Chapter 38

The party is chaos around us, but somehow, it’s like the world shrinks to just us. Music thumps from inside, laughter, shouting, glasses clinking—but my head is spinning, chest tight, and my entire body buzzing from what just happened.

Quinn leans casually against the railing again, hoodie slipping off one shoulder, tank top riding slightly, hair messy, that smirk—oh, that smirk—still plastered across her face.

“…So,” she murmurs, voice low and teasing, “…didn’t think you’d survive that, did you?”

“…I—” I start, cheeks blazing. “…You’re insane.”

“…Mm,” she hums, stepping closer, hand brushing lightly over my hip, “…I know you love it.”

“…I do not—”

“…Do too,” she interrupts, smirk widening, thumb brushing along my lower back, tracing just enough to make me shiver. “…God, Kennedy… you’re so… fuck, I can’t—”

I cut her off instinctively, pressing my hands against her chest, feeling the heat through her hoodie, racing heartbeat under my fingers. “…Stop talking. Just… stop talking.”

She laughs softly, low, sultry, leaning down again. Lips brush mine—again, slow, deliberate, teasing. Her tongue teases mine, grazing, tasting, daring me to respond.

I do. Hands in her hair, pulling her closer. Fingers curl against the back of her neck. Heat, friction, the rush of skin against skin. The world has disappeared. Every sound outside—the music, the laughter, even Annabelle yelling at someone in a different room—fades until all I can hear is Quinn, all I can feel is her.

“…Fuck…” she murmurs against my lips, voice rough. “…You taste too good, Kennedy…”

I groan, pressing against her instinctively, wanting more. “Quinn, stop teasing.”

“…I’m not teasing,” she growls, lips brushing mine again, teeth catching mine for a brief, sharp second. “…I’m claiming what’s mine.”

I shiver, heart racing, fingers digging into her hoodie. “…Stop talking like that!”

“…Or what?” she teases, lips trailing down my jaw, brushing my neck. “…You gonna do something about it?”

I don’t answer. I can’t. Because I am doing something. Pressing against her, teasing back, letting myself get pulled into this heat.

It drags on—long, slow, messy, and perfect. Every touch is fire. Every tease, every whisper, every slick movement of lips and tongue and fingers builds something heavy and raw.

Somewhere in the back of my head, I know I should pull away, run, think about this rationally. But I don’t. I can’t.

The tension, the heat, the want—it’s too much. And when Quinn leans in for one more kiss, rougher, deeper, hands sliding just a little lower on my back, I give in completely.

The night drags on around us, but all that matters is us—flushed, messy, breathless, trapped in the kind of tension that only gets heavier the longer we stay near each other.

I know one thing for sure: this is just the beginning. And I don’t want it to stop.