Chapter 13 Stefan
Stefan
"It's fine, really. You don't have to—" Evan interrupts my attempt to let him off the hook with what sounds like a smothered laugh.
I glance up at him again. His face is still pinched, but his eyes are dancing.
His mouth is quirking, but it's not anger, thank fuck.
In fact, I'm pretty sure he's trying not to laugh.
“Are you laughing at me, Evan Marquez?” I feign an outrage I don't feel.
Because all that's going through my mind is abject relief.
He's not offended. That's all that matters.
Even the closed-in space, the dark, doesn't seem as terrifying anymore. The space goes from a horrible, pressing presence to a cozy little bubble of privacy in a moment.
"No," he says, but his voice quavers, an undeniable crack in it. He is laughing at me. "It's just—you're so adorable when you're flustered."
Adorable. At the word, a whoosh of air leaves my lungs.
He thinks I'm adorable? That has to be a good sign, right?
Another glance up at him through my bangs, trying to look a little less flustered.
Undoubtedly unsuccessfully. The pinched look has left his face, replaced with a broad smile.
With that beautiful, perfect Evan smile I am becoming addicted to.
Seeing me watching him, his smile quirks a bit. “Wait, what was the question again?”
I am going to kill him. I am going to choke him with my sweatshirt. “I hate you.”
The smile brightens further, if that's even possible. “I don't think you do.”
“I absolutely do. You are the worst.”
“Am I though?” he asks, and there's something behind the teasing.
Something darker, more seductive. Something I'm desperate for.
He inches closer, and now our knees are pressing into each other.
My throat tightens. My skin tingles. Currents of electricity shooting out from that slight contact.
I look down, and—oh, fuck. He's hard. It’s impossible not to see with those tight jogging pants highlighting it.
And he smells amazing. We've been stuck in here long enough that his scent has permeated the space, or maybe he's just so close I can smell him everywhere. Like soap, but with an undercurrent of—of something. Something that must be Evan himself, because he’s using the same soap I am.
Warm, like vanilla, but not. I dart my gaze up to his face. To that teasing grin.
“I thought I was sweet,” he adds, as if the world hasn't changed in every single way possible. As if I have any idea what we're even talking about.
I swallow hard. Not sure how to answer, not sure where to look. I feel like some kind of blushing virgin, and it's ridiculous. I shouldn't feel like this. This isn't new territory to me. I mean, yes, it is, of course it is, but...
But this is Evan. And this desire is so much more than I've ever felt.
I'm as hard as he is. Hard enough that I think a touch would be enough to set me off, if he was the one to touch me.
I only realize I've licked my lips when his eyes dart down to them.
Kiss me. Please, please kiss me. I think I'd do just about anything if it meant Evan would kiss me.
“Nope.” The word comes out a croak, my subconscious doing the heavy lifting of keeping this conversation going.
I am astonished sound even manages to make it through my tight throat.
When I realize I'm staring at his crotch again, I raise my eyes to his face.
He's still smiling, but it's changed, too.
I can't quite see it, but I can feel the heat in his eyes radiating toward me. “Not at all sweet.”
"Want to test that theory?" Oh, fuck, his voice has dropped an octave. I already thought his voice was sexy, but now I'm going to come in my pants untouched. I don't think I've ever been this turned on.
“Do you have a test in mind?” How am I still talking?
He's barely touching me. No skin against my own.
Just knees, through two layers of fabric, with us sitting cross legged across from each other in the middle of what should be my nightmare.
He leans forward, a few inches, his mouth closer to mine, but still too far away.
I sense him everywhere, the aura of his presence enough to keep me frozen.
And when I look up into those dark, dark eyes, the world stops.
He's staring back at me. “Stefan,” he whispers, “you have to tell me you want this.” All of the teasing has left his voice, replaced by something close to solemnity.
Why? Isn’t it blatantly, painfully obvious? Everything inside me is screaming at him. Please, please, take me! My brain is gone, incapable of keeping up. With supreme effort, I manage to get two words out. “Kiss me.” It's all but inaudible, but maybe he reads it on my lips.
