EIGHTEEN
She flushed, glaring at him, then shook free of his grip on her chin and stepped out of his arms. God damn it. She was going to get all high and mighty and offended when he’d only meant:
“If I kiss you,” he said, grabbing her hand before she could storm away. “It’ll be because you actually want me to.”
The gramophone was still blaring, staticky and echoing in the enormous room. At least it covered up their conversation, though Liv had tugged Domnall to a swaying standstill and was watching their argument, smiling. George, thank God, had left ages ago, giving up on Domnall and retreating to his study where he’d ordered Aubrey to attend him for a debrief before their return to the office tomorrow.
Instead, Aubrey was here, moments from dragging George’s daughter upstairs and ripping the goddamn red dress off her. If she gave any indication that’s what she wanted, if any of this flirting and fakery turned out to be what he craved, then he was going to take Evie up on that first invitation that had been seared into his mind ever since and fuck her until she couldn’t walk straight.
“You’re in love with Liv,” she said, as though that was the end of the conversation. As though it had anything at all to do with what he was asking.
“Do you want me to?” he asked, demanded to know, fingers tight on her wrist. He made a conscious effort to loosen them, and she pulled her hand free, looked down. “Do you want that, Evie?”
“Yes.”
“Then go to your room,” he said.
She glanced at him, a hundred things in her eyes, then left the room without looking back. Aubrey counted to five, pulse thundering, arousal shredding his wits, mind swept of everything except furious desire.
He left the room, walking slowly, heedless of Liv, Domnall, forgetting they even existed. He stopped in the empty hall outside and counted again to five, trying to steady his racing pulse, then climbed the stairs, counting each one. Evie. Finally. Every step creaked, ten times louder than usual. The house was enormous. The stairs unending, the landing, the doors. Evie’s.
He knocked.
“Come in.”
She stood by the bed, watching silently as he closed the door behind him. Locked it. He went to her, handed her the key. She dropped it carelessly to the floor.
“I’m not your type,” she said, looking back up at him, a flat challenge in her eyes. “I’m not short, or curvy. I’m not Liv.”
“I have lots of types.”
“For meaningless sex.”
He studied her for a moment. “We don’t have to do this. If it’s not what you want.”
“I said I did. I want you to kiss me.”
“I want to fuck you, Evie. Just to be clear.”
She coloured slightly. “I know.”
“And you want that?”
She looked away, arms folded. Nodded briefly.
He reached out, turned her face back to him. “I need to be sure, Evie. Look me in the eye and say it.”
She scowled, eyes narrowed. “I want you to fuck me, Aubrey.”
He breathed a laugh. “Said like a brat.”
She held his eye and smiled sweetly. “I want you to fuck me, Aubrey. I want you to take me from behind. I want you to bend me over and spank me. I want you to take me hard and fast. I want you in my mouth. Is that better?”
Jesus Christ.
“Hell of a menu, Evie,” he said, trying not to betray the tremor of pure need that went through him. His hand was still cupping her jaw. Slowly, he stroked his thumb up to her mouth, dragging the pad over the flesh of her lower lip, feeling the edge of wetness of the soft inside where her lipstick didn’t reach. He couldn’t look away from that soft pink flesh, not even as he slid his hand into the hair at the back of her head, knocking the pins awry, and pulled her to him.
How could the same mouth that had talked such filth be so soft and meltingly sweet? She moaned a little as he found the soft flesh of her inner lip with his tongue, with his teeth, and he was already losing his mind, floating somewhere between heaven and hell, hardly knowing which way was up but that he wanted her just as she’d described, on her knees, hard and filthy, and he wanted to fuck this sweet little mouth, and he wanted her until it hurt, and he also just wanted to kiss her, exactly like this, with only his hand in her hair and her mouth on his, both of them fighting to breathe.
He felt mad, delirious, throat aching, body trembling. She touched him, a hand on his chest, and he broke the kiss, inhaling sharply, forehead against hers. She ran her hand up to his neck, to the hair behind his ear, traced his cheek, his jaw. He closed his eyes, opened them, found hers still blue and steady and close, impossibly close, nothing but Evie in his sights.
He kissed her again, meltingly slowly, as though testing a theory: still the same, still dizzying, still a mix of sweetness and insane need that drove claws into his chest, dragged him primal and bestial to the surface. He held her gaze, steadier now, his intentions clear. She smiled.
He moved her away a little, hands on her arms, forced her to take a step back so that he had room enough to see. Then he slipped his hands behind her, drew down the zip of her dress and pushed the tiny straps from her shoulders.
