“Tears aren’t weakness, love.” Quin holds me tighter, his warmth enveloping me like a protective shield. “There’s nothing broken about you. It’s okay to be vulnerable. You don’t need to hold it together all the time. Sometimes, it’s okay to fall apart.”
I pull away, searching his eyes for some kind of answer. “Vulnerability is scary, Quin.”
“It is,” he admits, his fingers gently brushing away more tears. “But it’s what makes us human. It’s what allows us to connect with others.” He strokes the top of my head, brushing away at strands of hair. “It’s what allows us to love and be loved.”
I swallow, my heart heavy. “I love you, Quinton,” I whisper, sniffling as a phenomenal smile spreads on his face. “I-I really do.”
He presses his lips against my forehead, and I melt. “I love you too, my darling girl.” Like snow under the sun, I fucking melt.
I inhale deeply, and with newfound strength and hope, I pull away from Quinton and stand up.
“I know you're all focused on me living for the next fifty years, but if we stay out here for ten more minutes, I think I might die from hypothermia,” I say, holding out my hand. “Let’s go. I’m all natured out.”
“That's a bit dramatic,” Quin chuckles. “But I suppose Damon should be ready with supper soon.” He packs up the thermos and mugs, then slings the backpack over his shoulder. He motions down the trail. “After you.”
We hike down the mountain, the descent much easier than the climb.Thank fucking God.When we enter the cabin, a slight burning smell wafts from the kitchen. Damon pops out into hallway, frowning as he looks at me.
“She's been crying,” he notes in a stern, cold voice. “Why?”
Quin snorts, smirking. “Perhaps because she knew you'd be cooking tonight.” He strides into the kitchen and blinks at the mess on the counter and stove. "What the hell are you trying to make?"
Damon’s spine stiffens and he looks genuinely offended. "I am making carbonara.”
Quin lets out a theatrical “right” as he picks up a mushy string of spaghetti. I press my lips together, holding in a laugh.
"You were always a disaster in the kitchen, D," Quin muses, rounding the island. He narrows his eyes down at a skillet full of black dots of what I can only assume is garlic and bacon bits. “Mmm…crispy.”
Damon grumbles, his face turning red. "Well, instead of standing there and acting like a total fucking asshole, why don’t youhelp me?”
Quin grins. “Sayplease.”
Damon damn near chucks a steak knife at his head.
"This won’t end well," I mutter under my breath, exchanging a glance with Quin. He just shrugs, clearly enjoying egging Damon on.
But as Damon brandishes a metal spatula, glaring at Quin as he threatens him with a fucking utensil, I decide dinner can wait. Given Damon's current temperament, he needs to cool down a little, and what better way than a little carnal release? Plus, I’m still freezing.
I need to warm up.
"Or..." I trail off, making my way to the fridge. Both men stare at me, curious, as I pull out a can of whipped cream. I smirk at them, pressing the nozzle onto my index finger and squeezing out a dollop of whipped cream. Cocking my head, I lick my fingers slowly, savoring the sweetness. "Or we can start with dessert," I add, my tone sultry and low. "What do you say? Can dinner wait?"
Both Damon and Quin’s energies shift at my suggestion, and I revel in the effect I have on them. Damon’s annoyance seems to dissipate, replaced by a flicker of desire, while Quin’s eyes darken with a hunger that sends shivers down my spine.
I lead them upstairs, my hips swaying deliberately as I climb the staircase. Glancing over my shoulder, I find both men following me, and I smirk. Once we reach the bedroom, I turn to face them, my smile laced with mischief.
“Hungry?”
It’s a stupid question.
They’re always starving.
THE LIMELIGHT
QUINTON
"Hungry?"Emery asks, swaying the can of whipped cream back and forth.
The challenge in her tone sends a surge of blood straight to my cock. Damon, on the other hand, expels a low growl, his brown eyes fixed on our girl’s teasing lips. Emery loves to keep us on edge, taking control. Damon hates it. He’s always preferred to be the one to bring someone to their knees.
