15. Briggs
brIGGS
Ifucked up majorly tonight.
I should’ve kissed Evie in the club. I should’ve done more than that. Maybe then I wouldn’t be sitting outside on the front porch, anxiously bouncing my knee, contemplating the meaning of existence.
I run a ragged hand through my hair. “This is bullshit.”
Shaking my head, I pull out my phone and search for the address I’ve used to mail her paychecks. When I plug it into Maps, I find it’s about a twenty-minute drive from here. She would have made it home already, then.
That means she’s probably tucked herself into bed by now. Probably cursed my name three times over, too.
Fuck. I jog to my SUV, wrench open the door, and shove myself inside. I’m not letting this mistake haunt me for the rest of my life. Not when there’s still time for me to fix it.
I told Evie that the distance and our circumstances were enough for us not to give in to temptation. But I haven’t wanted anyone the way I want her. Not in a long, long time.
She keeps me up at night. She makes me laugh. I want to be around her, even knowing I can’t be. Especially knowing I can’t be.
The fact that I’m this worried about ruining things tells me that it’d be worth it to try. That maybe kissing her is exactly what I need to kick my ass into gear.
Four songs later, after heavily speeding on the 215, I make it over to her apartment. She lives on the second floor, so I climb the outdoor stairs, knocking when I reach her front door. It’s robin’s-egg blue with a little bell on the front and a decorative sign that reads “Unholy Night.”
I tap my heel, waiting. Two minutes pass, then five, and she still hasn’t come to the door.
I know she’s here because her car is sitting right below me, parked inside two crookedly painted lines. I knock again, louder this time.
The door finally swings open.
Her mouth drops at the sight of me, but she doesn’t lower the giant canister she’s clutching in her fist. Shoulders tensed, locked and loaded.
“What the hell is that?” I ask.
Her head swivels to the side, registering the big red tube. She slowly lowers it, placing it on the console table behind her.
“Bear mace,” she replies.
I raise a brow. “That’s your weapon of choice?”
She gives me a deadpan look. “What the fuck are you doing here, Maxwell?”
“I want you,” I say, swallowing the lump in my throat. “I shouldn’t have stopped you at the club. I wanted to kiss you then. I want to now. Excuses be damned.”
Her eyes go wide, lips parting. That penetrating gaze drags up and down my body, slowly assessing me. Part of me worries she’s second-guessing everything—all the late nights spent texting, her general attraction to me.
Then she grabs me by the front of my shirt, yanking me across the threshold. Our mouths crash together, lips on frantic lips. I aimlessly grope for the door behind me. Once I grab hold, I slam it shut, the flimsy frame rattling in our haste.
“You should get that reinforced,” I mumble against her lips.
She pulls back, shaking her head. “Shut up.”
The right side of my face curls into a smirk. I kiss her again, savoring the softness of her mouth. She tastes so sweet. Smells even sweeter up close, like honey, rich vanilla, and jasmine.
When we break apart, she takes my hand, loops our fingers together, and draws me through the living area and toward the open door of her bedroom. It’s a one-bedroom apartment with nothing but the basics for furniture, but she’s made it homey in here.
There are plants everywhere, glowing lamps and string lights, and tons of mismatched frames that decorate the walls. There’s a Christmas tree in the corner covered in strands of fake pearls and dried blood orange slices tied up with string.
It’s how I imagine a modern-day witch might celebrate the holiday. Earthy and a little moody—it suits her.
In her room, the bed is full-sized, barely big enough for the two of us. She walks herself backward, dragging me with her until her thighs hit the edge of the mattress. One hand loops around my neck and tugs.
We tumble onto the soft mess of blankets together. She’s spread out on her back, smiling up at me as I brace myself, hands pressed beside her shoulders.
I haven’t had the opportunity to look at her this closely before. Only now do I see the beauty mark on the apple of her cheek, the small uneven dusting of freckles across her nose. She’s flushed, lips kiss-swollen.
