‘When we’re done,’ I murmur, rocking back against him, ‘I’ll prove it to you.’
He exhales sharply, his arms tightening around me as he begins to move too. ‘I suppose you were there, were you? God, you probably were.’
I throw a glare back over my shoulder and stop still.
‘Fuck, I’m sorry,’ he murmurs, his voice like gravel. ‘Don’t stop.’
It’s not so much that I take pity on him, more that I’m teetering on a cliff edge myself, in absolutely no fit state to torture him. Instead, I reach down and guide him into me, smiling at the growl that vibrates against my back as my eyes flutter closed. I think I could live a thousand years and never get bored of that sound. Hopefully I’ll get the chance to test my theory.
‘God, you feel amazing,’ he mutters, rocking into me in long languid strokes, his heart beating a riot against the skin of my back. I try to remember all of it, the thumping of his pulse and the gravel in his voice and that glorious scent that’s so specificallyhim. I’m not sure I’ll get my fill in two days.
I’m not sure I’d get my fill in two lifetimes.
His arms tighten around me, one hand slipping between my legs and working a kind of magic I’m not convinced is fully human. And then I shatter into a shuddering release with his mouth on my shoulder and his name on my lips. And, with only two words of warning, he follows me down.
It’s minutes before I can even open my eyes. Minutes of collapsing back against the heat of his body, of feeling his heart pound through his chest and his warm breath tickling the skin at the back of my neck.
I feel like I’m floating, so blissed out– so at peace– that it makes me jump when I hear the rumble of his voice behind me.
‘Well,’ he says, still a little unsteady. ‘I hope you don’t go off me when we’re having boring vampire sex.’
A laugh rushes out of me. ‘I don’t think I said boring, did I? Sometimes it was quite good.’
‘Quite good,’ he deadpans, propping his chin on my shoulder. ‘What any man dreams of hearing.’
‘You never know,’ I say, as I bite back my smile and turn so that I’m facing him. ‘Maybe you’ll be the one who changes everything.’
What I don’t say is that he already is.
ChapterThirty-Three
FLORENCE
Quinn is waiting at the bandstand when I walk down to the harbour front. I’ve barely let him out of my sight since he got discharged, but I wanted tonight to be perfect and so I had to dash off and do a little bit of preparation. After all, if tomorrow goes as planned, we’ll have forever to spend time with each other. We don’t need to rush.
It’s a little after midnight and there are still a few people dotted about, mostly drunk or in charge of a drunk. There’s a small group around the side of the bandstand pulling off surprisingly good dance moves for their level of intoxication, but Quinn isn’t watching them.
He’s watching me.
I’ve felt his eyes on me from the moment he came into view, like he knew I’d seen him. That I was here. He breaks into a grin as I jog up the stone steps, reaching out for me and pulling me to stand between his legs.
‘Hi,’ he says, his hands coming to rest on my hips, pulling me into him.
I grin and lean in to kiss him. ‘Hi.’
It’s only been a couple of hours since I left his flat, but the butterflies that erupt in my stomach at the feeling of his lips on mine don’t seem to know that. I’m tempted to pull him back in for a kiss, to mould myself around him on the bandstand wall, but the group of drunks have already started looking our way and wolf-whistling, so it’s probably about time we make a move.
‘You ready?’ I ask, and then I hold my hand out for him. He takes it in his and pulls himself to his feet. I notice he’s moving more easily now, as though the discomfort in his hip is fading more with every day that passes.
‘Always,’ he says as he gives my hand a squeeze, but I don’t miss the note of anxiety that tightens his voice. He’s scared about tomorrow, I know. I am too.
Elias is heading back off on tour on a late flight tomorrow, so we’ve planned for him to turn Quinn in the afternoon, before he goes.
Which makes this Quinn’s last night of being human. And I know exactly how I want to help him mark the occasion.
I lead him up through the Whalebone Arch and along the top of the West Cliff. It’s been a proper summer’s day, bright and sticky-hot, and the night is perfect too– clear and mild with a light breeze coming off the sea. There’s that familiar sea-salt scent in the air, but there’s something else too, something like cut grass or flowers in bloom.
We find a patch of grass near the cliff edge, sheltered a little by the dry-stone wall that runs almost perpendicular to the shore. I reach back for the picnic blanket tucked into the side pocket of my bag and flick it out onto the grass with a flourish.