14. I don’t blur lines for the hell of it #2
“This is exactly why I didn’t wake you,” he mutters. “Because I’m tired and pissed off and coming off a call like that, and now you’re standing here looking at me like…”
“Like what?”
His eyes snap to mine. “Like you care.”
The words come out harsh, edged with something raw enough to make me ache.
I stare at him calmly. “That’s because I do care.”
“Yeah, well.” He laughs once under his breath restlessly, keyed up in a way that feels dangerously close to unraveling. “That’s becoming a fucking problem for me, Pen. Because if I do something about that, and you wake up tomorrow regretting it, I’m fucked.”
Something in me softens because I realize he’s not angry at me. I haven’t done anything to him. He’s angry at himself. At how badly he wants this.
“You make it sound like I’m asking for something from you,” I say quietly.
“Aren’t you?”
The question hangs between us, and I stare down at him. And maybe that’s the thing that finally strips the last layer of safety away, because I can hear the fear underneath it. The expectation that if this ends badly, or if he lets this happen, something in his life is going to crack open again.
I shake my head and sit back down beside him.
“I’m not asking you for anything, I just… didn’t want you sitting out here alone thinking you had to carry all of this by yourself.”
His expression shifts almost imperceptibly, then stills completely when I turn to face him.
“You deserve someone who looks after you for once, too,” I whisper.
His jaw flexes. “You should probably stop talking.”
“Why?”
“Because you keep saying things that make me wanna do something stupid.”
I swallow. “Like?”
He turns his head slowly to face mine, and his gaze drops to my mouth again. “You really need me to say it?”
The tension coils tighter, enough that my instinct to pull back doesn’t win this time. His hand flexes once against his thigh like he’s stopping himself from reaching for me, and we look at each other for another beat.
But if this man thinks I’m going to let this go now, he’s wrong. So before I can stop myself, I close the distance to rest my hand against his shoulder, fingers curling lightly into the fabric of his T-shirt.
“Pen,” he says in a low, warning tone.
I don’t pull away. “Tell me to stop.”
Our eyes lock for a long second, his eyes traveling over my face before he shakes his head once. “I’m not gonna do that.”
That’s all the permission I need. This time, when I lean in, nothing interrupts us. There’s a split second where everything hangs. His breath shifting, his body going still like he’s giving me one last chance to pull back.
I don’t.
My lips brush his first, and he exhales against my mouth.
“Penny,” he repeats, but it’s not a warning anymore.
His palm comes up to my neck, fingers curling beneath my ear as he draws me in and kisses me properly. My hands tighten in his shirt as the kiss deepens, my other hand bracing against his thigh when the shift of it sends something warm and dizzy through me.
His thumb drags once against my skin, and I make a soft sound I don’t mean to.
“Fuck,” he mutters against my mouth, pressing back into me. “Come here.”
Before I can think about it, he’s guiding me by the hips. Lifting just enough that I shift, my knee slides over his thighs as the couch dips beneath us. He pulls me fully into his lap, settling me into a straddle.
My breath stutters, my grip tightening on his shoulders as his mouth leaves mine, dragging along my jaw and down my throat, the scrape of his stubble sending sharp heat through me.
“God,” I whisper, tipping my head back for him. “Evan—”
“Been wanting this,” he murmurs against my skin. “To kiss you properly without stopping.”
I tilt back toward him, chasing the way his mouth moves against mine. He pulls back just enough that our mouths hover, breath warm against mine, and for a second, neither of us moves.
“Still okay?” he asks.
My heart is beating too fast for that to even be a real question. I answer by biting my lip and rolling my hips forward against him.
His reaction is immediate.
“Fuck, Penny,” he breathes, hands tightening hard at my hips as he drags me closer. “That’s it.”
My fingers curl on his shoulders, holding on as I move again. His fingers flex as I spread my legs wider, grinding against the hard bulge I can feel through his boxers, the thickness of his cock rolling just right against my pussy.
“You feel so good,” I breathe, dotting kisses up his neck and sucking lightly on his earlobe. “You’re making me so wet.”
“Yeah?” His voice is rough as his head drops forward, mouth finding mine again. “You think you can say that and expect me to keep it together?”
I huff out a breath that turns into a quiet sound as I move again.
“I don’t want you to keep it together.”
“Jesus,” he mutters, hands sliding higher up my sides and under the hem of my top.
His warm, calloused palms drag along my bare skin, the touch slow at first, thumbs brushing the underside of my tits enough to make my breath catch. My back arches into him on instinct.