Her ginger hair is fanned out on the pillow behind her, a white strand stuck to the corner of her mouth. I brush a finger across it, tucking it back behind her ear. Then my lips reattach to her neck.
I nip her pulse point and breathe in deep, savoring the sweet, honeyed scent of white flowers again.
“What is that?” I ask. “Your perfume?”
“Xochipilli,” she whispers, head back, neck still exposed to me.
I frown. “Say that again?”
She huffs, chin falling forward. When she perches on her elbows, I move back an inch to give her space.
“We’re making out on my bed in the middle of the night,” she says, exasperated. “And here you are, worried about the pronunciation of my perfume. Is that what you do with your girls on the road? Charm them with endless questions?”
“There are no girls on the road.”
Her brow wrinkles. “What?”
“There are—” I kiss the corner of her mouth. “—no girls.”
Her eyes narrow. “Well, that’s a lie.”
“It’s not. I haven’t been with anyone in over two years.”
I’ve made every excuse not to. I’ve been too tired after a game. I’ve said it’s not worth the effort of vetting them. That they don’t interest me enough to go back to their place, and especially not to bring them to mine.
Augie was right when he said I had a long dry spell. It’s just not a good investment of my time.
Evie stares up at me, gaze darting around my face. It’s like she’s trying to see through the layers, into the very soul of me, judging whether or not I’m feeding her a line. I wouldn’t do that.
I don’t need to tell lies to get a woman into bed with me. In fact, it’s quite the opposite.
Her thumb swipes across my bottom lip, traces the contours of my cheek and up across the bridge of my nose. Once she’s found whatever she’s been looking for, her smile grows—wider and wider until it cracks into laughter.
Then she shoves me onto my back, throwing a leg over to straddle me at the waist. Long fingernails weave into my hair and scrape along my scalp.
I drop my head back further onto her pillow. “Fuck,” I breathe, “that feels good.”
“Mmm, I like making you feel good.”
I grip both hands around her hips. “Yeah? You know what would make me feel really good?”
“What’s that?” she murmurs, scratching at the back of my neck.
“Eating your cunt.”
Her thighs squeeze around my middle, and the corner of my mouth tilts up. Duly noted. Evie Sutton likes dirty talk.
“I want to make you come,” I tell her, gently rocking her hips against me. “Suck on your needy little clit. You want that, pretty girl?”
She’s warm at the center. I can feel it through the fabric of my pants, core pressing into the hard length of me.
My erection is straining, cock pulsing, begging to fill her up.
But I need to taste her first. Need to know if her pussy is just as sweet as her mouth and as temperamental as her attitude.
My hands move from her hips to the hemline of her striped shirt. When she nods, I push them underneath, palms smoothing over her toned stomach. Her supple skin is flushed, hot to the touch.
“If you don’t get me naked soon, I’m gonna explode.”
I chuckle warmly. “Well, that would be a fuckin’ mess to clean up.”
“Oh, my God,” she snaps, reaching for the bottom of her shirt and yanking it up over her head.
Before I can get my bearings, she reaches behind her back to unsnap her black lace bra. Small round breasts spill free, and I don’t waste time cupping them with both hands.
“You’re impatient,” I say gruffly.
“And you move at a snail’s pace.”
I lick my lips, thumb brushing over one pert nipple. “I’m taking my damn time. Is that against the law?”
“Yes.”
“Hmm. You gonna lock me up, Officer?”
“Shh.”
She taps my flank, signaling for me to shift onto my elbows. I rise, smiling as she tugs my own shirt up and over my head. We’re both naked from the waist up now, and all I want to do is press myself against her. Feel the soft flesh of her breasts crush into me.
So I haul her forward, chest to chest, my pelvis slotted perfectly with hers. She swivels her hips, and my cock pulses.
“Want you so fucking bad,” I whisper.
“Then take the rest of my clothes off, thirteen. Stop fucking around.”
