Chapter 10 Evelyn
evelyn
His flannel is already half off. I'm pulling at it before I realize my hands are moving.
James shrugs out of it and the firelight from the other room catches the ink on his arms. Lines and shapes I've been wondering about since the first day he walked into the library. I trace one with my fingertip. It’s a dark branch that winds from his forearm to his bicep and his whole body goes still under my touch.
"Evelyn." My name in his mouth threatens to make me come undone.
I pull my sweater over my head. His eyes drop and his jaw tightens. The sound he makes does something to the pit of my stomach that I haven't felt in so long I'd forgotten it existed.
"Look at you." His voice is wrecked. He says it like he's seeing something sacred. Not performing. Not taking inventory. Just seeing me. "You're so beautiful it hurts."
No one has ever looked at me the way James Holt is looking at me right now. Like I'm not something to manage or control. He’s staring like I'm a wildfire and he wants to burn.
His hands find my waist. His palms are rough and callused. They slide up my ribs in a slow, steady movement and his thumbs brush the undersides of my breasts. I gasp because it makes tingles shoot across my skin and heat pools low in my belly.
"James." I'm shaking. Not from the cold. Not from fear. From the overwhelming reality of being touched by someone I actually want to touch me.
"I've got you." He presses his mouth to my collarbone. Then he moves lower.
James’ lips close around my nipple and I arch into him so hard my spine leaves the mattress. He lets out a groan against my skin. The vibration rolls through me and my fingers dig into his broad, solid shoulders I've been pretending not to stare at for weeks. I hold on and savor every moment.
"So responsive." He switches sides. His tongue circles slowly, and his hand palms what his mouth isn't covering. "Every sound you make, I swear sweetheart."
I can feel him against my thigh. He’s hard, thick, and straining against his jeans. The knowledge that I did that, that I broke through whatever iron self-control this man has, makes me bold in a way I haven't been in years.
My hand slides down his stomach. He catches my wrist.
"Not yet." His eyes are black. Pupils blown wide. "I need to see you come apart. Let me—"
He drops to his knees beside the bed. His hands hook behind my thighs and pull me to the edge.
I should feel exposed. I should feel the old panic.
A part of me waits for the freeze or the disconnect.
I hold my breath for the part of me that used to leave my body during anything intimate because it was easier to not be present.
It doesn’t come. Instead, I'm fully present.
I'm so present it's almost unbearable. I memorize every detail of his hands on me and melt under his touch.
His mouth finds the inside of my thighs and I let them fall open for him.
Then he moves higher. His stubble drags across my skin and every nerve ending I have fires at once.
"James, you don't have to—"
"I know I don't have to." He looks up at me. The firelight catches his face and his expression is ruined. He gives me every part of himself. "I want to. I've wanted to since the day I saw you standing in that library."
Then his mouth is on me and I stop thinking.
He runs his tongue across my slit and parts my folds with a groan that sounds like relief. His hands grip my thighs. My body clenches and jumps with every stroke. He holds me still and worships every part of me until I’m barely hanging on.
"James." My hand finds his hair. It’s thick between my fingers when I tug him toward me, desperate for more friction. "James, I—"
"Let go." He murmurs it against me and the vibration makes my vision blur. "You're safe. Let go."
His tongue circles my nub in tight, steady passes.
He slides two fingers inside me. James rocks them into me slowly and curling.
He finds the spot like he already knows my body.
It’s like he's been studying me the way he studies a broken thing that needs fixing, except I'm not broken. Not with him. Not right now. Right now I’m more alive than I’ve ever been.
Tremors build in my body until I’m jumping with his every touch. It's been so long and he's so good. His fingers dive deeper and his mouth is relentless. I’m gasping for air and chanting his name into the darkness.
"I'm going to… James, I…"
"Give it to me." His voice is gravel. Command and tenderness fused together. "Come for me, sweetheart."
I shatter.
The release rolls through me like the waterfalls on the canyon walls. My thighs clamp around his head and my back arches. I say his name like it's the only word I know. He doesn't stop. He works me through every wave until I'm shaking with my hand fisted in the sheets.
He pulls back and rests his head low on my stomach. Then he looks at me with dark eyes and swollen lips. It’s an expression that could set the cabin on fire without the woodstove.
"Get up here," I breathe. "Now."
He stands and I unbuckle his jeans, shoving them to the floor and taking his boxers with them. I take him in. James Holt is breathtaking. He’s ink and muscle. He’s scars I want to learn the stories of, and he's hard.
His manhood pulsates as he crawls over me. When he settles between my thighs I feel him strain with desire and I’m ready to go all over again. The man wants me in a way that makes me feel seen and protected. The heat of him presses against my center. We both groan.
"Evelyn." He pauses. Forehead to mine. Breathing hard. "Are you sure?"
I take his face in both hands. Look directly into his eyes. "I have never been more sure of anything in my life."
He pushes inside me in a single, mighty thrust. My mouth falls open. He holds himself there, filling me from the inside out. My walls stretch around his girth. His jaw clenches. His arms are shaking.
"Fuck." The word drops out of him like it was dragged. "You’re taking all of me. It’s like you were fucking made for me." I feel him throb inside of me.
I rock my hips and the sensation whips across me like fire. "Move," I whisper. "Please."
He pulls back and drives in deep.
I cry out and my nails rake down his back.
He groans against my neck. The sound is raw and broken.
It vibrates through both of us. He sets a rhythm.
It’s hard, deep, and steady. My hips match him and I roll up to meet his every thrust. My legs wrap around him.
My hands grasp at the muscles on his back and shoulders.
I can't stop touching him. I can't get close enough.
"Right there." I'm gasping. The headboard taps the wall. "Don't stop. James, right there."
"I'm not stopping." He hitches my thigh higher and drives deeper. "Not tonight. Not ever."
The second orgasm builds from somewhere deeper, somewhere I didn't know still existed. It's not just physical. It's the storm and the fire. It’s the way he looked at me when I told him the worst thing and didn't flinch. It's the way he asked for every touch, every time.
"I'm close," I gasp. "I'm so close —"
He reaches between us. His thumb finds the place we are connected while he drives into me. His mouth finds that spot behind my ear and I break apart underneath him.
The wave crashes through me. I clench around him so hard he groans my name like a man being unmade. Two thrusts later he buries himself deep and follows me over the edge. Hot streams shoot into me, filling me to the brim and making it impossible to think of anyone or anything but James.
The storm howls against the walls as he pulses inside me. His arms tighten. My breath comes in gasps. His face is in my neck and his breath is ragged. We stay like that. Tangled. Breathing. His weight on me is heavy and warm and I don't want him to move. Not ever.
He shifts to the side but doesn't let go. Instead James pulls me against his chest. His hand finds my hair, and he holds me.