She can't recall in detail how she got there, but Quinn can feel the burn of vodka down her throat and the buzz in her blood, his teeth scraping her collarbone and down to the valley between her breasts.
"Fuck," he whispers into her skin, like it's a secret, tattooing it to her chest and close to her heart. "I missed this."
Her back arches off the sheets, a gasp escaping past her lips. "Don't stop." Her nails dig into his arms, drawing blood and leaving welts.
It's New Year's Eve, just a few minutes until 2011, and she's making a resolve to change. He's not making it any easier, but she's always been such a weak girl with him. It takes a look; a kiss, maybe, a brush of his fingertips.
"I don't do this," she says suddenly, like she's just remembered.
His mouth is on her thigh, his tongue spelling his name into her flesh. "Tell me to stop, then."
She doesn't. He drags her closer and dips his head between her legs and she can't remember why this is wrong or why she doesn't do this. The clock ticks to midnight and she squirms underneath his hands like they've been doing this for a year.
There's a party far away from here, in another city, another world, where the fireworks are blasting and the ball is dropping. There will be cheers and laughter and resolutions for the new year.
She tries to remember if she has an resolutions, but she can't remember anything, just here, and now, and him. Always him.
"It's a good start to 2011," he starts, kissing his way up her stomach, "you in my bed."
She nods, and as the ball sinks in that faraway place of fireworks and bright lights, her stomach drops and her breath stops and she wonders if this is how they were supposed to be. Just them and the flickering of Christmas lights in the darkness and on their skin.
"I missed you."
There's a smile against her skin, like a butterfly beating against her chest.