The red crumpled to the floor, a rose falling, and Evie stood there, thin and pale, the small breasts perfect, nipples dark, hard, tipped up and gloriously pert as though begging for his mouth. He traced his eyes down, in no hurry, enjoying just looking. Taut, flat stomach and slim hips, a tiny scrap of fabric.
“Take that off.”
She did, and stepped out of the pooled dress, already barefooted. Nothing at all but Evie.
“Turn around.”
With a slight protest in the narrowing of her eyes, she did as told, turning so he could see the long lean back, the slight swell of her buttocks, the legs that went on forever.
He took off his shoes, his jacket, unbuttoned his shirt sleeves. “Don’t move,” he said, when she started to turn back to him. With a faint noise of protest, she faced away again, and he smiled to himself as he stepped up behind her.
She gasped as his hands gripped the back of her thighs, ran slowly up to the round swell above. He trailed his fingers up her waist, over her ribs, feeling her tremble as he brought his hands round to cup her breasts. He kissed the back of her neck, softly, lightly, swiping a thumb over one hard nipple and hearing her gasp.
“Are you already as wet as I think you are?” he murmured, moving one hand back down her back, over her ass, and between her thighs. He grunted, eyes shutting at what he found there. “Even wetter. Good girl.”
Her breast was perfect in his hand, the nipple a perfect pearl between his fingers. He teased it while he explored her pussy with his other hand, tracing the edges, getting to know it, making a perfect map in his mind. Her clit was firm, and she jerked, gasping, when he touched it. So he did again, mouth smiling against her neck, breathing in the scent of her skin and the new scent of her arousal.
“Are you going to come like this?” he asked softly, circling her clit again. He hadn’t even pushed inside her yet, fingers moving back to the warmth and slickness there. “I’m not even in you yet, Evie, and you’re trembling.”
“Shut up,” she breathed, and in almost the same gasp: “Please.”
He slid a fingertip inside, pushing into the warm flesh, finding her tight but loosening with every breath, his fingers coated. She moaned and he pushed deeper, until she took his whole finger, trembling and tightening around it. God, he wanted to feel her on his cock. He was so hard he was dizzy with it, every bit of friction, every nudge of her ass against him driving him crazy.
He took his hands from her, unbuttoned his trousers, his waistcoat, his shirt. “Get on the bed,” he said, undressing with clumsy fingers.
She did so, sitting on the edge of it, watching him.
“Are you on the pill?”
“Yes.”
“Tested?”
“It’s all OK.”
He laughed slightly as he came over to her. “How are you so calm?”
“I’m not.”
No, that was true. She was shivering, looking up at him, her cheeks flushed. He knelt down, their faces level, and touched her cheek, kissed her, all his frantic lust splintering like a fractal pattern, creating whole new worlds of need, every possible kind.
“Do you still want this, Evie?”
“Yes.”
“Am I too bossy?”
“No.”
“Then lie back on the bed and spread your legs so I can eat you out.”
She flushed, half laughing, but did as he said—lying back, at least. He tsked slightly, pushing her knees apart. “Wider, Evie. I want you wide open.”
He heard another muffled, “Shut up,” but he wasn’t really listening, was enjoying looking at her too much. Fuck, but she was perfect. He kissed her knee, eyes on the treat ahead, unable to stop himself trailing a finger up there, watching it disappear inside. She moaned, hips shifting, and he pumped her with her finger, imagining it was his cock until he couldn’t stand torturing himself anymore and moved up to kiss her there, mouth on her clit while his finger continued its work.
“Oh fuck,” Evie gasped. “I’m going to…”
“Do it.”
“No.”
He lifted his head, breathing a laugh. “Whyever not?”
“Because I can’t come twice, I never do. And don’t say that sounds like a challenge. I mean it. I want to come with you…in me.”
“Fair enough,” he said simply and flipped her onto her stomach, hauling her ass into the air with his hands on her hips. “Face to the mattress, Evie.”
And then he was inside her, all of him, all at once. She grunted, a breathless moan.
“You said from behind,” he reminded her, almost incoherent himself at the sudden sensation. Fuck, fuck… He rocked into her hard. She felt fucking glorious, gripping every inch of him, the white spine curving away from him, the perfect back. He moved into her harder, chasing his release, fucking her desperately, with her moaning her pleasure into the mattress, letting him take her, helpless on the end of his cock, quaking around it as she came with a cry.
“Fuck,” he said. “Evie. Evie…”
And that’s how he came, breathing her name.