Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
I pace my apartment, phone in hand like a lifeline. Three days since our reconciliation at James's. Days of cautious hope and whispered promises, circling the Boston offer without resolution.
Tonight feels different. I need more than careful.
"Just call him," I mutter, facing the river that flows under our covered bridge.
I dial.
"Eva." His voice warms. "I was just thinking about you."
"Good thoughts, I hope."
"Always." His smile makes my stomach flutter. "What's up?"
"I want to see you tonight. Not about logistics or Westcott. Just... us. A real date with nothing held back. No careful editing."
Silence stretches.
"James?"
"Sorry. That sounds perfect. My place? I could cook."
"No. I want to come over, but don't do anything. No hosting. Just be with me."
"That's exactly what I need. When?"
"Half an hour?"
"I'll be waiting."
Twenty-eight minutes later, I pull into James's driveway, my heart hammering against my ribs. I've deliberately dressed down—worn jeans, a soft sweater, minimal makeup. No armor tonight.
The door opens before I reach it. James stands there in jeans and a faded t-shirt, his feet bare, hair slightly mussed. He looks younger, softer around the edges. More real than I've ever seen him.
"Hi," he says simply.
"Hi." I step inside, letting the door close behind me.
For a moment, we just look at each other, the air between us charged with everything we've been holding back. Then we move at the same time, closing the distance in two quick steps.
His arms wrap around me, solid and warm, as my hands find his face.
The kiss is desperate, hungry, months of tension and weeks of connection crystallizing into this single point of contact.
I press closer, wanting to eliminate any space between us, and he responds by walking me backward until my shoulders meet the wall.
"God, I've missed you," he murmurs against my mouth.
"It's only been three days." But I know what he means. We've been careful with each other, tentative in a way we weren't before the Boston offer complicated everything.
"Too long." His hands slide under my sweater, warm against my skin. "I don't want to be careful with you anymore, Eva."
"Good." I tug at his t-shirt. "Because I'm done with careful too."
He pulls back just enough to meet my eyes, his gaze searching. "Are you sure? About this? About us?"
Instead of answering with words, I grab the hem of my sweater and pull it over my head, letting it drop to the floor. His eyes darken as they take in my lace-covered breasts, the soft curve of my stomach.
"I've never been more sure of anything," I say, suddenly feeling bold, powerful. "I want all of you, James. No holding back."
Something shifts in his expression—relief, desire, determination all mingling together. He lifts me in one fluid motion, my legs wrapping instinctively around his waist as he carries me toward the bedroom.
"No more hiding," he promises against my neck, laying me down on his bed with surprising gentleness. "No more careful filtering."
"No more," I agree, pulling him down to me.
His weight settles over me, comforting and exciting all at once. I run my hands under his shirt, tracing the contours of his back, the solid muscle beneath warm skin. He kisses me deeply, thoroughly, like he's memorizing the taste of me.
When we break for air, I tug at his shirt again. "Off. I want to feel you."
He sits back on his heels, pulling the shirt over his head in one smooth motion. "Your turn," he says, his voice rough with desire.
I sit up, reaching behind to unhook my bra, suddenly shy despite my earlier boldness. But the way James looks at me—like I'm something precious, something he's been starving for—melts any hesitation.
"You're beautiful," he says, reverently tracing the curve of my breast with his fingertips.
"So are you." I reach for his belt buckle. "And wearing too many clothes."
He laughs, the sound vibrating through me where our bodies touch. "Impatient."
"Always." I smile up at him. "It's part of my too-muchness."
His expression softens. "I love your too-muchness." Kissing my collarbone, then lower, he adds, "Love how you don't hold back, say what you think." His mouth closes over my nipple. "Love how responsive you are."
My back arches as he explores, his hands mapping my body with deliberate care. Each discovery—the spot at my throat, my hitched breath when teeth graze ribs, my shiver as fingers trace my waistband—he treats like revelation.
"James," I breathe, my hands tangled in his hair. "Please."
He looks up, his eyes dark with desire. "Please what? Tell me what you want, Eva."
"I want these off." I tug at his jeans. "I want to feel all of you."
He stands, unbuckling his belt and sliding his jeans down his legs. His boxers do little to hide his arousal, the outline of his erection making my mouth go dry with anticipation.
