CHAPTER 31
Evander
I pull my mouth from hers. I’ve hurt her.
Phoebe stares at me with wide eyes. Her legs are still wrapped around my waist, but she’s gone still. It suddenly occurs to me.
“Your sutures.”
She nods.
This is the worst possible position for her to be in—leaning back, legs up, weight balanced on her behind.
Personally, I enjoy this position. A lot. It’s one of my favorites. But there are better options for a woman with fresh stitches in her behind.
I stand up, pull the blankets across her body, and lift her from the couch.
“No, Evander! I don’t want to stop!”
I laugh as I look down at the pretty woman in my arms. Her face is smooth and innocent, but now I know better. Just a moment ago, her eyes were glazed over with sexual desire. She was panting and flushed. I had the pleasure of watching her go from zero to sixty in just seconds.
I like that in a non-virgin.
“We’re not stopping, just recalibrating.” I place a nice kiss on her mouth. Even after I pull my lips from hers, her eyes remain closed, like she’s savoring the sensation. I see those adorable freckles. I notice the faint smile on those pillowy pink lips.
And as I study her, something in my chest twists. Expands. And takes up residence.
Phoebe said she doesn’t expect anything from me once we’re home.
Yeah, well, fuck that.
Because I expect something from myself. I’m a SEAL. A MacLaine. I’ve known this woman since we were kids. Whatever this is, it doesn’t fall into the “quick-hook-up” column for either of us.
Maybe what I told Melissa yesterday about not being interested in starting a relationship—was that just yesterday?—maybe that was a lie. Just more of my usual bullshit. A reflex.
I’ve said it enough over the years that it’s automatic.
But here’s the truth: I didn’t want a relationship with her.
Phoebe’s eyes open and she looks up at me. I smile at her.
Maybe I’ve always had my own just-in-case clause, even if I didn’t realize it.
And she’s in my arms right now.
So what do I expect from myself? I expect that I’ll do my best to get to know Phoebe. I’ll make sure she understands how special she is to me. I’ll be man enough to explore what might be possible between us.
Maybe it’s time. Maybe I’m ready for a truly good woman.
I don’t know what to call my feelings for Phoebe, but I do know they go far beyond any insurance salesman slogan.
Which is a first for me. I don’t know what to do with that.
“Where are we going, Evander?”
I realize I’ve been standing still with Phoebe in my arms. The fire is dying down. The wind hasn’t let up and I hear the ongoing creaks and groans of this building. A thin layer of old clapboard is the only thing protecting us from what’s going on outside.
I’d forgotten where I was. All I saw was Phoebe.
“Hey,” I say. “I’ll change your bandage and make sure everything’s good.”
“I’m fine. Nothing’s popped. Just some pulling.”
“I still need to check.”
I lower her to the floor and position her on her side. I put two more logs on the fire and check out our wood supply with some concern. I’d say we have one more day of fuel at the most, and that’s it. I’ll have to start cannibalizing the outhouse for wood after that.
Not looking forward to operating a chainsaw in these conditions.
“Do you want me on my stomach?”
I snicker. Yep, I sure as hell do. But not the first time.
“You’re fine on your side. I’m just going to pull up the blanket, then wash my hands and put on gloves.”
“Okay.”
After this, we’ll have just two remaining sterile gauze bandages and a single pair of surgical gloves in the first aid kit.
I can find two more antiseptic wipes. But I’ve got four rolls of medical tape, which means I should’ve double-checked supplies before I went anywhere in the ATV. Lesson learned.
I grab the battery-operated lantern and first-aid supplies, then kneel behind Phoebe. Then I fall back on my heels, frozen.
In the golden firelight, Phoebe’s bottom half is as lovely as a Rembrandt reclining nude. She’s flawless. Thoroughly female. Firm and round and graceful.
If I had any artistic talent at all I’d sketch her in this pose for the rest of my life, in every color, in every light. But since I can’t draw worth shit, I decide to commit the vision to my memory for safekeeping.
“How’s it going back there?”
“I got distracted.”
She giggles. “Get to work, MacLaine. I’m not done with you.”
I smile to myself, then tear open the bandage sleeve and antiseptic. I power on the lantern.
“You’re awfully demanding for an almost-virgin.”
“I haven’t made a single demand! I haven’t even politely asked for anything.”
“Fair enough.” I carefully peel away the old bandage. “So why don’t you start a list of demands while I finish up?”
“So, is this a list I make in my head, or do you want me to state my demands out loud?”
“Oh, I definitely want to hear them.”
Her stitches aren’t ripped. But the cut looks a little too red for my liking, and I’m sure it stings like hell. Phoebe isn’t a complainer, though.
But she needs treatment in a clean medical setting, not just the clumsy, make-do efforts of a dude with beefy fingers.
She could also benefit from an antibiotic injection.
“I demand that you make me yours, Evander. Even if it’s just once.”
I look up from my work. My heart is in my throat.
What did she just say?
“I want to know what it feels like to be ravished. Or is it ‘ravaged’? I don’t think I’ve read enough spicy novels to know for sure.”
“?Porque no los dos?”
She starts to shake.
“Don’t laugh.”
“Then don’t make me laugh!”
“Keep going, Phoebe. I’m all ears. Tell me about this ravishment you demand. Or ravagement. Whatever. Tell me what it involves.”
I carefully clean around her cut and take a closer look at the stitches.
“Well, do you remember how you lectured me when we first got here? It was pretty hot.”
“What? You want me to lecture you? That’s an attorney’s wet dream.”
I set the gauze over her sutures and make sure nothing is catching on the weave. I grab the paper tape. “Stop laughing, Phoebe.”
It takes her a minute to still. “No, Evander. I don’t want you to lecture me. But the intense passion in your voice when you laid it out for me—that was really freaking hot. You said, and I quote, ‘I need you to move when I say and trust me like your life depends on it, because it does.”
“I said that shit?” My heart is pounding behind my sternum. My dick is as long and hard as the bar exam.
This girl is… actually, I don’t know what she is.
But I plan to find out.
“You said that, yes.”
“What else did I say?”
“You told me there was a chain of command. That you were in charge, and it wasn’t up for debate. Holy crap, Evander. It was really intense. Overtly sexual. I could barely breathe listening to that.”
I swallow.
“So, I need you to find a way to say those things to me with your body. Through sex. Show me. Teach me. That’s what I demand.”
I struggle to breathe. I takes me a few seconds to regroup. “Uh, so, have you ever demanded this from a man before?” My question escapes my throat in a jagged whisper.
“No.”
Phoebe carefully flips to her other side, so she’s facing me, the blanket still bunched up around her middle. She props herself up on an elbow and meets my gaze—direct, calm, no-nonsense.
“There was no point. The men I’ve been with wouldn’t have understood what I was asking for. I think you do.”
Holy fuck.
Phoebe’s long brown hair cascades onto her upper arm. The wool blankets part, revealing the creamy swell of her full breasts and the flat of her belly. She’s magnificent.
I remain perfectly still, sitting back on my heels, my hands resting on my thighs. First aid supplies are scattered around me.
I feel like I’m deep in prayer. Praying at the altar of Phoebe Fuck-me Travis, Blizzard Enchantress.
I think she expects me to say something, but I’m so stunned that all I can do is nod.
“So that’s my demand—that you show me what it feels like to be claimed so completely, so desperately, and with so much passion, that it’s like both of our lives depend on it.”
My mouth falls open, but I manage to snap it shut. Eventually, I say, “I can work with that.”