“Yeah.” He moves his thumbs higher to drag over my nipples. “Knew you’d like that.”
“Mm, fuck,” I whimper, rocking my hips faster against his hard cock.
His hands slide down the side of my ribs and back to my hips, guiding me up and down against him, and I gasp at the friction.
“Slow,” he commands softly, thumbs stroking my hipbones. “Don’t rush it. I wanna feel every inch of how wet you’re getting for me.”
I lean back and ride slow, looking down at where my hips rock along the rigid fabric. My breathing gets ragged, and I grind harder, but he tightens his grip.
“You feel what you’re doing to me?” I moan. “How close you’re getting me?”
He lets out a low, rough hum, eyes locked on where my hips rock against his.
“Yeah, baby,” he breathes. “Trust me, I can feel it.”
I whimper into his neck, rolling my hips in long, deliberate strokes. He’s breathing hard now, one hand moving to grip my ass, helping me ride him.
“Atta girl,” he praises. “God, you’re soaking me through my boxers. Come on, sweetheart, fuck yourself on me.”
My moans are getting louder, right against his ear.
“I’m getting close,” I admit, the words slipping out before I can stop them. “Evan—”
“That what you want? You wanna come on me?”
I nod, breath catching as I move again, chasing it. “Yes, fuck. Don’t stop.”
His hand grips my ass cheek, and he tugs me in tighter, flexing his thighs to thrust up against me. “Mmm, fuck Penny, want you to soak me, baby.”
“Evan—I’m gonna—”
“Come for me,” he commands, his palm slapping my ass as he says it.
The words and the sensation snap something inside me, and my orgasm crashes over. I muffle my cry into his neck, hips jerking helplessly as I grind through it, thighs shaking around his legs.
“Fuck… yes,” he groans, voice breaking.
His hips buck up hard beneath me once, then twice, and then he’s cursing low and ragged as he comes in his boxers while I’m still moaning and trembling in his ear.
We stay locked together for a few seconds, his arms banded around me like he hasn’t quite caught up either. My breath is still uneven against his neck, thighs loose around him as everything fades from sharp to warm and heavy.
He exhales roughly, and his forehead drops to my shoulder.
“Jesus, Penny…”
I huff a soft, breathless laugh against his skin as the room starts to come back into focus and the fact that we’re very much not alone in the world outside this couch.
My cheek drags against his shoulder as I lift my head, hands sliding down to rest more loosely against his chest.
“You okay?” His question comes out soft.
I nod. “Yeah.”
My eyes meet warm hazel, and the look in them steadies something in me immediately.
There’s no regret, and that matters to me more than anything else.
I swallow, then ease back. My hands drag lightly across his chest as I move, reluctant to give up the contact, and his grip doesn’t drop straight away.
He lets go once I slide back enough to stand, and I smooth my hands down my thighs, grounding myself, trying to get my head back online.
“Maybe I should…” I pause, then try again. “I should probably head back out to the guest house. Give you a minute.”
I turn halfway when his hand catches my wrist again, and my breath catches. He’s watching me like he’s working something out in real time, and his shoulders still rising a little too fast.
“Don’t do that,” he says.
My brows pull together slightly. “Do what?”
“Act like that was something we just…” He exhales sharply, scrubbing his other hand over his jaw. “That wasn’t nothing, Pen.”
“I didn’t say it was,” I reply.
His eyes hold mine for a beat longer, like he needs to be sure. Then his grip loosens, but he doesn’t drop my hand entirely.
“I just—” he starts, then stops, glances away for half a second, then back. “I don’t do halfway. Not where Elle’s involved.”
“I know.”
His eyes move to mine, and he shakes his head. “You don’t have to run away.”
My pulse stumbles, but I shake my head gently. “I’m not running,” I murmur. “I just… think we both need a second.”
He studies me for a moment before nodding. “Yeah,” he agrees. “Okay.”
I hesitate, then bend down to his level, just enough to press a soft kiss to his mouth. His hand comes up automatically to my cup my face, and for a second, it almost pulls me right back in again.
“I meant it,” I whisper against his lips. “I’m not running.”
His jaw works as I rise again. “Good.” He swallows. “Don’t.”
“You should get some rest, though.”
He huffs, fingers trailing up my arm lightly before he lets go. “You too.”
I turn toward the kitchen to head to the back door, and as I step outside, warm and shaky and still tasting him on my lips, it doesn’t feel like the beginning of being pushed away.
If anything, it feels dangerously like the opposite.