She's got her arm around my back, keeping me locked in place, and it's all that I can do to keep my fingers from trailing in between those curvy legs and finding her damp heat.
She glides her hands down my sides and I moan her name. Oh, fuck. How long has it been? I can barely get my fucking breath.
“Evan.” She tugs my hair, bringing my mouth down over hers, and I don't hold back this time. My tongue plunges inside her, tasting and teasing, and I squeeze her breast, stroking until her nipple hardens under my hungry palm.
She shudders, and I swear to God I see stars. I'm slipping beyond my stopping point when, with a ragged breath, I wrench my mouth off hers. It takes every ounce of willpower I have, but I pull myself away.
“Be careful what you ask for, angel.” It comes out almost a growl.
Her fingers skate over my mouth. “I needed that,” she gasps. “I'm sorry.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry for.” Unraveling her hair from around my hand, I back away from her, rising up on my knees and pressing my palm hard against my cock in a futile effort to calm myself down. “Be careful. You’re almost too much for me to resist.”
“What if I feel the same way?” Her voice is wobbly, like she hasn’t spoken in a long time.
“You don't. You don't have a damn clue what you're getting yourself into.” I sigh loudly, pressing my hand against my forehead.
Merri sits up, her gentle fingers curling around my elbow. I inhale the sweet scent of her shampoo and feel the heat of her body and see the confusion on her face, and I can't do it. I just can't be this damn close to her.
I'm off the bed and to the door before any more mistakes are made.
I STAND OUTSIDE her door for a few minutes with my back against the wall, breathing heavily and trying to will my erection away. I think about Merri on the other side of the wall, and the soft skin of the inside of her thighs, and all that long, red hair, and I know if I don't leave the hallway, I'll end up back in bed with her.
Walking makes everything worse, so I end up back in my room, yanking my shorts off and palming my stiff cock. One stroke and I can feel my balls draw up. My legs fall apart and all I can see is Merri's face, her breasts, her hair. I can feel her mouth on my neck and I picture it moving lower, down my chest and down my abs. I can feel her kitten-pink tongue lapping up and down my dick. I imagine the feel of my head in the back of her soft, hot throat.
I come, furious spurts that shoot all over my belly. It's the first time I've gotten myself off in months. It's the first time that I haven't felt alone.
Merri
I OPEN MY eyes, and I know right away something is different. The pale brown fabric canopy stretched above me lets me know I'm at Jesus's underground getaway, but that doesn't explain why my body feels so soft and languid. Why I feel so...
Evan.
Holy crap, last night with Evan.
That's what's different!
I flip over on my side, desperate to see him there beside me in the bed, and I hear a whistle from the other side of the room.
“This way, sleeping beauty.” He's sitting in a chair with his forearms on his knees. There's a leather bag at his feet—one I recognize from the bike. He must have gone outside to get it. My eyes slide up his body and I find him dressed in a deep blue t-shirt, ragged-out khaki pants, and scuffed-up boots. His dark brown hair looks shiny and clean, and his left hand sports a fresh bandage.
I sit up, pulling the sheets over myself, and I notice Evan's eyes comb over me. There's a weird expression on his face, like he's intensely interested...but unhappy about it.
“You sleep okay?” he asks.
“I guess so.” I glance over him again, wondering where he slept. Wondering, as I did last night for hours as I tossed and turned, what he meant when I said I didn't know what I was getting myself into.
Looking over him again, I feel a misplaced sense of possession. A sense of excitement and concern. I want this man. My heart beats hard and fast, and I try to water down my feelings with mundane small talk. “Where did you sleep?”
“I was in here with you,” he says. “You were quiet.”
Meaning I didn't freak out or cry in my sleep. “That's good.” I push my palm through my mess of hair. I probably look like crap, and Evan is all clean and showered. I grip the sheet pulled over me, feeling self-conscious and confused. He must notice it on my face, because he frowns. My awkward-o-meter starts buzzing and I know I don't want to talk about last night. Not yet. So I ask about his wound.
“How’s your hand?”
He shrugs. “Not bad I guess. No gangrene yet.”
“Good.” I nod. “That's awesome.” I look around the room for windows, but it's just a habit from when I was at the clinic. I know there are none here. I look at him again, getting hung up on those blue eyes. Not just his eyes…but everything about him. I like the way he moves, the way he speaks, the way he smells. I remember how much I liked his lips on mine and have to look back at the blankets.
I can't believe that happened last night. I can't believe how much I want him now. I feel so...drawn to him. Like we're magnetized. I fold my hands together and hope that he can't see it on my face. Seconds tick by. I can feel the tension coming off of Evan, too. He doesn't like what happened last night. That's the impression that I get. It brings me back to Earth.
When I think it's been a full minute of silence, I turn toward him and do my best to put on a neutral face. “What time is it?” I ask.
Without looking anywhere but my face, he says, “It's a few minutes after six.”
“Oh, okay. That's good. We should leave here soon.”
Evan nods. “I fixed the bike.”
My eyes bulge. “Yours, with the flat tire? Are you kidding me?”
He shakes his head. “I got up early.”
How early would he have had to have gotten up to do the things he's done so far today? I arch a brow at him. “Did you sleep?”
His mouth tugs up on one side. “Quit worrying, woman. I slept some.”
“Is your head feeling okay?” I'm reluctant to pry, but I can't help wondering.
He shrugs. “Pretty good.”
His eyes hang onto mine as the half-smile on his lips falls away, and again, no one speaks. This is incredibly awkward. I guess I've forgotten just how awkward things can be in these sorts of situations.
Something passes over his face—some emotion that is there, then gone—and I hold my tongue another beat because I think he's going to say something. Last night was inappropriate; you mean nothing to me except in a business sense: something like that. When he doesn't, I take a big, deep breath and force myself to act like things are normal between the two of us.
“So, are you ready to leave? I can just get some clothes on and then I say we just...go.”
He nods, just as stiff and forced as I am. “I don't think we have the time to focus on...the laundry room.”
Right. He means the body.
“We don't.” It's horrible, but it is what it is. We need to get out of here and try to make it to the border.
Evan stands up, steps over to the bed, and hands me the bag from his bike. “Here are those things I bought you, if you want to use some of them now.”