Chapter 17
SEVENTEEN
Five days.That’s how long it’s been since I worshiped Evie and nearly deprived her of an orgasm. I’m not usually an arrogant man, but I saw the way she came alive at my touch, I felt the way she kissed me back, and I tasted her sweet juices as she opened up for me in that bounce house. No one could question the intensity of her reactions. I was so confident, in fact, that I was sure she would say the words I desperately needed to hear.
She didn’t.
She isn’t ready.
But like I told her that night, I’ll wait.
It feels like I’ve already waited my entire life for her. For someone who gets me on a deeper level and who inspires me as much as she steals my focus. Such a contradiction, I know, but I wouldn’t trade this feeling for the world.
There’s something about her I just can’t pull away from—beyond her intoxicating scent and transcendent eyes. She’s gripped my soul and sank her teeth in, branding me hers for the rest of my days. Some might call it an unhealthy obsession—I just call it fate.
I’m not sure when or how to make my next move, knowing that things with her could have gone so much further that night. Both of us wanted it, and for once, we were completely alone with nothing but the stars staring down at us. But Evie isn’t some woman I want to get my fill of and leave. She’s someone I want to keep, as wrong as I know that is.
Wanting her is bad enough, but there’s guilt there too. Guilt that I haven’t been fully honest with her, that my move here wasn’t entirely tied to J.D. leaving his practice. As much as I want to share everything with her, I can’t—my hands are tied. And as much as I want to justify my lies, they’re eating me away inside.
I push my laptop away, remove my glasses, and rub my eyes. Lucy fell asleep in the guesthouse with Francine, so I drove into town to the office with the intention to focus. So it’s just me, lost in my thoughts, failing at the task at hand.
Firefly Effect
The title stares back at me like it’s alive, taunting me. In a way, it is. I’ve been stuck for years, not for lack of inspiration—for some reason, the words just aren’t flowing the way I thought they would.
What started out as a dissertation for my PsyD program at Duke in which I investigated and explored the Firefly Man serial murders became so much more after graduation. I blame the vast amount of research I conducted and all the rabbit holes I wandered down in the process of trying to stay on topic. With inspiration from author Dr. Rohls, who became my mentor, I set out to create a short story that wove together the psyche of someone who could commit such heinous crimes, using fireflies to symbolize human life.
I skip to where I’m getting into the meat of my story, based on the philosophical take on truth and time and the idea that fireflies never truly die. It’s a choice to live life as a guiding light for others or to stay masked in darkness. It’s all one elaborate metaphor for how we can wield our knowledge as power for good or bad. The choice is up to us.
To dim our light is to close ourselves off to growth and opportunities, to choose ignorance.
Ugh.I close my laptop. It all feels wrong. Unfinished.
Moving to Bryson City, the location of the first Firefly Man murder, was supposed to inspire me so I could finally finish the allegory I began writing in college. Now it all just feels more complicated. Maybe I’m missing too many pieces of the puzzle.
I’m almost relieved when my phone lights up. I look down and see Evie’s name flash across the screen. In record time, I’ve read the text.
Evie: I’m outside your office. I saw your car.
I practically lunge out of my chair and run to jerk open the front door. Staring back at me is a fresh-faced Evie, glasses on over her beautiful blue eyes, wearing a black skirt and one of her favorite graphic shirts, this one burgundy. Her hair is wrapped up in a bun. Damn. She’s gorgeous.
“Is everything okay?” I take her hand and pull her inside before closing the door and locking it behind us.
She stands in the waiting room, looking anywhere but at me. “Everything is fine. I just…” She looks around as if to make sure she’s not interrupting anything. “Is it okay that I’m here? I know you were upset with me last week, but?—”
“Evie.” I take her hand. “I’m not upset with you.”
She locks eyes with me. “Okay.” Her shoulders appear to relax a little. “I needed to talk to you. About something from that night Carley died.”
An instant thunderstorm brews in my chest as I lead her into my office. I sit beside her on the leather couch, never letting go of her hand, and watch her for a moment, not wanting to break up whatever conversation she’s having in her mind.
“It’s been bothering me ever since Gabe brought it up, and I remembered what you said about repressed memories and how dangerous they can be.”
I squeeze her hand, letting her know she can slow down, that I’m here and she’s safe.
She takes a shaky breath and releases it before continuing. “Gabe started asking me about that night. About what happened after I left Carley and Foster to go get help. The detectives somehow figured out that an entire hour passed between me leaving the scene of the crime to when I found Patrick.”
I widen my eyes slightly, but I’m not surprised at all. I’ve read those files. I’ve seen those interviews. In all the research I’ve done, that’s a major piece of the puzzle that somehow got lost. Maybe I can help her locate it.
“I don’t know why it took me so long.” She stares off at nothing, shaking her head like she’s desperate to remember something, anything, to help fill in the gap. “I don’t think I would have gotten lost on my way to the campground. Unless I was just so devastated that I couldn’t find my way.”
I squeeze her hand again. “That’s possible.”
