Chapter 23 Moonshine #2
He kissed me again, slow and deep, then moved lower, pressing his mouth to my chest, my stomach, my hipbones. I arched into every touch, every kiss, feeling worshipped, wanted, known.
We took our time then, learning each other all over again—slow kisses, gentle hands, laughter and tears and whispered promises. He stripped me down to my underwear, then let me do the same to him, each piece of clothing peeled away like a secret finally shared.
By the time we were both down to nothing but briefs, the tension between us was electric—every touch sparking, every breath stolen. He cupped my face, kissed me softly, and whispered, “Stay.”
“Always,” I promised, and meant it.
He smiled, small and raw, then settled beside me, our legs tangled, hands roaming, exploring, savoring. We pressed together, skin to skin, letting the moment stretch, letting ourselves believe it was real.
I traced the line of his jaw, the curve of his shoulder, the muscles shifting under skin that felt like home. He caught my hand, pressed a kiss to my palm, then looked at me like I was the answer to a question he’d been asking for years.
“I never stopped wanting you,” he said, voice shaking with honesty.
I pressed my forehead to his, closing my eyes. “Me neither.”
For a moment, neither of us moved—caught in the kind of silence that buzzes with electricity, hearts pounding out the same frantic beat.
Evan’s hand was still wrapped around mine, thumb stroking circles against my palm, but his other hand had slipped down to my hip, fingers flexing like he couldn’t decide whether to pull me closer or just hold on tight.
He made the decision for both of us.
Evan rolled, shifting his weight until he was half on top of me, one thick thigh shoved between mine.
The heat of his skin bled through the thin cotton of our briefs, every inch of contact sparking more heat.
He looked down at me, eyes hungry and dark, jaw tight with restraint.
It was the softest kind of dominance—no push or order, just the raw promise of being handled, of being claimed.
His hand slid up my chest, palm wide and warm, thumb flicking over my nipple through the fabric. I gasped, arching into his touch, chasing it, needing more. He grinned, low and rough, and bent to mouth at my throat, teeth grazing, tongue tracing the frantic pulse there.
“You feel that?” he whispered, voice pitched low and intimate, breath hot against my skin. “Your heart’s racing for me.”
I shivered, wrapping my arms around his broad back, dragging my nails down his spine.
He groaned, biting down a little harder, just enough to make me gasp, then soothed the sting with a slow, wet lick.
My hips rolled up, searching for friction, and his thigh pressed between my legs, forcing my cock against the hard muscle.
I moaned, helpless, grinding down on him, desperate for any relief. The pressure was perfect—just enough to make my whole body thrum, not nearly enough to satisfy.
Evan smiled against my neck, low and possessive. “That’s it. Ride me.”
His hands were everywhere—skimming down my ribs, palming my ass, kneading muscle, learning every inch like he was building me from memory.
He squeezed, pulled me tight against him, rolling his hips so the thick line of his cock pressed right against mine, nothing but two layers of cotton keeping us from skin to skin.
“Look at you,” he murmured, voice going soft but wicked, “already leaking for me.” His palm cupped me through my briefs, thumb pressing the wet spot at the tip, rubbing slow, making me twitch. “You want it so bad, don’t you?”
“Yes,” I choked out, barely able to speak. “Been thinking about this for years—about you, your hands, your mouth—fuck, Evan, please—”
He silenced me with a kiss, hard and claiming, tongue plunging deep, tasting every word before I could say it. His hand squeezed my cock, slow and tight, thumb teasing the ridge, dragging slick through the fabric, making everything slippery and obscene.
“Say you want it,” he ordered, voice a rough rasp in my ear, hips grinding, cock heavy and hot against my thigh. “Say you want me to take you apart.”
“I want it,” I whispered, no shame left. “Want you to ruin me. Want you to show me who I belong to.”
He hummed, pleased, mouth moving down my throat, biting along my collarbone, marking me up.
His hands mapped my body—sliding under the waistband of my briefs, fingertips skimming just above where I needed him most. He took his time, teasing, pushing me to the edge and pulling back before I could fall.
His fingers found my nipples, rolling them between callused pads, pinching until I whimpered, then soothing with slow, gentle circles. He watched me fall apart, eyes dark, mouth twisted in a satisfied smirk.
