TWENTY-EIGHT
They ate at the little round dining table that was halfway between the open plan kitchen and small living room. There was one bedroom—Romona’s—Evie spending her nights on the sofa she was currently looking at, with its lumpen well-worn cushions under a navy blue cotton throw.
But it was a nice flat. Cosy with all the old wooden furniture and the polished wooden floor and the rain coming down on the slanting windows. She would have liked a flat like it, been perfectly happy here if it was really her own place and not guiltily borrowed, Romona due back from a conference tomorrow morning and probably desperately wishing she had the place to herself.
Evie had never settled anywhere, always off on some volunteer trip, sleeping in vans and tents and crashing at friends, up at dawn to stand in front of tree-felling crews, or falling asleep in corners after nights of drunkenly debating, planning. Very studenty, she suddenly thought now with a frown. Fun and exciting at nineteen or twenty-one. But beginning to feel gruelling now, none of that energy and effort even getting her anywhere. Had she ever really made a difference? Had anyone anywhere?
“You’re frowning,” Aubrey said, breaking a silence that hadn’t really been awkward at all, but…thoughtful, a little expectant, as though the only reason they weren’t talking was because there was too much to say.
“I’m wondering if I should rent a flat. I can’t crash on sofas forever. But I’d have to get a job, which means I’d have to stop most of my volunteering. Or I’d have to stop donating the money my mother gives me. Both options make me feel guilty.”
“You could live at Conyers.”
“I like London. I like being where it feels like things are happening.”
“Well.” Aubrey put his empty bowl down. “This is growing up. Realising you can’t do everything. Pruning all your hopes and dreams.”
“I knew you wouldn’t be sympathetic.”
“No. I’m not.”
Evie sighed, resigned, because she knew he was right. Then, smiling, she said, “I told you you were blunt.”
He met her teasing look with one that was amused but unapologetic, and she felt the little flicker go down her spine that she always did when he held her eye. His gaze dropped to her mouth, tracked down her neck, shoulders, chest, frank and appraising. And the current down her spine flamed, clenching tight. They were all there, all those memories, had been thrumming under the surface every moment: the shower, and her room, and Aubrey’s hand in her hair, holding her there.
He stood up, collecting their bowls. “I’ll get going. I’m helping Roscoe again in the morning.”
She watched him walk to the sink, then she stood up, too.
He came back, picked up his coat, saying wryly, “Well, thank you, I survived the soup.”
“Aubrey…”
He pulled on his coat, only looking at her once. “I’m not going to touch you, Evie.”
She flushed, irritated. “I’m not asking you to.”
He laughed slightly, glancing up from the buttons of his dark coat. “No? Just me, then, wanting to make you come right here in your friend’s kitchen, amongst all the lovely bloody ceramics. Rattle them off the fucking shelves.”
“So why don’t you?”
“I’d feel bad for poor Romona. I’ve already stolen some milk.” His quick, sardonic humour fell away, and he came over to where she stood scowling. He touched her cheek, his eyes intent on hers, soothing the petulant sting of rejection she was completely failing to hide. “It’s too soon, and you know it.”
“Why? Because we’re trying to prove we can have a relationship, as though sex isn’t a part of that?”
Aubrey exhaled patiently, like a teacher with an idiotic student, searching for some argument simple enough for her to understand. Her irritation grew.
“Don’t pretend you don’t know what I mean,” she said. “The way we are together… I don’t often find people who understand what I want without having to be asked.”
“As I recall, you gave me a list.”
“You know what I mean.”
He looked at her, a long, heavy beat, with her heart thudding, and heat spiking, pooling between her legs.
“And what do you want, Evie?”
“I want you to tell me what I want.”
He held her gaze for another moment, then looked away, breathing a curse. “It was going to be dinner. A nice restaurant. I was going to do all this properly.”
“There’s nothing proper about you, Aubrey. Stop pretending.”
He gave a grim laugh at the hit. “Fair enough. Then go and get in the car. I’m not doing this here.”