“Yeah, but unlikely.” She frowns. “I just… I don’t understand why I would have suppressed that part of the night, yet I can remember what Carley’s body looked like in Foster’s arms. And I don’t know why I care now, other than the guilt I feel.” She looks at me, tears gathering in her eyes. “What if whatever I’m forgetting is something that might help catch this psychopath? I could have stopped the killer a long time ago.”
“Hey,” I murmur. “None of this is your fault.” A spark of anger rises from deep down in my gut. Evie taking on guilt about killings she bears no responsibility for makes me want to destroy this monster. “If you want to remember, I can help you—but don’t force the memories. There’s a reason your mind wants you to forget. It’s protecting you from something.”
She turns to me, eyes brimming with tears. “Or someone.”
A chill prickles my skin. It’s not that I haven’t considered that the murderer could be someone Evie knows, but I hate that she’s come to that conclusion too. “Anything is possible, I suppose.” Frustration swirls alongside the anger. “What exactly did Gabe say to you?”
She frowns. “Just that I might be able to help them track down the killer once and for all. He wants to be the one who cracks this thing wide open.”
Annoyance swirls into the mix. Of course, Officer Gabe is looking for a promotion, so he’s willing to traumatize Evie to do it. “Interesting” is all I can mutter.
She faces me again, her gaze imploring. “You really think you can help me?”
Her pain is my pain, and my heart aches for what she’s going through. I nod, my eyes searching hers. “I do.”
Evie’s entire body starts to quiver, so in a move I would never make with a patient, let alone any other human, on this same couch, I wrap my arm around her waist and gently tug her toward me. “C’mere.”
She gives me such a helpless, desperate glance then moves toward me. She lets me guide her up onto my lap, her skirt bunching up with her legs on either side of mine. I fold her in my embrace, pulling her close until I feel her tension start to melt.
Relief seems to cascade over her entire body. I can see it in the way her shoulders loosen. I can feel it in the way her body relaxes on mine. I fucking love that I can do that for her.
“I’ve got you,” I say, the words filled with emotion.
She sighs into my neck, her body shifting on my lap enough to catch the attention of a certain appendage. “I’ve missed you,” she whispers.
My palms slide beneath her top and up the length of her slim back then down again. “I’ve missed you too.” I just want to touch her, to show her how much I care. I want to give her anything and everything she needs, now and forever.
Her head lifts just enough to bring her mouth to mine. She kisses me first, her lips soft and plush and needy, and I groan as she moves against me again, awakening me until I’m at full attention and pressing into her core.
In a moment of weakness, I tear my lips away so I can look down at the inch of skin between her rumpled black skirt and burgundy top. I grip her thighs and pull her closer, managing to pull her skirt up around her waist. She’s wearing pretty pink panties with yellow trim, the fabric so thin that I can see the shadow of her pussy. So fucking hot.
There’s no professionalism. No control. There’s just Evie and me in a whirlpool of desire versus self-control. One of those two things has to give—but even if she wants to give into desire with me, I still need to hear her say it.
I run my finger up and down her center, rubbing the cloth at her entrance and letting the damp fabric tease me with her arousal. A growl roars inside my chest, but I tamp it down to make my needs transparent. Evie needs to want this as much as I do, in the same way that I do. There’s nothing casual about my feelings for Evelyn Vaughn.
She grinds against me, making my finger press deeper into her slit and gliding along the line in one slow sweep.
I look up just as she does, our gazes colliding. My finger lands on her swollen clit, and I leave it there, drawing slow circles while my other hand grips her neck and pulls her in.
Our mouths crash together with a force so powerful, it’s instantly addicting. I want more. My tongue plunges into the depths of her mouth, tangling with hers before the hand slipping and sliding against her pussy moves around to grip her ass. I rock her into me, moving her just enough that my cock creates the right amount of friction.
She moans, and I know it’s because she can feel me there, hard as a rock with wanting her. I move her ass, rocking her into me while I suck on her tongue then her bottom lip. I don’t even need to move her anymore. She’s taking control, grinding down like she’s fucking me. The friction will be enough to get her off, but that’s not what I want. Not before she tells me this is more than a casual thing.
“Tell me,” I whisper between kisses. “Please, Evie.” I push up into her core, imagining every stitch of fabric melting away so I can plunge inside her. “Let me fuck you. Let me make you feel good. Just say it. You know what I want to hear.”
Evie sighs, her hips still rubbing her pussy against me. “You know I want you, Lincoln.”
Just those words drive me crazy enough to yank up her shirt, tug down her bra, and sweep my tongue around her nipple. “Want me?” I growl. “How?”
Her eyes roll and her teeth sink into her bottom lip. Her pleasure is mounting, and once again I’m aching for her to relinquish control.
“Tell me you’re mine, Evie.”
Her breath hitches, telling me she’s close to her release. Fuck, I’m running out of time.
“Evie,” I rasp, unwilling to relent until she tells me what I need to hear.
“I’m…” Her pace picks up, hips rocking into me at double the speed. “I’m…” she moans again.
This time, my eyes go wide, realizing what she’s doing. Fuck.
“I’m…” A high-pitched screech.
My palms grip her waist, fingers digging into her ass to still her movements, but nothing can stop her now.
“I’m…” She wails the words, and I feel her convulsing above me as her orgasm rockets through her.