Chapter Thirty-Two #2
"That's it," he says, voice rough. "Take what you want."
I do. I take everything — the feel of him filling me, the way his hands grip me like he's afraid I'll disappear, the sounds he makes when I clench around him.
I'm in control here, and it's intoxicating.
Every roll of my hips pulls a groan from his throat, every shift in angle makes his fingers dig deeper into my skin.
"Look at me," he says, and when I do, his eyes are blazing. "I want to see you when you come."
The words send a shudder through me. I lean forward, changing the angle, and the friction is perfect, devastating. My movements become desperate and erratic, and I can feel the orgasm building like a storm.
"Evan," I gasp. "I'm — oh, fuck, I’m going to…"
"I know," he says, and one hand slides between us, thumb finding my clit, circling with exactly the right pressure. "Come for me, Molly."
It breaks over me like a wave, crashing through every nerve ending, stealing my breath and my voice. I shake apart on top of him, and he holds me through it, murmuring things I can't quite hear over the roar in my ears.
When I can breathe again, he's watching me with something that looks like reverence.
"Your turn," I say, still trembling.
His eyes darken. "Yeah?"
I nod, and he flips us so fast that I barely register the movement. Suddenly I'm on my back and he's above me, hands braced on either side of my head, and the shift makes me gasp.
"Hold on," he warns, and then he's moving, driving into me with a rhythm that's fast and deep and perfect. My nails rake down his back, my legs wrap around his waist, and I meet him thrust for thrust.
“Fuck,” he groans against my neck. "You feel so good. I love the way your pussy grips my cock."
I can't form words anymore. Can only hold on as he takes me apart all over again. The bed frame creaks, the headboard taps the wall, and I don't care who hears. Let them hear. Let the whole damn building know.
His movements become erratic, losing the steady rhythm, and I know he's close. I tighten around him deliberately, and his whole body shudders.
“Molly,” he chokes out. “I’m going to come…”
"Do it," I say. "Come for me. Come inside me."
He buries his face in my neck and comes with a sound that's half groan, half my name, and everything that burns through my body like a forest fire. I shiver as he releases, every ounce of my being clenching tight, savoring, clinging to him with all the depths of my desire.
Another orgasm rockets through me, lighting up my body in a way that makes colors explode behind my eyelids and a shaking, broken cry split apart my lips. Evan holds me through it, his own shaking mimicking mine.
When my breathing slows enough that I can form words, I press my lips to his and look deep into his eyes. “I like being yours,” I say.
I never thought I’d say that to a man. Love? Maybe. It always seemed a possibility. But taking joy in belonging to someone else? In wanting to give myself to that person, in wanting them to state — in front of everyone — that I belong to them?
Never.
I learned my lesson.
Yet here I am, my lips gently exploring his left cheek, while my heart thrums.
“I love you, too,” he says.
I shiver again at those words.
Gently, he slides off me and lies beside me on the bed.
I stretch, I move, bringing myself as close to him as I can manage, as close as physics will allow.
My breath comes in ecstatic pulls. My skin is too hot, my heart joyously loud.
I lie half sprawled across his chest, listening to the steady thump of him, letting the quiet settle over me like a blanket, savoring the lines his fingertips draw down my bare back.
This is safety. This is real.
All the things I never thought I’d allow myself.
All the things I thought I was too smart to fall for.
And now I’ve fallen for Evan and I want it all.
Evan’s arm tightens around me, lazy and heavy and strong and perfect. His mouth brushes my hair.
“You okay?” he murmurs again, sleepier this time.
“Yeah.”
He exhales, long and content, and the sound does something stupid to my chest. Then his breathing evens out. Gone.
I stare at the ceiling.
And that’s when it hits me.
The silence.
My old instincts don’t shut up in the peace and quiet. They pace the room like a caged animal, sniffing at corners, warning me that “nice” is a mask and comfort is a trap, and the moment I relax is the moment something bites.
That’s how it always is.
You like someone, you love someone, you lose someone.
That’s just how it is.
And the only way to protect yourself is to never love anyone. Never love anyone in that way that losing them would make you want to lose yourself.
But here I am.
Wrapped in Evan, lost in Evan, in love with Evan.
I shift carefully, easing off his chest without waking him. He doesn’t stir, just rolls his head slightly on the pillow, mouth parting as he exhales.
On the nightstand, his phone sits face-up. I think I hear a buzz.
The screen is dark.
I tell myself not to look.
I don’t touch it. I don’t need to. I’m not the kind of woman who snoops. I don’t want to be.
I should be more secure.
But then, there’s a lot of things I should be that I’m not.
I make myself look at the ceiling instead.
Then the screen lights up.
A new message flashes across it, bright as a comet across the night sky.
My eyes catch it before my conscience can jump in front of them.
Good work getting the intel from the clubhouse, Gator. I knew sending you to fuck that bartender would pay off.