"Your turn," he says again, reaching for the button of my jeans.
I lift my hips as he slides them down, taking my underwear with them in one smooth motion. Then I'm naked before him, completely exposed, and the vulnerability of it makes my heart race.
James pauses, his gaze traveling over me with such naked appreciation that I feel myself flush.
"Eva," he says, his voice thick with emotion. "Do you have any idea how perfect you are?"
"I'm not?—"
"You are." He silences my protest with a kiss, settling beside me on the bed. "To me, you're perfect. Not because you don't have flaws, but because your flaws are part of what makes you you ."
His hand slides down my body, tracing curves and valleys, making me shiver. When his fingers find the wetness between my thighs, I gasp, arching into his touch.
"Is this okay?" he asks, circling gently.
"More than okay." I reach for him, slipping my hand beneath the waistband of his boxers to wrap around his cock. It's hot and hard in my hand, velvety skin over steel. "These need to go too."
He sheds his boxers quickly, then we're both naked, skin to skin, nothing between us. The weight of the moment—the significance of this final barrier coming down—isn't lost on either of us.
"I need you to know something," James says, his voice serious despite our current position. "This isn't just sex for me, Eva. This is... everything. You're everything."
My heart swells at his words, at the vulnerability in his eyes. "I feel the same way." I stroke him slowly, watching his eyes darken. "Now show me. No holding back, remember?"
His answer is a deep, consuming kiss that steals my breath. His hand resumes its exploration between my thighs, fingers circling and stroking with increasing pressure until I'm gasping against his mouth.
"James," I moan as he slides one finger inside me, then another, curling them in a way that makes stars explode behind my eyelids. "Oh god, yes."
He watches my face as he touches me, learning what makes me gasp, what makes me arch, what makes me clutch at his shoulders with desperate hands. When his thumb finds my clit, circling in perfect counterpoint to the thrust of his fingers, I feel myself teetering on the edge.
"Let go," he urges, his voice a rough whisper against my ear. "I want to see you come."
His words push me over, my orgasm crashing through me in waves of pleasure so intense I cry out, my body clenching around his fingers as he works me through it. When I finally come back to myself, James is looking at me with something like wonder.
"That was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," he says, pressing a soft kiss to my temple.
I'm too blissed out to be embarrassed. "Your turn."
I push him onto his back, straddling his thighs. His cock stands proud between us, thick and hard, a drop of moisture beading at the tip. I wrap my hand around him, stroking slowly, watching his eyes darken and his jaw clench with the effort of control.
He reaches for me, his hands running up my thighs to settle on my hips. "I need to be inside you," he says, voice strained with desire.
I lift myself, positioning him at my entrance, then sink down slowly, taking him inch by exquisite inch. We both gasp at the sensation—the perfect fullness, the undeniable connection.
"Eva," he breathes, fingers digging into my hips. "You feel incredible."
I begin to move, finding a rhythm that has us both gasping. His hands move to my breasts, thumbs brushing over my nipples, adding new layers to the pleasure building inside me.
"That's it," he encourages as I ride him, my head falling back. "Just like that."
The freedom of this position—the control, the ability to take what I want while giving him pleasure—is intoxicating. I watch his face transform with each movement, the careful, composed James Adams completely undone beneath me.
"You're so beautiful like this," I tell him, running my hands over his chest. "So real."
Something flashes in his eyes at my words. He sits up suddenly, wrapping his arms around me without breaking our connection. The new angle sends him deeper, making me cry out.
"I love you," he says against my mouth. "Not just when you're like this—though god knows this is incredible—but always. All of you. Every version."
Tears spring to my eyes at the rawness of his declaration. "I love you too." I rock against him, our bodies finding a new rhythm. "So much."
He rolls us over, never separating, until I'm beneath him. His thrusts deepen, more powerful now, one hand sliding between us to circle my clit.
"James," I gasp, feeling another orgasm building impossibly quickly. "Oh god, I'm close."
"Me too," he groans, his movements becoming more urgent. "Come with me, Eva. Let me feel you."
His words, combined with the perfect pressure of his fingers and the relentless rhythm of his thrusts, send me spiraling over the edge again. This time, he follows me, his release tearing a hoarse cry from his throat as he buries himself deep inside me.