They didn’t speak much on the way to Aubrey’s flat. Evie sat in the passenger seat with an overnight bag on her knee, feeling absurdly prim and proper, like a girl scout on her way to sleepover, all prepared. Aubrey had watched her pack from the doorway, saying nothing, face closed, rubbing the edge of his thumb over the corner of his key fob—leather, of course.
Her heart was beating quickly, and she was nervous enough to wonder if this was a good idea. Maybe Aubrey had been right, and it was too soon. But she wanted him too much to be reasonable, wasn’t quite certain that he wouldn’t pull away from her again, decide they were impossible. So she may as well be greedy, mightn’t she? Have him while she could.
They walked into his flat, Aubrey carrying her bag, putting it down by his sideboard at the entrance to his living room. It all looked the same as she remembered, smelt the same. Alien, masculine, ordered, neat. All of it as reassuring as the dry certainty of his voice. Her heart gave a skip.
But Aubrey walked into the kitchen. “Coffee?”
She followed him into the pristine space. “No.”
He started to make himself one, and she stood there, trying not to look as nonplussed as she felt. The man was moving aggravatingly slowly, calmly, scooping out the coffee granules with precision, checking the water level.
“You can take your clothes off if you’re in a hurry,” he said, getting milk out of the fridge.
She stared at him.
He smiled, laughing at her expression. “You look a little impatient over there.” He inspected a mug. Apparently satisfied, he put it down on the counter. Then he paused, watching, as she began to take off her jumper.
She took her vest off, too, stood there in her bra, fingers on the button of her jeans. “Unless…” she paused, a teasing smile playing on her lips, “you were joking?”
“I wasn’t joking.”
So she continued, Aubrey seeming to forget about the coffee as she stepped out of her jeans, unhooked her bra and let it fall. He swept his eyes down her, then turned back to the coffee machine.
“And the rest.”
She did as he said, stood naked in his kitchen. Coffee ready, he took a sip, looking at her. The still air felt like silk on her skin, all of her screaming for touch, heart racing so hard her legs trembled.
“Are you ready for me, Evie? Wet enough already that I could slide right in?”
Her voice was a whisper. “Yes.”
“Come here.”
He put the coffee down as she walked over, shaking with needy anticipation. He cupped her cheek, kissed her on the lips—that was all: his lips against hers, the light touch burning, holding for an eternity while every part of her cried please.
She felt a tremor go through him, a sharp hitch of breath, the hand on her cheek tightening convulsively into her hair, and he kissed her fully, tongue stroking into her mouth, sending her thoughts tipping and her body pressing up against his.
His hands slid firmly down her sides, finding every shallow curve, the dragging pressure of his large palms warm and sure, as though they were newly defining the shape of her, telling her where she began and where she ended. But he gripped her hips as she moved against him, holding her back, the tips of her nipples barely brushing the soft fabric of his top.
“No, Evie,” he chided. “You might be in a hurry, but I’m not. Maybe I’ll let you come by dawn. If you’re good.”
She glared at him, expression made a lie by the way she stroked her hands up the back of his neck into the soft, short hair. Pouting in pretend sympathy, she said, “Is that why you need the coffee, old man? Something to help you stay up all night?”
He laughed, muttering a curse under his breath, forehead sinking to hers for a moment before a hand lifted from her hip and he spanked her firmly on the backside, jolting her against him with a shockwave of sensation.
She wanted to stay there, the thick ridge of his cock pressed against her naked front, his warm, firm chest against her bare skin. But he pushed her gently from him again and turned her around.
“Go and lie on the bed. Face down. That’s a good girl.”
She gave him a narrow-eyed look over her shoulder as she left the room, but he merely smiled, lifted his coffee and saluted her with it. He was probably going to stand there and drink it, check the post on his kitchen counter, read his emails… She went to his room, climbed onto the bed, lying as he instructed, quivering with want and need, with excitement, with nerves, with frustration, with amusement, half-laughing at herself, at the ridiculousness of it all, even though it was also very, very serious, how badly she wanted him. She needed him now, heat blooming over her skin followed by shivers in the cool air. The duvet under her cheek was dark and clean, smelled like him, like his neat, grown-up life, luxurious and tasteful, and she wanted him now. She writhed, impatient, seeking pressure, friction, beginning to feel ridiculous all over again. Was he even going to come? How long was she meant to lie here, waiting, naked—
“Stop squirming.”
