Page 88 of Beneath the Surface

“I don’t want to go back.” Quinn reached up and touched his face, her fingers tracing the scar along his jaw. “I want to move forward. With you. I want to feel something other than grief. Want to feel alive. Want to feel—”

She didn’t get to finish. Dax’s mouth crashed down on hers, swallowing the rest of her words.

The kiss was nothing like their first one—that had been tentative, testing. This was desperate and demanding, filled with all the fear and need and want they’d both been holding back.

Quinn’s fingers dug into his shoulders as she kissed him back with everything she had. She needed this. Needed him. Needed to feel something other than the gaping hole in her chest where her grandmother used to be.

Dax’s hands slid into her hair, tilting her head back so he could deepen the kiss. Quinn made a sound low in her throat and pressed closer, wanting more, needing more.

When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, Dax rested his forehead against hers.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice ragged. “Because if we do this, I need you to be sure. I need to know you won’t wake up tomorrow and regret it.”

Quinn looked into his dark eyes and saw her own need reflected back. But she also saw fear. Saw him barely holding himself in check, trying to do the right thing even when every line of his body screamed that he wanted this as much as she did.

“I’m sure,” she whispered. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

That was all the permission he needed.

Dax kissed her again, slower this time but no less intense. His hands slid down her sides, learning the shape of her, and Quinn shivered at the touch. She tugged at his shirt, wanting it gone, wanting to feel his skin against hers.

He pulled back just long enough to strip it off, and Quinn’s breath caught at the sight of him. She’d known he was muscular, had felt it when he’d held her. But seeing him was different.

His chest was broad and defined, dusted with dark hair. Scars marked his skin—testament to the war he’d survived, the battles he’d fought. Quinn reached out and traced one, a puckered line across his ribs.

“From the IED that killed Charlie,” Dax said quietly, watching her face. “Shrapnel.”

Quinn leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the scar. Dax’s breath hitched.

“You’re beautiful,” she whispered against his skin.

“Quinn—”

She looked up at him, and whatever he saw in her face made him pull her close again. This time when they kissed, it was softer. Slower. Less frantic need and more genuine connection.

They undressed each other carefully, reverently. Every piece of clothing that fell away revealed more scars—his from war, hers from life. But neither of them looked away.

When they were finally skin to skin, Dax lifted her and carried her to the bed. He laid her down gently, like she was something precious, and followed her down.

“I love you,” he said, looking into her eyes. “I need you to know that. This isn’t just—it’s not just physical for me.”

“I know.” Quinn cupped his face. And in that moment, she admitted to herself what she’d already known was true from the moment he confessed it the first time. Most shocking of all, she wasn’t afraid like she thought she’d be. Her gaze dropped to his mouth, and she touched her thumb to his lips and whispered, “I love you too.”

And then there were no more words. Just touch and sensation and the feeling of being connected to another human being. Of not being alone in the dark.

Of feeling alive when death had taken so much.

They moved together in a slow rhythm, taking their time, soaking in the connection, the warmth and feel of each other, until nothing else existed outside of that room—not a killer on the hunt, not the grief of loss, and certainly not the pain of history that had brought them to this moment. For just a short time, they existed outside of it all, lost in the feeling of so much more—together.

Afterward, they lay tangled together, Quinn’s head on Dax’s chest, his arms wrapped around her, her leg slung over his. His heartbeat was steady beneath her ear, and his fingers traced lazy patterns on her bare shoulder.

“Thank you,” Quinn whispered into the darkness.

“For what?”

“For being here. For staying. For—” She couldn’t finish, couldn’t find words for what this meant to her.

“Always,” Dax said simply, and kissed the top of her head. His arms tightened around her. “I’m always going to be here, Quinn. No matter what comes next.”