Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
SUMMER
Dizzy from his mouth on mine, the fantasies swirling in my head, I slipped my hand through the waistband of his trunks and gripped his cock. The hard length flexed in my grip. His kiss turned hungry.
My hand slid from his cock as he lifted me, backing me into the side of the pool.
My legs twining around his hips, I braced my elbows on the edge, the arch of my back pressing my breasts into my bikini top, straining the thin fabric.
Evers lifted one finger and hooked it in the narrow string between the cups. With a tug, my breasts spilled free.
Cool air rushed against my suddenly-hot skin. Evers' mouth dropped to my nipple, feasting with liquid, sucking pulls, drawing every bit of tension and pleasure to a tight, hot point, the echo pulsing in my clit.
My hips rolled, only two scraps of fabric between us. All he had to do was shove his trunks down, tug my bikini bottom to the side and—
I couldn't think. My fingers sank into his shoulders. He moved from one breast to the other, playing. Tasting. It felt so good. It all felt so fucking good. Slick heat built between my legs. I'd heard pool sex could be uncomfortable, but I was willing to give it a shot.
The idea of waiting one second longer to have Evers inside me was not going to work. I ground my pussy against the length of his cock, trying to reach his trunks so I could drag them down and free him.
He must have gotten the message. Without moving his mouth from my breast, he shoved his trunks down just enough, yanked the gusset of my bikini to the side, and nudged the head of his cock against my pussy, sliding and pressing, making sure I was ready before he drove himself home.
He thrust once hard, pushing me back, my elbow scraping the edge of the pool. At my quick intake of breath, Evers went still.
Lifting his head, the fog of lust clearing from his eyes, he muttered "Fuck."
"I'm okay. Don't stop."
To my grave disappointment, Evers withdrew from my body, sliding his trunks and my bathing suit back into place.
I felt the pout form on my face. I would happily take a few scrapes if it meant Evers would never stop fucking me.
"You look like someone just took her favorite toy," he said before sucking on my lower lip. I didn't have to see my face to know I looked sulky. I felt sulky.
"Someone did take my favorite toy."
"The doors are unlocked. I lost my head there for a second, but the doors are unlocked."
How could I have forgotten that the doors were unlocked?
The doors to the spa didn't have locks, probably for safety reasons. Short of shoving the pool skimmer through the handles, there was no way to secure them closed.
Well, crap. That put a damper on my plans.
I was wrong.
Evers scooped me up into his arms and pushed through the water until we reached the stairs. Once we were out of the water, he headed straight for the changing room.
Such a smart man. The changing rooms did have locks.
Locks and a nicely padded divan. Why anyone would put a couch in a glorified bathroom was beyond me, but I wasn't going to complain.
Somewhere between turning the locks and setting me on the divan, Evers lost his trunks.
I was reaching for my bottoms when he dragged them down my legs, tossing them on the floor.
A heartbeat later he was filling me again, and I was whole. Nothing in my life had ever felt as good as Evers inside me. His long, strong body against mine. Surrounding me. A part of me.
That morning in the honeymoon cottage might have been a million years ago.
My body was desperate for his. Evers rocked against me, my breasts pressed to his chest, the scratch of hair against my nipples sending fireworks sparking through my body, building the heat between my legs until my head was spinning.
I clutched Evers, my fingers wrapped around his biceps, my mouth on his neck, kissing, sucking, needing to taste him. To feel him everywhere.
There was so much I wasn't sure of, so much about him that scared the hell out of me, but not this. My heart wavered, afraid to trust, but my body had no such reservations. My most basic instincts shouted that Evers was mine.
I bit down on the cord of his neck as I came, sharp-edged bliss shattering, a keening wail torn from my chest, my thighs tight around him, trembling. It was all too much.
Pleasure, love, need. Such need I couldn't contain it. I embraced it and feared it, holding tight to everything I wanted, my forehead pressed to Evers' damp skin, my body pulsing around him.
Evers' arms locked around me, his hips moving in tight, fast jerks, he breathed my name as he came.
After, neither of us moved, struggling for breath. Finally, he said, "You're shaking," and I realized that I was.
Not shivering. How could I be cold with Evers stretched out on top of me?
No, my body shook with a fine tremble I didn't understand. My heart was too full, felt too much. I wanted to bury my face in his neck and cry. This was so right. So good, and I wanted him so much.
I didn't know what to say. I knew what I wanted to say.
"I—"
The words were stuck. In my head, I spoke them loud and strong.
I love you.
I love you so much.
My lips, my voice, couldn't form them. Couldn't give them substance. I pressed my mouth to his, trying to outrun all my uncertainties. Trying to show him what I couldn't say, to give him what was in my heart the only way I could.
He kissed me back, turning to his side and taking me with him, tangling his legs with mine as if we had all the time in the world.
Eventually, we got up and made use of the shower.
Soap in my hands, I washed Evers' back, thoroughly exploring every curve of his amazing ass.
It wasn't long before I found myself pinned against the white limestone wall, legs spread, holding on for dear life as Evers fucked me to another blinding orgasm.
My legs were wobbly when he set me back down. He whispered in my ear, "When we fix up my house, we're putting a shower next to the pool. A big one."
"I'm in favor of that," I agreed. I was boneless, every joint liquid as I pulled my wet bikini back on and shrugged into my robe. Evers had to check in with the control room again, and I needed to comb my hair or I'd wake up with a rat's nest in the morning.