She went still at his voice. The mattress dipped as he sat down near her. She caught a glimpse of his dark smile, then gasped at the sudden touch of his hands on the back of her thighs, drawing her legs apart. “You’re not getting anything until I say so. Stay still.”
A shudder of unbearable anticipation went through her, only made worse when he trailed his fingers up the back of her legs, over her backside, and up her back. He did it again, slowly, and again, the touch so insignificant compared to what she needed. She grunted, breathing hard, pressing herself into the bed, seeking more.
“Stop moving.” He followed the words with a light smack, and she whimpered at the sudden rush of sensation—exactly what she needed, craved, but he went back to stroking her, fingers moving up the inside of her thigh now, getting so close and then—
“Aubrey…”
“Hm?”
“Are you going to make me beg?”
He ran his hand up her thigh again, stopping short. “I think so, yes.”
She squirmed again in frustration, and he pinned her down, hands on the backs of her thighs.
“None of that.” Then his mouth was there. He was kneeling between her legs, lips grazing her skin, her thighs, the swell of her backside. She felt his tongue, the graze of his teeth and his hands tightened on her legs as she shifted, unable to help herself.
“Aubrey, please…please…”
He let go, shifted back. “On your knees, Evie.”
She did it, raised herself up, knew he would look…
“You’re so fucking wet.” His voice was a low murmur, she felt the breath of it on her slick skin. He looked, didn’t touch…
“Please…”
She cried out as he licked her, the sweep of his tongue an explosion of sensation that made her grunt, breathless, face down on the mattress, fingers clawing into the covers. She wanted to grind back, take more, but he held her firm, gripping her hips as he took what he wanted to take, a few slow licks, then his tongue delving inside her, making her moan.
“I like the taste of your need, Evie,” he murmured, letting her go. He pushed her back down to the mattress with a firm hand on her spine. “Roll over.”
She did, found him looking at her, dark-eyed, something infinite in his look that went beyond appreciation, went beyond this room, a question with endless answers. He leant down, kissed her mouth as sweetly as though he’d never done a filthy thing in his life. Her breath shook, a new kind of tremor running through her, jagged and strange, cool and bright. It mingled with the throbbing heat between her legs, swirled into the remembered touch of his tongue down there. She gripped his shoulders, the back of his neck, pulled him so close that his lips bruised hers.
“Evie,” he breathed, mouth skating her neck now, her collar bone, finding her nipples with a gentle suck that made her hips rock up to meet him. “I could torture you all night, but I just want you, now… I want you…”
She nodded and his hand was between her legs, guiding himself inside. He pushed in, met her eyes, watched her face as he filled her.
“That’s it,” he breathed, talking to no one, to the moment, to the feeling. He kissed her again, hand on her thigh, bringing her leg over his hip as he rocked into her.
He went so deep, so deep she almost couldn’t bear it, he was invading her everywhere. He was in her bones and her blood, his body moving inside hers, not just claiming it, but altering it, making it his own, a permanent place for him inside her. There was no resisting him… He fucked her, and he unmade her, and she was his, to use like this, or however he wanted to use her.
He said her name. His mouth found hers. But it was a desperate kiss, both too far gone to remember how, remember anything but the pleasure building. She hid her face in his shoulder, the muscle of it hard and hot, her hand was on his neck, every part of her was wrapped around him, coiled so unbearably tight, on the verge of being broken by him. And just before she fractured, she found herself thinking maybe he was right, it was too soon, because this was the end, her life was his, there was no going back…
“Aubrey…” She cried his name like a plea, and he came into her harder, faster, and brought her over the edge, both of them together.