My gaze conducts a final sweep. His room is just a utilitarian composite of some basic furniture, TV, game system, and the contents of his pockets on any given day tossed on the nightstand. Except for one frill on top of his dresser: a decorative glass dish, like something an old lady would put potpourri in, filled with years’ worth of Blow Pops.
This jerk is so damn sweet sometimes.
“Which part impressed you?” he asks.
I turn to find him leaning against his bedroom door. Legs crossed, hands shoved in his pockets. Jeans riding low on his hips. Everything about him demands to be consumed. And I’m locked in here with him.
“I admired your restraint.” I don’t know what to do with my hands now, so I rest them on the edge of his desk, hop up, and sit on them.
“I couldn’t remember if we were still playing the opposite game. But I’ll go hunt his ass down if we’re not.”
“No, you did good.”
He raises an eyebrow. “How good?”
“Are you leaning against that door because you’re afraid I’ll leave?”
“Do you want to?”
When Evan looks at me from beneath those thick, dark lashes, all full of memories and hunger, I forget what I’m doing. All the rules and hesitations fly out the window.
“No,” I admit.
He pushes off the door and stalks toward me, planting his hands on the desk on either side of me. Reflexively, I open my legs for him to stand between them. I fixate on his mouth. On the warmth radiating from his body and the way my limbs grow restless. When I think he’s going to kiss me, he turns his face to brush his lips against my temple instead.
“I’ve missed you,” he says, more a groan than words.
“I’m right here.”
My pulse throbs in my neck, in my palms, the phantom echo of my thumping heart resonating across every nerve ending. I’m all but choking on the anticipation of something to happen and uncertain what it should be. Because I made myself a promise. Right now, though, I can’t for the life of me think of a good reason to keep it.
With the lightest touch, Evan’s hands slide up the outside of each leg, over my knees, thighs. “I’ve got it bad, Fred.” His voice comes out hoarse. “The way I see it, you better send me to a cold shower before this thing gets serious.”
I bite my lip to smother a smile. “Serious, huh?”
He grabs my hand and places it on his chest. “As a heart attack.”
His skin under my palm is hot to the touch. In the quiet part of my mind, I know he’s dangerous. But the rest of it, the loud, screaming voice between my ears, tells me to drag my hands down his chest. To undo the zipper on his jeans, reach into his boxer briefs, and wrap my fingers around his thick, throbbing erection.
Evan sucks in a breath when I stroke him. He looks down, watching me, his abdomen clenching. “Good choice.”
Without warning, he draws my hand away and spins me around. I grip the edge of the desk to steady myself as he hastily tugs my shorts down to expose my bare ass. He squeezes my warm flesh with one hand, humming an appreciative sound. I hear a drawer open and shut, followed by the rip of a condom wrapper. His fingers slide between my legs, finding me wet, and then I feel him rub himself against my feverish skin as he leans over to whisper in my ear.
“I don’t mind if you want to be loud.”
A thrill shoots through me.
He leaves a kiss on my shoulder as he drags his erection along my aching core, before slowly pushing inside me. With one hand on my hip, and the other knotted in my hair to pull my head backward and arch my back, Evan fills me completely. My nails bite the worn desktop as I push back, taking him. The exquisite ache fogs my vision and quickens my pulse.
“Fuck, Gen.” He grinds out the words. Lays another kiss at my temple.
I breathe out his name because I can’t take the static anticipation a moment longer. I just want him already. I need him to put me out of my misery.
Evan glides his hand up my spine, under my shirt, to unhook my bra and let it slide down my arms. I grab his hand, guide it to my breast. Still, he stubbornly refuses to move.
“Why are you teasing me?” I demand.
“Because I never want this to end.” His thumb brushes over my nipple in the most feather light of caresses.
I groan my desperation and buck against him, grinding on his dick.
Chuckling softly, he brings his other hand up and clasps both breasts now. “Better?”
“No,” I mumble. “You’re still not moving.” And the feel of his entire length lodged inside me, completely motionless, is a new form of torment. No oxygen is reaching my lungs. My skin is on fire, and I’m close to self-combusting.
“Breathe.” His voice is soft in my ear, his fingers playing with my nipples. “Take a breath, baby.”
I manage a shaky inhale, and just as the air fills my lungs, Evan withdraws slowly. I’m mid-exhalation when he slides back in, sending a wave of sensation through my body.
My head drops back on his shoulder, experiencing every inch of him. Pleasure tingles in my nipples and tightens my core as he moves inside me, slow and deliberate. When I can’t quell the need alone, I move his right hand between my legs.
“I’m close,” I whisper.
“Already?”
“Feels too good.” A ragged breath slips out. “Missed having you inside me.”
That earns me a satisfied growl. He runs his finger over my clit. Gentle at first, then more insistent when I moan for him. It isn’t long before I’m shaking, leaning against him for support as the orgasm sweeps through me.
“You’re gorgeous when you come,” he rasps against my neck.
As tiny flutters of pleasure continue to dance inside me, Evan bends me over the desk. He takes my hips with both hands and pumps into me with strong, forceful thrusts. Just the right intensity. Having me like it’s his last night on Earth.
I twist my head to look at him, floored by the raw need darkening his eyes, the blissed-out haze. When our gazes lock, he stills, groaning through his climax. He runs his hands up my back, soothing my muscles, laying kisses across my sensitive flesh. I’m sated and spent, panting, when he steps away to throw out the condom.
“I’m gonna grab a Gatorade,” he says, biting his lip as he stares at me. “Then we’re doing that again.”
CHAPTER 25
EVAN
“So there’s something I need to tell you,” Shelley says after our waiter seats us at a table overlooking the water. It was her choice to have dinner at this upscale restaurant, and as I pick up the menu and get a look at the prices, I’m already assuming I’ll be the one footing the bill.
More than that, I’m now suspicious as hell, because any time my mother starts a sentence with “there’s something I need to tell you,” it’s usually followed by the confession that she’s skipping town again, or she’s broke and needs cash. This is only the second time I’ve seen her since agreeing to give her another chance; last week we had lunch near the budget hotel where she works in housekeeping. She didn’t hit me up for money during that meetup, but I shouldn’t have presumed it’d be a lasting trend.
Catching my wary expression, she quickly waves a hand to dismiss my concerns. “No, no, it’s nothing bad. I promise.” But she doesn’t elaborate. Her cheeks turn a little pink.