I grin, that is totally something Daithi would say. "But you didn't stop it."
He looks at me. "Why would I stop it?"
I don't know how to answer that, because my entire life has been filled with conditions and permissions, with other people deciding who and where I was allowed to go and see.
"You wouldn't," I say softly.
"No." And the certainty in his voice settles somewhere deep inside my chest.
I read in bed while he works. The lamp on my side of the room casts a warm pool of light over the pages, and I'm finally getting through a chapter I've been trying to finish all day when the mattress dips beside me.
Before I can react, Lorenzo reaches over and takes the book from my hands. I look up at him when he folds the corner of the page carefully, closes the book, and sets it on the nightstand.
I narrow my eyes. "Lorenzo."
His mouth twitches as he looks at me, really looks at me, and suddenly I'm very aware that we're alone.
"Quinn," he replies, his voice thick and gravelly.
I look at him for a moment, then I close the distance and press my lips against his. Because I'm tired of overthinking everything. I'm tired of being scared of getting it wrong. Because I want to.
He goes still, then his hand cups the side of my face and he kisses me back, slow and unhurried. It’s like we've finally stopped fighting our way toward this.
I tuck myself against his side and let him pull me closer.
The room is quiet, the house is quiet, and for the first time since I became Quinn Mariano, my mind is too.
Chapter 20
Quinn
I wake once again before he does. I don’t know if it’s because I feel safe in bed beside him that my sleep is deep and fulfilling that I wake earlier than him, but I enjoy it. I enjoy the peace of just lying here in the quietness.
Lorenzo is warm beside me. More than warm, he runs hot in his sleep. I turn my head and look at him. He looks younger when he sleeps, softer somehow and I like the vulnerability of it. He's always so controlled, always watching, always assessing, always carrying the weight of an entire organization on his shoulders. Even when he's relaxed, there's usually something guarded about him.
Not now, and I love that I get to witness him like this. See this part of him that no one else does.
He shifts slightly in his sleep and his arm tightens around me, making a smile tugs at my lips. A few weeks ago, if someone had told me I'd be waking up in Lorenzo Mariano's bed, wrapped in his arms, I'd have laughed in their face. Now I can't imagine waking up anywhere else.
I turn my head and look at him again. He's still asleep. Good. That means I have a few more minutes before he starts being impossible, so I decide to take advantage of them.
I press my mouth to his jaw first, then his throat, where I can feel his pulse. He makes a sound low in his throat, but he doesn’t wake, and I smile against his skin and keep going.
His hand slides into my hair before he's even opened his eyes. A second later, his breathing changes, the sleepy confusion fading as he wakes up and figures out exactly what's going on. "Quinn." His voice is rough with sleep.
"Mm," I reply, which is definitely not an answer.
He lets me continue, which I wasn't expecting. For all his control, for all the ways Lorenzo likes to know exactly what's happening around him, he's never once made me feel pressured. His hand slides through my hair, not pushing, just holding on to me while he lets me take my time.
I do take my time. My lips trail lower, brushing the hard plane of his stomach, feeling the muscles jump under my mouth. I shift down the bed, settling between his thighs. His cock is already half-hard, thick and heavy against his skin. I wrap my fingers around the base and stroke once, slow, watching it swell fully under my touch.
Lorenzo exhales through his teeth. His hand stays loose in my hair, but the grip tightens just enough to let me know he's awake and aware. I lean in and lick a stripe up the underside, tasting salt and heat. The head is smooth and flushed. I close my mouth over it, sucking gently at first, learning the shape, the weight on my tongue.
He makes that low sound again, deeper now. I take more, sliding down until my lips meet my fist. My jaw stretches, and saliva slicks everything. I bob my head, finding a rhythm that makes his thighs tense on either side of me. Every time I swirl my tongue under the crown or suck harder on the upstroke, his fingers flex and his breathing changes.
I go deeper on the next pass, pushing until the head nudges the back of my throat. I gag a little and pull back, but the sound seems to do something to him. His hips lift once, involuntary, before he forces them still again. The restraint is hotter than if he'd taken over. I do it again on purpose, letting the wet choke happen, letting drool run down his shaft and over my hand.
His free hand finds my shoulder, not pushing, just holding. "Quinn," he says again, voice gravel and smoke. I hum around him in answer and feel the vibration travel through his cock. He swears under his breath.
