lower, my eyes land on the outline of his very impressive dick.

Before I know what's happening, Quinton is stomping toward me, spinning my chair away from the island. His hands find the side of my face as he tilts my face up to him.

"Good morning." His words leave his lips, and he dips down to give me one hell of a kiss that has my toes curling.

With a small hum, his tongue runs across the seam of my lips, begging for permission, which I easily grant. His tongue slides inside my mouth, and we begin dueling against each other. My legs slide apart, making room for him to step between them. He's hard already and his sweatpants do little to hide it.

One of his hands slides from my face, dragging over my neck, my arm, and my ribs, coming to rest on the outside of my thigh. He's tasting me with fervor. I never want this moment to end.

I want to live in a Quinton bubble where he wears nothing but gray sweatpants, cooks me food, and edges me to the point of orgasm just from a kiss.

The hand that was on my thigh slowly makes its way up and under the dress shirt I'm wearing. Chills erupt over my body as I fight to keep the moan from escaping. The pad of his thumb chases where my panty line normally is.

Groaning, Quinton pulls away, my lips feel lost without his touch. "Dammit, baby. You can't come down here, with the house full of men, with no panties on."

Peeking up from under my lashes, I take in his pained, lust-filled face. His dark eyes turn the color of a black hole. He's just as affected as I am, and he's trying hard not to take me right here on the kitchen island where anyone could come downstairs and find us. Why is it that the thought of being caught turns me on even more? I'm not much of an exhibitionist, but picturing Q sprawling me out over the counter is doing things to me. I can feel the wetness slicking my thighs.

Reaching for him, I cup his erection in my hand, giving him a little squeeze that I know gets him going. A growl escapes his mouth as he bends down, planting a chaste kiss on my lips before stepping back, tucking his dick in his waistband, and walking back to the other side of the counter.

My mouth drops open. I can't believe he just did all of that and just walked away. "Um, hello?"

He barely glances at me, reaching up in the cupboard and grabbing two plates for us. No more words come from him as he spreads butter across our pancakes, shakes some cinnamon sugar on mine, and pours syrup over both of our stacks. My heart warms at the gesture of him putting cinnamon sugar on my pancakes.

Bringing the plates over, Quinton slides onto the barstool next to me, digging into his pancakes. Doing the same, I take a big bite of the fluffy, sugary goodness of the fried cake.

I groan into my fork, causing Quinton to pause before muttering under his breath. "You've got to stop doing that!"

"What am I doing?" I ask, taking another bite of the delicious breakfast.

He stares at me with no emotion on his face. "You know what you're doing. The moaning. I'm finding it hard to sit here and eat our breakfast when I could think of something better I could be eating."

That does it. My mind immediately dreams up images of Quinton standing above me, my body spread out on the cool marble tile. His kisses move from my mouth, trailing down my chest, skittering across my stomach. Going lower and lower. My face flames, skin feeling like it's on fire.

Quinton knows it too. Wrapping his arm around my shoulders, he leans into me, his chest brushing my back, as he brings his mouth to my ear and whispers, "Whatcha thinking about Wilder?"

A breath I didn't realize I was holding slips out, my body collapsing into his.

Stomping feet interrupt our moment, dousing both of us with a bucket of ice water that we both needed. Quinton heads back over toward the sink, putting his hand in the soapy water to start cleaning up our breakfast mess. It's safe to say that our friendship is officially over. We are so much more than just friends.

"Sup, Brynn," Xavier greets with very little enthusiasm.

Coming into the kitchen, he plops down in the seat next to me. His head immediately finds the marble countertop.

Glancing over, I watch Xavier's hungover body collapse. He looks like shit. Little Boyd hit the bottle a little hard last night, and I can't help the chuckle that leaves my mouth.

"Morning, Xav. How are you feeling?"

He grunts his response before slowly bringing his arms underneath his chin. That's when he notices the pancakes sitting on the counter. "Bro, you made hangover cakes?"

"Not for you," Quinton answers, drying off the frying pan.

Sliding my plate over to Xavier, I nudge his arm with my shoulder, gesturing toward my plate. His eyes light up, finding mine and mouthing his thanks.

Pushing up from my seat, I decide it's time for me to head back to my place. There's a very long, very cold shower waiting for me. But I don't get very far before Quinton is right behind me, following me to his room. He kicks the door shut behind him, but I don't turn to face him. I wait for him. Even though he's been the one making all of the moves lately. It's hard for me to be vulnerable. It's hard to give myself over and love someone with all my heart. I'm scared to love him as much as I want to because everyone I love dies, leaves me, or forgets I exist. If Q were to do that, I'd never survive.

"Dammit, Brynn." Quinton moves so that his body is pressed into mine. "Would you turn that beautiful mind off for two damn seconds? Aren't you exhausted?"

Turning around, I face him, placing my hands on my hips to keep from wrapping them around his waist.

"I'm sorry," I say, dropping my head.

Placing two fingers under my chin, he forces my gaze up to him. "What the fuck for?"

He snakes his hand from my chin to the back of my neck. The movement is so powerful. It feels like he owns me. That I am his. And I'll wear that title like a badge of honor.

Sighing, I stare up at him. My eyes drink him in. "I'm scared to give myself to you. Fully. Not just as friends, but as everything."

He doesn't answer. Instead, he steps back toward his bed, his arms not leaving me, pulling me along with him. Dropping on the bed, he brings me down on top of him. Straddling him, my legs go to each side of his muscular thighs as I sit down on him. Our eyes never break connection. No words are spoken. It'd be awkward if it was anyone else. We both need time to process. And I can tell he's working through what he's about to say.

Just as I'm about to break our stare, his lips crash into mine. It isn't a heated kiss like we shared last night. This kiss is slow. It's as if he's pouring all of his thoughts and feelings into this one kiss, and I don't know how to process it. I don't get a chance to think about it for long because he's pulling away, a small smile spreading across his lips. Seeing him smile makes a smile spread across my lips.

"Go on a date with me," Quinton blurts out.

Chuckling, I shake my head. "What?"

Eyes finding mine again, he holds his gaze on me, running his hands up and down my arms. "Let's make things official. Let me take you out on a date."

"Q, we're already official. Remember? Me and you, exclusive," I respond, pointing my finger between us.

"Yeah, I know. But I want to take you on a date. Somewhere away from campus."

"Okay," I rasp out. "When?"

"Wait, for real? I thought for sure I'd have to convince your stubborn ass."

Punching his arm, I try to push off him, but he's too quick. Hands grab my hips and pull me back down. Our new position has him lining up with my center perfectly. Without thinking, I grind my hips down on him.

Groaning, his eyes find mine. "Keep it up and see what happens, Wilder."

I smirk and bring my lips to his. Immediately he opens, and our tongues begin tangling. We can't get enough of each other. He grows hard beneath me, my hips flexing involuntarily. But before he has a chance to react, I jump off his lap, running straight toward the bathroom, laughing the whole way.

"You're cruel, Brinley Wilder," Quinton shouts from outside the closed door.