“You like that?” he asked, voice gone syrup-slow. “You like my hands on you?”
I nodded, hips rocking, cock aching, desperate for more. He let me grind against his thigh, the friction rough and perfect, my briefs clinging, wet and filthy.
“Keep going,” he encouraged, low and soft but absolutely in control. “Want to watch you fuck yourself on me.”
I couldn’t help it—couldn’t hold back the sounds he dragged from me. I rode his thigh, rutting shamelessly, cock pressed hard against the muscle, underwear wet and sticky with precome. He palmed my ass, squeezing, forcing me down harder, making every thrust count.
He bent, bit my jaw, then licked a stripe up to my ear, breath hot and shivery. “You look so good like this, Nate. Desperate and needy. Never thought you’d fall apart for me so easy.”
His praise made me burn, made me grind harder, seeking every bit of pressure, every ounce of approval. He let me take what I needed, but never let me forget who was in control—hands holding, guiding, teasing, never quite giving in.
He shifted, rolling me beneath him, pinning my wrists above my head with one hand, his body blanketing mine, heat and muscle and the hard line of his cock pressed to my stomach. He rocked against me, slow and relentless, eyes locked to mine.
“You trust me?” he asked, voice soft but unyielding.
“With everything,” I breathed, arching into him, baring my throat, my chest, everything I had.
He kissed me, deep and filthy, tongue exploring, claiming. His free hand slid between us, palming my cock through my briefs, squeezing, stroking, drawing out every moan. He thumbed the head, rubbing the slick through the fabric, watching me writhe and gasp beneath him.
He broke the kiss, just long enough to drag his mouth down my body—sucking a mark onto my throat, biting my collarbone, licking a slow, wet line down my chest. He stopped at my nipple, biting, sucking, making me arch up, desperate, aching for more.
He let go of my wrists, but his hands didn’t leave me—they just slid down, tracing the lines of my hips, gripping firm but gentle as he rutted slow against me, cocks pressed together through damp, clinging cotton.
Each grind stoked the fire, heat and friction setting every nerve in my body alight.
I felt the strength in him, the restraint—how he held me still, letting me feel every roll of his hips, every ounce of control he was holding back for my sake.
He watched me the whole time, gaze hot and unbearably tender, drinking in every reaction I gave him. “I want to see you,” he murmured, voice rough with hunger but threaded with something softer. “Let me see how much you need this.”
I reached up, threading my hands in his hair, tugging him down for another kiss.
This one was slower, deep enough to steal my breath, tongues tangling as I let myself fall apart in his arms. I was shaking with it—six years of want, every late-night memory, every fantasy I’d tried to bury, all rising to the surface at once.
Evan shifted, bracing himself on his forearms so he could cage me in but not crush me, his weight a promise instead of a prison.
The muscles in his shoulders flexed as he hovered above me, but I could feel him trembling too, barely holding it together.
I pressed my forehead to his, sharing the same breath, and let myself whisper, “I missed you. More than I ever said.”
His smile was a crack in the dam. “I know. I missed you so much it hurt.” He pressed his mouth to my jaw, my cheek, my temple, worshipping with lips and breath, lingering at the corner of my mouth like he couldn’t get enough.
His hands roamed everywhere—down my sides, over my ribs, thumbs stroking the lines of muscle.
He kneaded my hips, squeezed my ass through the cotton, then traced gentle circles with his thumbs, grounding me.
The way he touched me was almost reverent, like he was rediscovering something precious he’d lost.
I arched up, desperate for friction, feeling the heat of him pressed between my thighs, the heavy, leaking swell of his cock rubbing against mine, separated by nothing but the thin barrier of soaked fabric. The sensation was dizzying—wet, hot, so much and not enough at the same time.
“Evan,” I breathed, not even sure what I was asking for. Just more. Always more.
He bent his head, nuzzling at my throat, breath warm as he spoke against my skin. “I’ve wanted this—wanted you—since the first time I saw you walk through that door. Didn’t matter how much time passed. You’re the only thing I never let go of.”
The ache in his voice made my chest tight.
I turned my head, kissed the curve of his jaw, dragged my tongue along the salt-slick skin, and let my hands explore him in turn.
I palmed his chest, felt the hard muscle jump beneath my touch, then traced the line down to his stomach, savoring every shiver I drew from him.