Chapter 21
Everly
Ican’t go back into the cottage and I don’t want to chance running into someone in the main house.
I just need a minute to compose myself. The motion sensor lights kick on the moment I step into the yard.
Glancing around the pool, I spot one lounge chair at the far end that sits just beyond the reach of the glow and collapse on it before the dam breaks.
Seeing him, touching him, breaks my heart all over again.
I cry for everything we were, everything we lost and everything we never got to be.
Pulling my knees to my chest, I weep quietly into my arms, except for the heaving breaths I take. I don’t hear him approach, but I feel his presence like a physical touch.
“Ever.” He crouches near the chair and touches my hair.
I lean into it automatically.
His fingers graze my cheek, then his hand cups the side of my face, searing my skin.
God, I miss him. I turn into the contact; my lips kiss the soft skin in the center of his palm.
He hisses a breath like the touch burns him, too.
I don’t fight him when he scoops me up like I weigh nothing and takes my place with me in his arms. Maybe I knew he’d come.
Maybe I wanted him to. I should stand up, walk away, keep my boundaries.
I know this. I study this. But nothing and no one will ever feel as good as he does.
With his arms around me I feel loved. Cherished.
Safe. I curl into him and press my face into the crook of his neck, my body shaking with the force of my sobs.
“Shhh, sweet girl. Please don’t cry. I’ve got you.” His words penetrate my sorrow, my tears.
I’ve got you. I press my lips to his neck, feel his pulse jump at the touch.
He blows an exhale through pursed lips. “Ever.” He says it like a plea, dragging out the end.
I suck on the pulse that thuds under my lips, scrape my teeth across his skin.
“Ugh.” The moan that rumbles in his chest sends a pool of liquid to my center. “Baby, we can’t do this.”
He called me baby. I ignore his words except that one and twist my body until I’m straddling him.
Pressing against him, I feel how much he misses me.
My lips move from his neck to his ear, my teeth nipping his earlobe.
Seven months. Seven months without this and now it’s right here.
He’s right here. “Kiss me, Julie.” I capture his cheeks in my hands and pull his lips to mine.
His shaky exhale kisses my lips instead. He doesn’t pull away but lets his lips rest on mine, our breaths mingling.
I ignore the thoughts screaming through my brain that this is wrong, desperate and a betrayal to all the growth I’ve made over the last seven months. But his words echo, driving them home.
“Ever, it’s been seven months.” His hands rest loosely on my hips. And then, “I’m not sure I have the willpower to resist you.”
His fingers dig into my hips through the lightweight romper I’m wearing. My breath hitches. He won’t resist me. I tilt my head and press my smiling lips to his.
He pulls his head back, but it meets the lounger. With barely an inch between us, he groans and tilts his head the opposite way and plunges his tongue into my mouth.
So sweet. He tastes so sweet.
His fingers dig in almost painfully, then slide around to grip my ass and pull me tight to his lap. Another guttural groan.
Yes! I want this. I want him. Logic be damned.
Stupid smart girl, my mind tries again. I ignore it like a woman possessed.
I don’t care if it’s irresponsible. I don’t care if we haven’t talked or seen each other in seven months.
I don’t care if nothing’s changed. My hands fly to the waistband of his athletic shorts and free him from the constraints of the fabric.
He hisses when my fingers wrap around him and squeeze. “Fuck, Ever. We can’t.” He drags his lips across my jaw to my ear and breathes his half-hearted warning before he kisses my neck, his actions betraying his words. He tries again. “What if someone comes?”
I don’t care. I won’t be denied. I don’t answer him with words and instead, with my free hand, I pull the leg of my romper and thong aside and guide him to my slippery opening. Don’t think. Just feel. Dropping all my weight on him, I let gravity take over and bury him inside me.
His head jerks back, eyes squeezed shut toward the sooty sky. “Ugh.” His long resounding groan is followed by an inhaled hiss. “Fuck. So tight. So wet.” He grunts between each word like it hurts to say them.
Don’t think. Just feel. But one thought sears itself in my brain.
Don’t give him time to stop. Panting, I move fast and hard.
“Fuck I miss this. Ughng. I’m gonna . . .
mmm.” I can tell the moment he gives in to the gravitational pull of our bodies, his fingers curling into my hips almost painfully—deliciously so.
One hand releases me to reach between us as he presses his thumb to the bundle of nerves above our joined bodies, drawing tiny circles that send me over the edge, convulsing around him, panting audibly. He holds me down tight to him, stills my movement as his own spasms join mine shortly after.
Wrapping his arms around my back, he presses his face to the center of my chest and regulates his breathing. His slow exhales heat my skin.
I regulate my own, running my fingers through the longer tufts of hair on top of his head, cradling him to me.
Now that it’s over, reality comes crashing back.
We’re on the patio for anyone to see. We haven’t talked in seven months.
I blocked him from my phone. The last words I said to him were fuck you.
One thing hasn’t changed. What he does to me.
How much I want him. Will it always be this way?
No other guy has even turned my attention.
Sliding off him, I adjust my clothing and stand up.
He snags my hand before I can walk away. “Don’t go. I’m sorry. I should’ve stopped.”
“I’m not.” I exhale on the lie and don’t meet his eyes. I feel reckless and immature, like I haven’t made any strides at all. When I do finally look at him, his eyes say it all. He sees the truth in mine.
“Don’t hate me, Ever. I’m sorry I didn’t stop. Please don’t go.” He laces our fingers, squeezing.
“I’m not sure I gave you a choice.” One corner of his mouth inches up, but the crease between his brows deepens. “And I won’t. Just need to . . . clean up.” I toss my chin and point to the poolroom that includes a bathroom.
His eyes follow where I point and he nods and releases my hand.
I return three minutes later to find him sitting on the edge of the lounger, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. I walk up and run my fingers through his hair, scraping my nails along his scalp. I know he likes that. He used to like that.
Taking my hand, he brings my palm to his lips and closes his eyes as he kisses it.
I slide it to his cheek and curl my fingers around his ear.
He lifts his face to look at me. “Thank you, Ever.”
I’m not sure what I expected him to say, but that wasn’t it. Probably not even top ten.
“For what?” Is he thanking me for sex? He can’t be thanking me for sex. You know how when you’re not pissed off but you’re pre-pissed, like you glimpse the pissed off that’s on its way?
“For loving me. I know it wasn’t easy. That I didn’t make it easy.”
Good save.
“I think I just proved that’s not true.”
His bark of laughter makes my eyes crinkle and cheeks lift. He snakes his arm out and sweeps me onto his lap, wrapping his arms tight around me.
I curl my legs under me and snuggle into him just as tightly. When we’re like this I can almost pretend the last seven months never happened. But it did. I let myself pretend a little longer because it feels so fucking good to be in his arms again.