Chapter Twenty-One Evan #2
Her fingers drop to my belt, fumbling urgently, nails scraping my skin. I still, forehead pressed to hers. “Are you sure?”
“I want you,” she gasps, eyes dark and wild. “I need to feel you inside me. Please, Evan,fuck me.”
Those words shred the last of my restraint. I kiss her hard, claiming, as she yanks my belt open, zipper rasping loud in the silence. Her hand dives inside my briefs, fingers wrapping around my cock, hot, velvet grip stroking once, twice, thumb swiping over the slick head.
I groan deep in my throat, grabbing her wrist and pinning both hands above her head with one of mine. “Quiet,” I laugh breathlessly, hips jerking into her touch despite myself.
“I wasn’t making noise,” she whispers, but her hips roll again, teasing, soaked heat pressing against me through thin layers.
“If you keep stroking me like that, I will.”
Her grin is pure mischief, eyes gleaming. “Oh?”
Two can play. I release her wrists, she keeps them there, obedient and I slide my hand between her thighs. Her panties are drenched; I trace the outline of her lips through the lace, feeling her throb under my fingers. She arches sharply, biting her lip to trap a whimper.
I shove the fabric aside, fingers gliding through slick, swollen heat. She’s dripping, coating my fingers instantly. I circle her clit slow and firm, then sink two fingers deep inside her tight heat. She bucks, a muffled cry escaping into my shoulder.
I clamp my free hand gently over her mouth, feeling her hot breath pant against my palm. “Shh, baby. You have to stay quiet for me.”
She nods frantically, eyes pleading, grinding down on my fingers. I curl them, stroking that spot that makes her whole body tremble, thumb grinding relentless circles on her clit. Her walls flutter, clenching hard, she’s already teetering.
“Please, Evan, I’m so close… don’t stop…”
I twist my fingers deeper, faster, watching her unravel, thighs quaking, back arching off the couch. She comes hard, pulsing around me, soaking my hand, a desperate, silent scream muffled against my palm.
I pull my fingers free, ignoring her frustrated whine, and shove my pants down just enough to free my cock. It’s aching, leaking, veins throbbing as I fist myself once, twice, spreading her wetness over the head.
We’re frantic now, clothes half-on, urgency electric with every creak of the couch, every distant siren outside reminding us how close we are to getting caught.
I line up, nudging her entrance, eyes locked on hers. I push in slow, one thick inch at a time, watching her mouth fall open in a silent gasp, nails digging into my shoulders as her tight heat stretches around me.
“Fuck,” I breathe when I’m buried deep, her walls gripping me like a vice. “You’re so fucking tight.”
I pull back and thrust in again, deeper, harder. She meets every stroke, hips rolling up silently, legs wrapping around my waist to pull me closer. The rhythm builds fast, desperate, raw, wet sounds barely hushed, skin slapping softly under the blanket of silence we’re fighting to keep.
I angle my hips, grinding slow and deep, watching her face in the dim light—every flicker of pleasure, every parted-lip gasp. She’s close again, I can feel it in the way her walls flutter around me, pulling me deeper like she never wants to let go.
I slide one hand under her back, cradling her closer, the other tangled in her hair so I can tip her face to mine. Our foreheads touch; I hold her gaze, steady and unwavering.
“Look at me,” I whisper, voice low and ragged but gentle. “I’ve got you. Just let go—I’m right here.”
Her green eyes lock on mine, glassy with unshed tears and raw need. She nods, barely, clinging to my shoulders like I’m the only solid thing in the world.
I thrust deeper, slower now—long, deliberate strokes that drag over every sensitive spot inside her, my body shielding hers completely. The couch creaks softly beneath us, but all I hear is her shaky breaths, the quiet wet sounds of us moving together, her muffled whimpers against my neck.
“You feel so good,” I breathe against her lips, kissing her slow and deep between words. “So perfect around me. I’ve got you, Lila—always.”
That undoes her. Her body arches into mine, walls clenching hard in rhythmic pulses as she comes—quiet but shattering, trembling in my arms, breath hitching in soft, stifled sobs of relief against my shoulder.
I hold her through every wave, thrusting gently to draw it out, whispering her name like a prayer.
The feeling of her coming apart so trustingly, safe in my arms, pulls me right after her. I bury myself deep and let go—spilling inside her in long, pulsing waves, groaning low and reverent into her hair.
We stay locked together, trembling, hearts hammering in sync. I kiss her softly—forehead, cheeks, eyelids, lips—trailing down her neck as the high fades, tasting salt and smoke and her. My arms never loosen; I hold her like I can shield her from everything that hurts.
“I’ve got you,” I murmur again, over and over, until her breathing evens out against my chest.
I promised myself I’d make love to her properly someday—slow, loud, with all the time in the world. But this—quiet, close, hearts wide open in the dark—feels like the deepest kind of healing we both needed tonight.
Eventually, I shift us sideways, pulling her back against my chest, arms wrapped tight around her. She melts into me, boneless, fingers laced with mine over her heart.
Contentment settles deeper than I’ve felt in years—like finally, after everything, I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.