I give a throaty laugh, obliging her. Once her damp cotton panties are off, we switch our positions again, me on top, her leaning up against the headboard. With her legs outstretched, I slide onto one knee.
“You need a bigger bed,” I say.
“You paying?” she replies.
“Sure. I’d love to.”
She swats gently at my temple. I take the punishment as my cue to splay her open even further, hands pushing against both her knees.
Her perfect pussy glistens, wet and plump as it waits eagerly to be fucked. I caress her thighs, take a deep breath, and nudge her clit with my nose. She’s mostly bare, with a little thatch of hair in a triangle above her opening.
I find it incredibly sexy, irresistible to touch. When I finally lick her folds, she sighs, blowing a long, sultry breath.
“You taste just like I dreamed you would.”
She lifts her head slightly. “You dreamed about me, huh?”
I lick her again, tap her clit with my thumb. “Tried not to.”
“Why?” she pants.
“I think you know.”
“Because you’re celibate. Right.”
I may not be having regular sex with strangers, but I’m certainly not that. That’s a term reserved for priests and marathon runners.
Indignant, I swirl my tongue over that taut bundle of nerves, lapping at it for a few seconds. “It’s because you’re a brat, actually.”
She gasps, bucking her hips. “I am not.”
“Exhibit A.” I brace myself on one arm and lean back to press a splayed hand against her pelvis, trapping her to the mattress. “If you want me to make you come, you need to keep this cunt right where I want it.”
“Jesus Christ.”
When I slide two fingers inside her, curling up against that spot, she whimpers. I stroke a few times, pumping in and out, pushing into the narrow space above.
Judging by the feral sounds she’s making, she seems to like that very much.
“Tell me, pretty girl, do you want more?”
“Mhmm.”
I keep my fingers where they are, bringing my lips back to her clit. Then I gently pop it into my mouth, sucking while she wraps her legs around me.
When I hum against her, she threads her fingers through my hair, roughly tugging the strands, and my cock jumps in my pants. I’m still fully clothed from the waist down, which is going to be a problem soon.
I could come just like this, entranced by the tight suction of her cunt around my fingers, the sounds she makes while I get her off.
“You okay if I touch myself?” I ask.
“Hmm,” she murmurs, eyes closed, lashes fanning over rosy cheeks.
“Can I fuck my fist while I eat you out?”
“Oh, oh,” she replies, half moaning. “Hell yeah. Please do that.”
I slowly withdraw my fingers and bury my tongue inside of her instead. She gasps as I slide my hand across her waist, cupping her breast. With the other, I reach into my boxers and grip my cock.
“Oh, God.”
She shakes, walls fluttering around my tongue as she comes undone around me.
I’m not gonna last more than a few minutes after that. I know I won’t. It’s been too long, and she tastes too good. The sight of her shaking has me wishing we’d done this the first time we met, circumstances aside.
I don’t want this to end. But I also know I’ll be able to come twice if I get the chance to be inside her. And if I don’t, at least I’ll go out satisfied on the best night I’ve had in years.
I stroke myself a few more times, surface for air, and ask, “Where do you want me to come? Do you have a towel or something?”
She pushes herself up on one elbow. When she opens her eyes, she stares down at my pumping fist, silent for a good thirty seconds, watching as I get myself off on top of her.
“What about on my stomach?” she finally replies. Then, she pulls her lower lip between her teeth and shakes her head. “No, wait. Do it on my tits.”
That’s what finishes me. Not my own hand, but her saying it like that, so unashamed, eyes on me the whole time. The orgasm rips up my spine, and I groan into her thigh, wrecked, hips jerking as I come across her chest.
When I’m done, Evie’s spread out beneath me, flushed down to her collarbones, hair wild against the pillow. My cum paints her perfect tits in hot stripes of white. She drags a fingertip through them lazily, flushed pink and panting.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen a better sight in my life.