Because a moment later he's leaning in even further. Our mouths now only inches apart, and he's cupping my cheeks in his hands. His pupils are so wide, his eyes look black. But he's still staring at me. Watching me. No more movement. “Are you sure?”
I have never been more sure of anything in my life. My cheeks are blazing under his fingers. I don't think I'm breathing. So why am I waiting, unable to make the move? I’ve never been shy like I am with him. Never this hesitant. I take what I want.
But Evan—something is different about Evan. Something that makes me terrified to make the wrong move. Terrified I'm making everything up, even as he's sitting here in front of me. Even when his body is so close to my hard cock his heat radiates to it.
I can't answer him in words. There are no more words.
Instead, I lean forward. It's still not quite enough for our mouths to touch.
I leave him that last inch. Just in case.
Just in case I'm completely out of touch and all of this is in my head.
His thumbs are stroking my cheeks, but he's not moving that last inch.
Fuck Evan, what do you want? Just take me.
But he doesn't. He just keeps staring into my eyes as if he has all the time in the world.
He's tracing my cheekbones now, and it's making me frantic.
All right, fine. If that isn't consent, I don't know what is.
If I'm getting this wrong somehow—I'm not getting this wrong somehow.
He hasn't pulled back. Even if he hasn't moved forward.
So I reach out my own hands. Grabbing him by the back of his head and pulling him into me. It's a more aggressive move than I meant for it to be, but fuck, he's killing me.
And then his lips touch mine and everything crystallizes.
The world's not just frozen, it's locked in place.
The air is too heavy to consider moving away.
That's fine, because I have no desire to do so.
I'm the crystal, a conduit for energy. It's pouring through me from his lips.
Around and around, swirling through me until it lands in my groin and—and we've barely kissed, but I'm hard put not to come on the spot.
Evan groans, and the sound rockets through me. I pull his head higher, harder into mine. Attacking his mouth with my own. Is this what lust feels like? Because if so, I've been doing it wrong all along.
When his tongue touches the seam of my lip, I open for him.
He invades my mouth, and it's different.
It's so different than anything I've felt before.
He's firm and sure and hard, where I’m used to softness.
Passivity. Now he's committed, he's not at all tentative about his movements.
A scrape burns across my chin, and I realize it's his beard stubble. That's new too. But I don't mind it.
In fact, I think I like it. It adds even more sensation to the kiss. That hint of pain makes the pleasure all that much sweeter.
So I lean in, kissing him back harder. Encouraging that rough exchange of stubble. Another groan from Evan, and our tongues are dueling. Both of us fighting for control over the kiss now. It might be the most erotic thing I've ever felt in my life.
Somehow, through all of it, his hands are still gentle on my cheeks. The touch feather light as his tongue invades my mouth. How can he be this restrained right now? I'm not. Nothing in me is remotely restrained. I've let myself off my leash. An attacking dog.
One of my hands is fisted in his hair, and I leave it there, allowing the other one to trail down his back.
Pulling him in closer. Pushing myself to my knees as he does the same, until our chests are pressing against each other.
And, oh, it feels good. It feels perfect.
The hard planes of his body against the hard planes of mine.
How did I never know this was what I needed?
How have I lived twenty-two years of my life thinking I wanted women when I could have been having Evan?
He presses harder into me, pushing me back, and I let go of his hair, giving him the space to move. Then I'm folding down onto the floor, and Evan's on top of me. And this is even more perfect. The gentle touch has finally roughened.
He's the one holding my hair. Pulling my head to the side, kissing down my neck in hot, heavy movements of lips and tongue and teeth. His other hand runs down my chest, finding the bottom of my shirt, sliding back up underneath it. Warm hand against hot skin. It feels like heaven.
I buck up into him and his hard length presses against my own too full erection. More, I need more.
Evan chuckles, deep in the back of his throat, and I realize I've said it out loud. His laughter hums over my skin, forcing a gasp out of me. “Greedy, are we?”
I try to laugh back at him, but can't manage more than a huff. “Yes. Please.” I don't know why I'm begging, why I'm not just taking. I've never begged before. What does Evan bring out in me? And why do I like it so much?