"I'll walk you to the control room." I threaded my fingers through his and strolled down the hall, a sleepy, smug smile on my face.
We were passing one of the storage closets when I caught a familiar scent in the air and came to an abrupt halt.
I wasn't the only one. Evers smelled it, too.
On a surge of anger, I wrenched open the door to the closet and found my father, a joint in his hand, pungent smoke wreathing his head.
"Are you kidding me?" I planted my hands on my hips and stared him down. My father looked back with a slightly befuddled, completely unrepentant gaze.
Of course, he didn't care that he was smoking pot in my boss' house. Caring about someone else would be inconvenient.
"Where the hell did you get that?" I demanded.
"Relax, baby girl. It's just a joint. I had it in my pocket. Don't be so uptight."
"I am not uptight!" My voice was rising to a screech. Not only was security just down the hall, the theater was at the other end. I did not want Cynthia coming to investigate. Searching for control, I said, "You cannot smoke that here."
Evers reached out and plucked the joint from Smokey's hand. He ground it out against the concrete floor of the storage closet. "I'll be right back."
He disappeared down the hall toward the spa, the rest of the joint in his hand.
Smokey leaned out of the closet, watching him with a yearning I imagine he'd never expressed toward any of the people in his life. His spine sagged, and he stared at his feet forlornly.
"He didn't have to take it," he muttered.
"He did have to take it," I hissed, leaning in. "I already told you. You can't do drugs in this house. This is Cynthia's place. If anyone found out—"
"All those Hollywood types do drugs. She's probably got a stash in her room upstairs." At that thought, his eyes lit up.
"Oh, no. No way. Maybe other people are like that, but Cynthia is not. She doesn't do drugs. She doesn't even like prescriptions, and she rarely drinks. Unless it's champagne," I corrected. Cynthia did like her champagne.
"This is her home. She kindly invited you to stay for a few days. Your other option is the Sinclair Security safe room, and I don't think you want to stay there."
"I can't believe you'd let them lock me up. You know what they'd do to me if they had me in there. Maxwell told me about his boys. They're all ex-military. Hard-asses. Are you really gonna let your boyfriend hurt your dad?"
I stared at Smokey, speechless. I honestly hadn't considered what the Sinclairs might do with Smokey if they had him under their control. He had information they needed, and he wasn't talking. Unease spiraled through me.
My dad made me so furious I thought my head would explode.
Smoking pot in Cynthia's house? How could he be so rude? How could he endanger my job this way?
And why did I still want to protect him? Why did I feel responsible for him? When had he ever protected me?
Evers returned with a wet paper towel. He shoved it in Smokey's hand and pointed at the dark smear on the concrete floor where he'd put out the joint.
"Clean it up." When Smokey looked as if he would argue, Evers only said, "Now."
Smokey dropped to his knees and started to scrub.
I couldn't look at Evers. My stomach was tight, sick with humiliation.
There was nothing I could say to excuse my dad's behavior. Nothing I could say that would make it okay.
We watched my father clean the floor in stiff silence. When he'd wiped away the evidence, he stood, the wet paper towel clutched in one hand, the other shoved in a back pocket, his chin jutting up, looking more like a rebellious teenager than a fully-grown adult.
Faking bravado, or maybe he really was that stupid, he attempted to shoulder past Evers, saying, "Might as well go finish watching the movie."
Evers' hand closed over his shoulder in a grip so tight Smokey and I flinched simultaneously.
"You're going to your room. I'm posting a guard on the door. You don't come out until breakfast." I'd never heard his voice so hard. So cold.
"What if I get hungry? Or thirsty?" Smokey whined as Evers half led, half dragged him down the hall, his hand still clamped on my dad's shoulder, me trailing behind.
Disgusted with my father, he said, "Drink out of the tap. You get food at breakfast."
The walk to our rooms was endless. Smokey's temporary quarters were at the end of the hall, beside Angie and across from Viggo. Evers shoved him into the room, following. Over his shoulder, he said to me, "Go to your room. I'll stay on his door until someone gets here."
I nodded and walked blindly down the hall to my own room. I needed to comb out my hair and dry it, to rinse out my bathing suit, and wash my face. I did it all mechanically.
I lay my head on my pillow in the dark, too wound up to sleep, reeling from the whiplash. One moment I'd been blissfully happy. Boneless with pleasure. A blink later I was drowning in humiliation, regret and fear freezing my heart and turning my stomach.
The Evers in the pool, in the dressing room, in the honeymoon cottage—that Evers I loved. I trusted. I'd do anything for that Evers.
The Evers who locked my dad in his room?
I loved him, too, but I didn't trust him. My dad was right. Evers had his own agenda. I couldn't blame him for that. He was looking out for his family. Just like I was.
My dad was irresponsible and thoughtless, but he was mine. He'd been my father for twenty-six years. Evers had been in my life for two years, and for more than half of that he'd been lying to me. Using me.
How could I put him before my own father? My father had never particularly looked out for me.
Neither had Evers. At least my Dad never set out to use me for his own ends.
My brain and my heart at odds, I fell into an uneasy sleep, my dreams flashes of being chased. Of wandering in the dark, lost. Alone.
I woke sometime later to feel Evers stretched out beside me, his chest pressed to my back, his arm around my waist, his hand curved around my breast. I drifted back to sleep, suffused with a sense of safety, and knowing that safety was an illusion.